"Though we probably could use him now," Babylon told Doc Chimp. "There are whole new audio tracks we haven't played for him."
"You'll never find him, Dr. Babylon," the chimpanzee said. "As soon as he found out what that temple was, he was off. I don't know where. Maybe down on the surface to see for himself. Maybe still on the orbiter somewhere— you could hide a hundred Watchers for a hundred years in some of the E.T. zones!" He moodily spun the controls of the hexagon reader, looking at the cryptic hollow sphere. "Can't you just match up the words you know against the tapes?" he asked.
"Of course we can. Of course we do, Doc! That's the basics. But it's not enough. Similar words—even the same words—don't mean genetic relationships between languages. There may be no interaction between the speakers, but a common source. Perhaps the people who built the temple and the people of the wrecked ship are not the same. They might still have occupied adjacent linguistic areas—were neighbors, say, or influenced each other by travel or commerce or conquest. Or were themselves linguistically 'adjacent' to some unidentified third race, from whom they borrowed words. You find loan-words in terrestrial languages all the time. The Japanese use the French pain for bread; their words for baseball, and television, and chocolate are almost identical to the English. But the languages have almost nothing else in common."
The chimp stared at him with woeful shoe-button eyes. "What you're saying is we haven't learned anything at all?"
"Oh, no! We've learned a great deal! We can identify some of the graphics from the wrecked ship—that's how Redlaw was able to find the other hexagons. We can even make a shrewd guess about the history of Cuckoo!"
"Really? Come on, Dr. Babylon—"
"No, it's true," Babylon insisted. "Putting it all together, we can say that the races akin to the galactics arrived here some time around thirteen thousand years ago; anything before that was original. We can say that the Watchers seem to be original, and that the language they used in communicating with the unknown race they Svatched' for has cognates with the language of the ship. Now, when I get the data from Boston, and when I can feed it all into the farlink computer, then we'll know a very great deal."
"Will we know what's going on?" Doc Chimp asked, grinning.
"Well, we won't know why somebody's using Purchased People secretly, "Babylon confessed. "Or why some of the races seem to be sabotaging our work. Or why—"
Doc Chimp raised a leathery paw. "Or why we're here in the first place," he finished. "Ah, me. It is not an easy thing to bear, the Primate's Burden!" He sighed theatrically. "Everything has its price, doesn't it, Dr. Babylon? Simply because we primates are so marvelously well adapted to anything, anywhere, we are the most popular Purchased People in the Galaxy, as well as the envy of all other races for possessing the Galaxy's most distinguished linguist—"
Babylon shook his head, marveling at the little creature's abrupt swings of mood. But it was pleasant to have the atmosphere lightened. "The only reason," he said, "that the rest of the Galaxy considers us linguists is that we're so backward. Do you know what they call us? 'The only race that cannot communicate with itself—because of our twenty-five hundred separate languages!"
"You are too modest, Dr. Babylon!"
"And as to being the race that sells best for Purchased People," Babylon added, "I can't help think those aliens are making a mistake using humans. Chimpanzees are so much better! Stronger, more agile—oh, now what's the matter?"
The little creature's long lip was trembling. "There are some things, Dr. Babylon," he declared, "that it is wrong to joke about! Purchased People are criminals. Chimpanzees do not become criminals. You'll never hear a bunch of lawyers arguing about whether the civil rights of convicted chimps have been violated!"
A scent like singed hair reminded Babylon of the T'Worlie, dancing silently between them as it listened to the discussion—he could not decide whether the aroma meant curiosity or tact. "Query," it whistled. "Define 'civil rights.'"
Whether it was tact or not, Babylon was glad to change the subject. "Why, they're the right of every person—of every entity, I mean—to enjoy certain inalienable rights, such as life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."
The creature was silent for a while, then whistled slowly, "Incomprehension. Query term 'inalienable' if rights can be 'alienated' as in case of 'criminals.'"
"Oh, that's easy to explain," Babylon said quickly. "You see, every human has these rights, but he must not, of course, violate the law. For example. Among the criminals who were being transmitted when I was were, I believe, a Polynesian who advocated revolution against his lawful government, a woman guilty of failing to pay taxes, and any number of people convicted of other crimes." The singed-hair aroma was stronger than ever, and the T'Worlie said:
"Request: Define term 'taxes.' Define term 'government.' Define term 'advocated revolution.' "
Babylon hesitated, and was saved by an interruption. Zara's voice called from outside the door, "May I come in?" Doc Chimp hastily opened the door for her and she entered, bearing a fiber bag of some lumpy objects.
If Babylon had had any desire to continue the conversation, Doc Chimp's behavior put a stop to it. The little monkey's nostrils were quivering, and so were his skinny arms and legs. "Oh, Zara!" he cried piteously. "Do I smell what I think I smell?"
The woman, smiling, said, "Why don't you see, Doc?" and held the bag out to him. Doc Chimp seized it greedily, poked his head into it, and emerged with an immense grin. "Oh, bless you, dear lady!" he cried, spilling the contents into the air. "You know how us monkeys like bananas!" And indeed what came out of the bag was two huge clusters of fingerlike yellow fruit.
"They're not true bananas," Zara said apologetically. "At least, they didn't come from Earth; Org Rider had them shipped up in a drone from his home hills, along with our regular grocery list. I think they probably came originally from the Earth, but a long, long time ago—just like Org Rider."
"Don't apologize, dear Zara!" Doc Chimp cried happily, his voice muffled as he peeled back the skin and thrust the first of the fruit into his mouth. "They're good enough for me—and the best thing that's happened to me in a month of Sundays!"
"What I really came about," Zara said to Babylon, "was to see how you were coming along. According to Org Rider, time's getting short."
The T'Worlie danced nearer and peeped. "Query: Please state reason for opinion."
Zara's expression clouded. "I wish I could be sure," she said, with a troubled note to her voice. "Ben Pertin—that's Ben Omega Pertin, as he calls himself now—has been filling Org Rider's ears with all sorts of rumors. Weapons testing in the outer chambers of the orbiter. Stories about the Watchers Unking up with the Scorpians and the Sheliaks. Even something about a human corpse turning up in the refuse for the plasma chamber—but it's all just rumors, and Ben won't talk to me himself."
Doc Chimp grinned over a mouthful of banana. "I'm not surprised at that, Zara," he remarked wickedly. Whatever the reference was, it escaped Babylon; but Zara did not elucidate, Doc Chimp did not pursue it, and in any event he was having trouble keeping his mind on the conversation. His mouth was watering.
He cleared his throat. "Do you, uh, do you think I could have one of those, Doc?" he asked diffidently.
The chimp looked alarmed, then repentant. He started to offer one of the hands to Babylon, but Zara stopped him. "Jen," she said, looking at him closely, "you know what? You actually look hungry!"