Aubretia frowned in mild bewilderment. “But what kind of morality are you talking about? Five thousand years ago there were men in the world, and morality was a matter of emotional balance between men and women at a time when there was no such thing as parthenogenesis. Now we have only women and universal parthenogenesis. You can’t expect the same kind of morality.”
“That’s the master brain talking,” said Aquilegia, twisting her lips cynically. “It might be true if the evolutionary doctrine were true, that man had been eliminated as an unnecessary eugenic complication. But men destroyed themselves, and artificial parthenogenesis had to come, otherwise the entire human race would have died out in one generation.”
“We were talking about morality.”
“It hasn’t really changed in five thousand years; it has altered, and only superficially. True morality is based on the concept of two sexes. The moment you erase one of them you set up unbalance and conflict That is natural.”
“I’ll grant that for a moment.”
“But there is no unbalance or conflict in the contemporary world. Not on the surface.”
“So?”
“It has been resolved by the master brain in terms of homosexuality, coupled with a rigid mortic law structure”
“But isn’t that better than what you call unbalance and conflict?”
Aquilegia shook her head fiercely “Not when it involves a living lie and the propagation of perversion as the right and normal thing.”
Aubretia sighed, then yawned delicately “I’m afraid it’s rather too deep for me, or perhaps you’re trying to tell me too much in one night Let’s sleep on it I have a friend, but she’s out of town for two or three days, so you can stay here in the meantime. But I can only repeat that I don’t remember you, or rather your parthenogentic twin sister, Aquilegia. All that you’ve told me is strange and weird, and I don’t know if I believe it or not.”
“Given time I can convince you,” said Aquilegia
In the early morning, when the sky was gray, presaging dawn, Aubretia moved silently out of her bed and dialled a number on the videophone A hard female face glared pinkly at her from the monitor screen.
“Hello,” she whispered. “Police headquarters. Please come right away. There’s a woman in my apartment, an ex-government scientist and a member of a subversive group. She is hiding from the Department of Mortic Revenue.”
The pink face remained expressionless. “Stay where you are. We shall be there within the minute.”
Aubretia switched off the videophone with a sigh of relief.
Part Two
The Monkey
VI
They kept the monkey for two years, during which time they injected some two gallons of estrogen derivative into it. Then they killed it and cut it open. Rinehart came into the laboratory to watch. He was a small shrunken man with a bristling black beard and dark birdlike eyes that gleamed restlessly. The monkey was small and brown, of the Rhesus type, with sleek fur and beady eyes glazed in death.
Slade removed the ovaries; waxed them, made microtome sections, stained them, then passed the finished slides to Gorste. He slipped them under the microscope and focused the binocular eyepiece.
“Hopeful,” he said presently.
“Any sign of follicular tissue?” That was Rinehart.
“No”
“Or degeneration of the active surface?”
“I never saw a monkey with finer ovaries.”
“Try the transverse sections.”
Gorste changed slides. The pattern of the cells was clean and crisp, and regular as a honeycomb. He adjusted the fight minutely and made a measurement with a luminance meter.
“Refractive index about normal,” he said. “No sign of morbid granulation.”
“And no sign of fertility.”
“None whatever.”
Gorste glanced briefly at Rinehart. His lips were moist where he had recently licked them, and his eyes were hard and glittering with a suppressed inner fervour Then Gorste caught Slade’s eye; the expression of the other mans face did not change, but he winked laconically
“How long will it take to prepare a complete analysis?” Rinehart asked.
Gorste considered for a moment. “About three weeks, perhaps four. There are six other monkeys and a large number of biochemical tests to be made”
“Try to hurry it up, Gorste. The board keep pressing me for results.”
“I wonder if they realize the problems involved.”
“They don’t have to. They pay our salaries. All they are interested in is results.”
“Well, results don’t grow on a tree.”
Rinehart pouted. “You don’t have to adopt that tone with me, Gorste. I’m aware of the difficulties”
“I’m not adopting any tone,” Gorste stated bluntly “At the same time I don’t care to have my department criticized and hustled by a bunch of businessmen who wouldn’t know a chromosome from the back end of an elephant We’ll get results, but it will take time. These things can’t be rushed.” Rinehart waved one hand excitedly. “Nobody is criticizing you, Gorste. The board are most satisfied with the progress you have made, and they fully realize that this job is a long term project.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward a little obsequiously. “All I’m asking is that we should have a comprehensive report to submit as soon as possible.”
Gorste nodded without speaking. Rinehart paused uncertainly, smoothing the palms of his hands down his shoddy black coat. Then, wagging his head vigorously as if renouncing any responsibility for the idiosyncrasies of his directors or the aggressive stubbornness of his biological research staff, he walked swiftly from the laboratory Slade pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and the two men lit up in silence.
“Funny old codger,” Slade murmured eventually, grinning faintly.
Gorste inhaled deeply and blew an abortive smoke ring. He gripped the cigarette tightly to suppress the slight trembling of his fingers. “He’s a fusspot,” he pronounced without emotion. “He’s scared to death of the board.”
“He comes into contact with them. We don’t.”
Gorste picked up the tail of the dead monkey and allowed it to flop back on to the dissecting board. It was already showing signs of stiffening.
“I’m damned if I can see what use this research is going to be commercially,” he said. “It must have cost hundreds of thousands of dollars already.”
“True.”
“How can you exploit sterility as a commercial proposition?”
Slade shrugged his shoulders; his pale blue eyes were cynical. “Some people have made a fortune out of contraceptives, so why not Biochemix Incorporated?”
Gorste curled his lips doubtfully. “I’m not sure. It’s going to take a great deal of hard selling to persuade women to buy an estrogen derivative injection. There are easier ways, you know.”
“Yes, but how reliable?”
Gorste turned back to the microscope and inspected two more slides. They were perfect. After two years of systematic injection calculated to paralyse the normal fertility of the female monkey’s reproductive system, the ovaries were abundantly healthy — but sterile. There was no discernible indication of the normal physiological cycle of ovum production. The estrogen derivative had done its job with silent efficiency.
Gorste extinguished his cigarette and pushed the microscope to the back of the bench. “By the time I’ve dissected and examined all of the test monkeys, I’ll be dreaming about ovaries,” he said sourly.