time from now. Nearly two thousand years. How far back did you have records?”
“I don’t know. Cornelius would have better information. We had some records, copies of human records, that go back into your past, Dr. Hasslein. But we didn’t have details of anything much over a thousand years old.”
“I see. You are getting sleepy, and here comes Dr. Dixon. He’ll see you get to bed.” Hasslein retrieved his cigarette case as Lewis came in.
“You’re all right?” Lewis demanded. “I was told she had a fainting spell.”
“Nothing to be worried about,” Hasslein assured him. “But perhaps you don’t know. Madame Zira will be a mother shortly. I’ll leave you with your patient, Dr. Dixon. Good afternoon.”
Lewis watched Hasslein put his cigarette case in his pocket and leave the suite. He watched until the scientist was gone, and then turned to Zira, noting the nearly empty champagne bottle, and Zira’s slack smile. Just what had Hasslein learned? And what would he do with the knowledge? Lewis Dixon was suddenly afraid.
THIRTEEN
It was warm in Washington, far too warm, and the president wished he were back in the Western White House in California. If it were left to him he’d move the whole government out there, except it couldn’t really be done. All those bureaus and bureaucrats—of course, he could do without a lot of them, but not without the embassies. He sighed again thinking about California, then buzzed his secretary.
“Who’s next, Mary Lynn?”
“Dr. Hasslein, Mister President.”
“Oh.” He sighed again. What would Victor want this time? He seemed so upset about the chimpanzees. “All right. Send him in.”
Hasslein came, into the oval office and stood, straight and still, in front of the president’s desk. Except for the military people, Hasslein was the only man who stood quite that way, and the president often wondered if the scientist were a frustrated soldier.
“What can I do for you, Victor?”
“I made a tape last week, Mister President. While I interviewed the female chimpanzee. I’d like you to listen to it.”
“All right.” The president got up from behind the big desk and came around to the couch on the other side. He motioned Hasslein to a chair. “Can I get you anything, Victor? A beer, perhaps? I’ll have one myself.”
“No, thank you, sir.” He set the small tape recorder/player on the coffee table and waited until the president had opened the beer he took from the refrigerator under the end table.
“Just how did you get that tape?”
“With a clandestine recorder the CIA people gave me. A cigarette case.” Hasslein started the tape. It began with his own voice—“How long have you known you were—uh, going to have a child?” Zira answered. Eventually it ended.
The president drank the last of his beer. “So?”
“So?” Hasslein stood and paced angrily. “So Mister President, we have evidence that some day talking apes will dominate the earth. They will live in a civilization, if you can call it that, with very little science and no technology. Humans will be dumb animals, probably mistreated. And in less than two thousand years those apes will destroy the earth, killing themselves and all humans as well.”
“I doubt we will be in office then,” the president said.
“Really, sir, I am serious.”
“So am I, Victor. I have an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, and to preserve and protect the people and nation. I don’t see how these apes are much of a threat to that oath—or, for that matter, what I am supposed to do about a theoretical threat to the earth that doesn’t mature for almost two thousand years.”
Hasslein continued to pace. He said nothing.
“Come now,” the president said. “Victor, what the devil do you expect me to do about it? What can we do about it?”
“Mister President, can apes talk now?”
“Eh? Of course not, Victor.”
“After thousands—millions—of years of evolution, they
“I don’t know. Cornelius would have better information. We had some records, copies of human records, that go back into your past, Dr. Hasslein. But we didn’t have details of anything much over a thousand years old.”
“I see. You are getting sleepy, and here comes Dr. Dixon. He’ll see you get to bed.” Hasslein retrieved his cigarette case as Lewis came in.
“You’re all right?” Lewis demanded. “I was told she had a fainting spell.”
“Nothing to be worried about,” Hasslein assured him. “But perhaps you don’t know. Madame Zira will be a mother shortly. I’ll leave you with your patient, Dr. Dixon. Good afternoon.”
Lewis watched Hasslein put his cigarette case in his pocket and leave the suite. He watched until the scientist was gone, and then turned to Zira, noting the nearly empty champagne bottle, and Zira’s slack smile. Just what had Hasslein learned? And what would he do with the knowledge? Lewis Dixon was suddenly afraid.
THIRTEEN
It was warm in Washington, far too warm, and the president wished he were back in the Western White House in California. If it were left to him he’d move the whole government out there, except it couldn’t really be done. All those bureaus and bureaucrats—of course, he could do without a lot of them, but not without the embassies. He sighed again thinking about California, then buzzed his secretary.
“Who’s next, Mary Lynn?”
“Dr. Hasslein, Mister President.”
“Oh.” He sighed again. What would Victor want this time? He seemed so upset about the chimpanzees. “All right. Send him in.”
Hasslein came, into the oval office and stood, straight and still, in front of the president’s desk. Except for the military people, Hasslein was the only man who stood quite that way, and the president often wondered if the scientist were a frustrated soldier.
“What can I do for you, Victor?”
“I made a tape last week, Mister President. While I interviewed the female chimpanzee. I’d like you to listen to it.”
“All right.” The president got up from behind the big desk and came around to the couch on the other side. He motioned Hasslein to a chair. “Can I get you anything, Victor? A beer, perhaps? I’ll have one myself.”
“No, thank you, sir.” He set the small tape recorder/player on the coffee table and waited until the president had opened the beer he took from the refrigerator under the end table.
“Just how did you get that tape?”
“With a clandestine recorder the CIA people gave me. A cigarette case.” Hasslein started the tape. It began with his own voice—“How long have you known you were—uh, going to have a child?” Zira answered. Eventually it ended.
The president drank the last of his beer. “So?”
“So?” Hasslein stood and paced angrily. “So Mister President, we have evidence that some day talking apes will dominate the earth. They will live in a civilization, if you can call it that, with very little science and no technology. Humans will be dumb animals, probably mistreated. And in less than two thousand years those apes will destroy the earth, killing themselves and all humans as well.”
“I doubt we will be in office then,” the president said.
“Really, sir, I am serious.”
“So am I, Victor. I have an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, and to preserve and protect the people and nation. I don’t see how these apes are much of a threat to that oath—or, for that matter, what I am supposed to do about a theoretical threat to the earth that doesn’t mature for almost two thousand years.”
Hasslein continued to pace. He said nothing.
“Come now,” the president said. “Victor, what the devil do you expect me to do about it? What can we do about it?”
“Mister President, can apes talk now?”
“Eh? Of course not, Victor.”
“After thousands—millions—of years of evolution, they
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