Dr. Vargas introduced me to a Doctor McIlvaine of the Smithsonian Institution; McIlvaine was a comparative psychologist, the author, so Vargas told me, of Mars, Venus, and Earth: A Study in Motivating Purposes. Vargas seemed to expect me to be impressed but I was not as I had not read it. Anyhow, how can anyone study the motives of Martians when they were all dead before we swung down out of trees?
They started swapping trade talk not intelligible to an outsider; I continued to watch the gibbons. Presently McIlvaine asked me, “Mr. Nivens, how long does a conference last?”
“Conjugation,” Vargas corrected him.
“Conference,” McIlvaine repeated. “Keep your mind on the more important aspect.”
“But, Doctor,” Vargas insisted, “there are parallels in terrestrial biology. In primitive reproduction, conjugation is the means of gene exchange whereby mutation is spread through the body of the—”
“You are being anthropocentric. Doctor. You do not know that this life form has genes.”
Vargas turned red. “I presume you will allow me gene equivalents?” he said stiffly.
“Why should I? I repeat, sir, that you are reasoning by analogy where there is no reason to judge that analogy exists. There is one and only one characteristic common to all life forms and that is the drive to survive.”
“And to reproduce,” insisted Vargas.
“Suppose the organism is immortal and has no need to reproduce?”
“But—” Vargas shrugged. “Your question is not germane; we know that they reproduce.” He gestured at the apes.
“And I am suggesting,” McIlvaine came back, “that this is not reproduction, but a single organism availing itself of more space, as a man might add a wing to his house. No, really. Doctor, I do not wish to be offensive, but it is possible to get so immersed in the idea of the zygote-gamete cycle that one forgets that there may be other patterns.”
Vargas started out, “But throughout the entire system—”
McIlvaine cut him short. “Anthropocentric, terrocentric, solocentric—it is still a provincial approach. These creatures may be from outside the solar system entirely.”
I said, “Oh, no!” I had had a sudden flash picture of the planet Titan and with it a choking sensation.
Neither one paid any attention to me. McIlvaine continued, “If you must have analogy, take the amoeba—an earlier, more basic, and much more successful life form than ours. The motivational psychology of the amoeba—”
I switched off my ears; I suppose free speech gives a man the right to talk about the ‘psychology’ of an amoeba, but I don’t have to listen. They never did get back to asking me how long a conference takes, not that I could have told them. A conference is, well—timeless.
They did do some direct experimentation which raised my opinion of them a little. Vargas ordered brought in a baboon who was wearing a slug and had him introduced into the cage with the gibbons and the chimps. Up to then the gibbons had been acting like gibbons, grooming each other and such, except that they seemed rather quiet—and kept a sharp eye on our movements. As soon as the newcomer was dumped in they gathered in a ring facing outwards and went into direct conference, slug to slug. McIlvaine jabbed his finger excitedly at them. “You see? You see? Conference is not for reproduction, but for exchange of memory. The organism, temporarily divided, has now re-identified itself.”
I could have told him the same thing without the double talk; a master who has been out of touch always gets into direct conference as soon as possible.
“Hypothesis!” Vargas snorted. “Pure hypothesis—they have no opportunity to reproduce just now. George!” He ordered the boss of the handling crew to bring in another ape.
“Little Abe?” asked the crew boss.
“No, I want one which is not supporting a parasite. Let me see—make it Old Red.”
The crew boss glanced at the gibbons, looked away at once, and said, “Gripes, Doc, I’d rather you didn’t pick on Old Red.”
“This won’t hurt him.”
“Why can’t I bring in Satan? He’s a mean bastard anyway.”
“All right, all right! But hurry it up; you are keeping Dr. McIlvaine waiting.”
So they brought in Satan, a coal black chimp. He may have been aggressive elsewhere; he was not so here. They dumped him inside, he took one look around, shrank back against the door, and began to whine. It was like watching an execution; I could not stand to look but I couldn’t look away. I had had my nerves under control—a man can get used to anything; there are people who make their livings by pumping out cesspools—but the ape’s hysteria was contagious. I wanted to run.