Equality in the Year 2000, page 18
part #2 of Julian West Series
She said, scowling slightly, "It's all possible, but not usual. For one thing, our cousin the chimpanzee isn't practical. That is, not as efficient as a robot. He doesn't have an opposed thumb. And he is shortlived and clumsy. Talking dogs or, say, horses? Who wants to talk to a horse? Dogs? In actuality, I have seen a few talking dogs, but I've never been comfortable with them, even those who have also had their intelligence increased. I love dogs the way they have always been, man's comrade. It always sets me back to have them tell me good morning. However, there are other things that make more sense."
"Such as?"
"Growing arms and hands on dolphins, so that they can perform underwater tasks."
He closed his eyes in pain. "Why not just switch man around so that he has gills and can breathe underwater?"
"That too is quite possible. However, man is a land animal, Jule. I told you how much we fear playing God."
He said, "My mind is reeling. Look, in this mythological zoo things do you have, say mermaids and centaurs?"
"No, nor the sphinx—a man's head on a lion's body—though it would be possible to create them. However, we have no desire to make such mockeries of men. Theoretically, I suppose, they could come up with a vampire of the Dracula school." She thought about it, her mouth twisted in amusement. "The basic requirements would be a man-type creature that was allergic to daylight and who could live on blood."
"Live on blood! Come on now. No mammal could live on a blood diet."
"Vampire bats do, don't they? Those down in the tropics of Mexico. Also that tribe of Africans, the Masai, or whatever their name was… didn't they live on an exclusive diet of cow's blood and milk? That's fairly near to it. Perhaps they'd have to feed our artificially manufactured vampire vitamin and mineral supplements or something."
Julian attempted to enter into the spirit of the thing. "But sun allergy and living on blood were only two of the requirements. How about killing them by driving a stake through their hearts, or shooting them with a silver bullet?"
"I'd think either method would be effective with just about any human-type creature, vampire or otherwise."
"Well, how about them being able to turn themselves into either a bat or a wolf?"
It was her turn to laugh. "I surrender. I think science will have to experiment around a bit more before that would be possible."
"I'd hate to see them turn out even the abbreviated vampire you say is now possible."
"Good heavens, sir, I didn't say they would; I simply said they could."
"I don't know how we got off this track. But this genetic engineering, as you called it… If your biologists and genetic engineers can mess around with life to this extent, why don't you, say, double the I.Q.—or triple it, for that matter—of every new child born?"
"It's been considered. In fact, the debate still goes on, and possibly will for years. I told you they were treading carefully, Jule. You see, we're a bit leery of having the godhead turned over to the race."
"Well, certainly, if it were possible to assure that every new child born had an I.Q. of at least one-hundred fifty…"
Edith sighed before interrupting him. "That's the basic problem, Jule. What would you rather be, smart or happy?"
He regarded her dubiously. "Are they necessarily in conflict with each other?"
"That's what we don't know. Let us say that one hundred is the average intelligent quotient. A person with an I.Q. of fifty is most likely an unhappy person. But is a person with an I.Q. of one-hundred fifty also out of step with society? Not to speak of one with an I.Q. of two-hundred or even higher."
"Damned if I know, but if everyone was upped to an I.Q. of two-hundred, they'd all be in the same boat."
She nodded. "That's the way the argument goes. But there are ramifications. For instance, when I was a young girl, for some reason not clear to me now, everybody wanted to be tall. Especially men wanted to be at least six feet. A man six-feet-four, or taller, was particularly admired. Why? Why was the Swede with an average height of something like six feet considered superior to, say, a Japanese, whose average was a bit over five feet? At the time of their conquest, the Aztecs averaged less than five feet, their women about four feet, eight inches. It didn't seem to be a handicap."
He shook his head. "I never thought about it."
She said, "The world is still overpopulated. Why don't we let our genetic engineers breed down the size of our people to three feet? It would save both food and room. Our houses, our cars, everything could become one half the size, use one half the materials to construct."
"Why three feet?" he complained. "Why not one foot?"
"Why not? That's the question. When man issued forth from the caves a few thousand years ago, it was necessary for him to be as big as possible to fight off his animal enemies, and as smart as possible to solve the problems that confronted him. It seems unlikely that the very earliest man was much smarter than, say, the chimpanzee and probably not too much larger. He upgraded himself through natural selection. Those who were smaller were killed off, both by animals and by his fellow man. He was also eliminated from breeding, because the larger males took all the desirable, healthy females. The same applied to I.Q. The more stupid fell by the wayside, leaving the more intelligent to breed and pass on their genes."
"That's pretty basic—and obvious."
"Very well, Jule. The question now becomes, in this age, why should being either big, or more intelligent, be desirable?"
"This is the damnedest debate I think I've ever been in. Ever since I was a child, 1 wanted to be a good physical specimen and as smart as possible."
"I didn't say anything against being a good physical specimen. Size has nothing to do with that. But there's your basic question. Would man be happier if he had an average I.Q. of two-hundred, or three-thousand, or whatever? And that is one of the big questions being argued by our best authorities on the matter."
"And what answers do they come up with?"
"None, so far. We are in no hurry. As I told you, we have become more humble of recent decades. We are very cold-bloodedly deciding where we want to go, and trying to decide whether future generations will agree with the path we choose. We are very humble, Jule."
He said, "Every day that passes, I come up against things that flabbergast me. What do you say we go on? Not only do I want to see a saber-toothed tiger, but I'm just dying to examine what your biologists have cooked up in the way of a dragon." He added, grinning, "By the way, they haven't come up with a Push-You-Pull-Me, have they? A mythical beast out of Doctor Doolittle?"
"I'm sorry. That one escapes me."
"You've neglected some required childhood reading. It was an animal that looked somewhat like a horse, and had a head on each end."
It was her turn to look blank. "How did it—"
"Damned if I know. I never figured it out."
She smiled. "Well, let's go see the sabertooth."
He said, "Just a moment. First, possibly we should talk about that discussion I was having with your Father."
She settled back into her seat on the bench. "I forgot. It's always so fascinating to bring these new things to you."
He said very deliberately, "Your apartment and mine have been bugged. That is, someone has tapped both our TV phones, and has installed electronic devices that enable them to hear every conversation that takes place in your apartment. I've gimmicked the one bug they had in my place, but I assume they'll either try to repair it or put a new one in shortly."
She eyed him. "But… who?"
"I'm not sure, but I have my suspicions. Your father is evidently knee-deep in what we would have called 'politics' in my time."
Her eyes turned thoughtful.
Julian said softly, "I lied to young Sean the other day."
Her forehead wrinkled. "How do you mean?"
"I know of at least ten persons I have killed. At least. Men, women, and… one child. In the last case, we were racing through a small hamlet, scared to death, anything that moved…"
"What are you talking about? You sound half out of your mind."
"I'm talking about the fact that for some reason which I don't understand, because I'm out of my depth in this world of yours, somebody is making an attempt on your father's life. And, so far as I know, I am probably the most competent bodyguard alive in United America."
"You're insane!"
"Yes, you said that. Now, this is what I need. You say you are a student of anthropology and archaeology. I assume you have access to museums. I want a high-calibered handgun, a nine-millimeter Luger or a .45 Colt. I want at least twenty rounds of ammunition for it and two clips, magazines, the things that hold the cartridges. I also need a combat knife… a trench knife, they sometimes call them. I don't know what you'll be able to steal out of the museums in this immediate vicinity. If you can get more than one trench knife, try to do so, so I can have a choice. The German ones can be used as throwing knives, as well as a close-combat weapon. That's the one I would prefer, but do the best you can."
"You're mad!"
"Yes, of course. And your fathers life, and mine, and possibly yours are in immediate danger. I haven't the vaguest idea in hell why."
"But if someone hated my father so much, why haven't they already killed him?"
"Possibly they've already tried and were too inept. In the past few days he's been mugged and an attempt made to wreck his car while he was going at high speed. Get the gun and trench knife, Edith. Immediately. And now let's go see that sabertooth, and the dragons. I still can't believe it."
Chapter Seventeen
The Year 1940
There seemed to be somewhat of a change in the quality of Julian West's dreams since he had arrived in the twenty-first century, rather, the First Century, New Calendar, as they called it now. From time to time he had flashbacks to yesteryear that weren't particularly nightmares, but simply a reliving of the past. But no, this particular one was a nightmare.
It had been on a trip from their Miami Beach home to Nassau, in the Bahamas, on his father's yacht. Go West, a one-hundred twenty-foot motor cruiser. Barry and Betty West had invited three other couples, and Julian, who was only six or seven at the time, was allowed to come. The crew consisted of six: the captain, the engineer, two hands and two in the steward department. The captain and engineer were full-time employees, but Barry West made it a practice to hire the hands only when he planned a cruise. The two stewards, one of whom doubled as cook, were employees in the West mansion in Miami Beach and were drafted each time the Go West shipped out. It wasn't a matter of expense; the Wests simply liked to be in the care of servants who knew exactly how they liked things.
The dream began early in the morning.
Julian, who had a small stateroom of his own toward the stern, had awakened and dressed himself, and momentarily considered going to the master stateroom up foreward to see if his mother and father would invite him into their bed for a romp. But no, he decided, they had all been drinking very heavily the day before, and he had been able to hear them late into the night. It was nothing new; he would be hard put to remember an evening when his parents weren't wobbly with drink. He then considered going to the galley and seeing if Edward was available to talk to. But no, Edward would probably be busy getting ready for breakfast. If past cruises were any criteria, breakfast would stretch over several hours as the hungover guests emerged one by one from their cabins.
Edward was a favorite of little Julian's—one of the few West servants who, when they were alone, treated him as an individual rather than as "the young master." He spent as much time as Edward could find free talking to the middle-aged, sad-faced servant. Edward had been around for as long as Julian could remember, which was exceptional in the West household. Servants were apt to come and go, particularly when one or the other or both of the Wild Wests got on a nasty binge.
Julian decided instead to go up to the bridge and see if the captain would let him play around the ship's controls. Perhaps he could even steer. He loved to steer and usually Captain Fielding didn't mind on a clear day when the sea wasn't too choppy.
He made his way up to the deck and then climbed the aft ladderway to the sundeck. For a time he stood at the fantail rail. The overcast was starting to burn off and the sea was beginning to glint. The yacht was quartering into a northeast wind, the propellers churning up the impossibly blue Bahama waters. Three gulls followed gracefully. He knew that had it been night, there would be a faint green-white phosphorescence in the wake.
He turned and went foreward to the topside controls, forward of the sundeck. But the captain wasn't there. The yacht was on autopilot and one of the seamen, the one called Jack, was on watch. Julian instinctively knew that Jack didn't like small boys, even if he was in no position to do or say anything about it.
Julian took the co-pilot seat and sat there awhile, his hands in his lap. They were already in the Bahama archipelago, and passing through scores of small islands and islets, coral reefs and shoals. From time to time he could spot colorful birds and once they passed fifteen pelicans standing on a bar in a straight line in a couple of inches of water.
Julian stood on the co-pilot seat and lifted the two sight vanes of the pelorus atop the gyrocompass. He moved the pelorus around so that he could take a bearing on a small lighthouse on an islet about a mile off. Captain Fielding had shown him how to take a bearing. He wasn't quite sure why you took a bearing, but he knew it was part of running the ship and he was proud that he could do it.
Jack said grumpily, "Maybe you shouldn't do that, boy."
Julian looked at the other levelly for a moment. The man had seen Julian playing with the pelorus before, when the captain was present. However, Julian was in no mood to make an issue of it. Even at this early time in life he disliked controversy and avoided it when he could. It was probably a reaction against all the tiffs, the emotional crises, the verbal brawls that were almost the daily diet of the West family.
He got down from the seat without a word and left. He went down to the lounge and found that there was still no one up. He passed through it, and walked past the galley. He peered in but both his friend Edward and the cook were much too busy to bother with him. He went on down the corridor to the master bedroom. He'd peer in and see if Barry and Betty were still asleep.
The door was not locked. He opened it and peeked inside. The curtains were drawn at the portholes and the room very dim, but he could make out his father's form in the bed, though not his mother's. He could hear water running in the bathroom. Hesitantly, he crept in to check if Barry West was still asleep.
He approached the side of the bed quietly.
And then the door to the bath opened and a woman came out, a woman who was completely naked. At first he thought it was his mother but then he realized with a shock that this woman was a brunette; his mother was blonde.
He shrank back. A closet door, half open, was immediately behind him. She hadn't seen him as yet. He backed into the closet and softly closed the door until it was only open a crack. Where was his mother?
Humming softly, the woman approached the bed. The air conditioning wasn't on, since nights were cool on the ocean, but the sun had come up by now and Barry West, who habitually slept nude, had pushed aside the bedsheet.
Julian could recognize her now. It was Mrs. Simmons. She was younger than the other guests, and Julian had thought her very pretty. She had done a good deal of gushing over him when he had been presented to her, but he had liked her anyway. Most grown-ups gushed; you got used to it.
His eyes rounded and he held a hand over his mouth when she reached down to touch his father.
Although Julian couldn't see his eyes open in the dimness, his father evidently awoke. He jerked into a half-sitting position and yelped, "Why, you little devil you! Didn't you have enough last night?"
Mrs. Simmons giggled and said something in a low, husky voice that Julian couldn't hear.
Where was his mother? Could she possibly be in some other cabin—doing things like this with one of the other guests?
He was about to dash out of the closet and away from the room. But just then a perfunctory knock came at the door and before Mrs. Simmons could jerk away, the door opened and Edward came in, carrying bedding.
He stood there a moment in confusion, then stammered, "I'm sorry, sir. I thought you were topside, sir. I… I…"
Mrs. Simmons had turned her head away and put her hands over her face.
But Barry West, in a high rage, scrambled from the bed and stood up. He roared, "Get out of here, you goddamned ass! Get out! Get out!"
Edward whirled and stumbled out, hurriedly closing the door behind him.
Julian closed the closet door completely and backed as far into the closet as he could, trembling all over.
In the stateroom beyond, he could hear voices, his father's shaking in anger, but with a tone of soothing reassurance. And he could hear clothing rustling. He hoped beyond all hope that there would be no need for Barry West to get something from this closet.
His prayer was answered, since after about ten minutes there were no more sounds from the cabin. Julian carefully edged the door open just a trifle. There was no one in the stateroom. He crept out and hurried for the door.
As he ran down the corridor, breathing heavily, his mother came out of one of the guest cabins. She was dressed in a night robe, and, as always, looked so pretty to the young boy.
She eyed Julian with surprise. "Why, Jule, what are you doing up and around?"
He stuttered a bit and managed to say, "I… I was just going up to the bridge, Mama. Uh, to see if the captain would let me steer."
She looked at him. "Well, run along. I'll be up for breakfast a little later."
When he got back up to the sundeck, he was still terribly shaken. They were entering the beautiful Nassau harbor, heading for the Prince George Wharf. He had been to Nassau once before and knew the routine. The captain would be on the bridge now, directing the docking, asking for port instructions on the FM-UHF marine radio, handling the wheel himself. He would have no time for little Julian, who would only be in the way. Julian remained where he was, watching.
