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“We thought they were all that way,” Zira said, “until we met Colonel Taylor. He was the first talking human we’d ever known.”
“I think,” Lewis said slowly, “I think perhaps you were right not to tell them you’d known him. What happened to Taylor, anyway?”
“That was the other reason we didn’t tell about him,” Cornelius said.”
“Yes,” Zira added. “They would have asked what happened to him, whether he’s still alive.”
“And he’s dead,” Lewis said with finality. He paused a moment and took in a deep breath. “I knew him, you know. Not well, but I worked with him once—you know he’s dead, then? Know for sure?”
“Yes,” Cornelius answered. “After we achieved orbit, we could see Earth below. From the ship. And we looked down and saw the earth destroyed.”
Stevie gasped. Then she looked up at Zira. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Just what do you mean, the earth destroyed?”
“Just that,” Zira replied. “There was a glare and an explosion.”
“And Colonel Taylor was down there?” asked Lewis.
“Yes,” Cornelius replied. “He—he wasn’t able to come with us in the rocket.”
“But what did you mean, the world destroyed?” Stephanie insisted.
Cornelius sighed. “Just that. The gorillas wanted possession of a weapon. Something left from the old days. Milo thought that it would destroy the earth if it were used. Evidently someone used it.”
“The whole earth,” Lewis said. He didn’t even hear himself speaking.
“Yes,” Cornelius answered. “The whole earth. And now, I think you understand why we were less than frank with your commissioners.”
“I still don’t like it,” Zira said. “I don’t like lies and deceit. But what can we do?”
Lewis shrugged. “It’s time for Dr. Hasslein.” He went over to turn on the television.
“And now the Big News presents Dr. Victor Hasslein,” the a
“As our Big News viewers know by now, the whole nation is excited about talking chimpanzees. These two apes impressed this reporter, as I am sure they impressed everyone in the room. They answered questions, made jokes, and quite literally spoke and thought as well as any human. Dr. Hasslein, was that your impression?”
The camera pa
“And what do you think about that, Dr. Hasslein?” The interviewer leaned forward and gave his famous look of intelligent concern, a look familiar to millions of six o’clock news viewers. “What does this make you feel?”
“Frightened,” Hasslein said firmly.
“Why is that?”
Hasslein shrugged. “Anything that completely upsets what we thought were known scientific facts is a bit frightening,” Hasslein said smoothly. He smiled as if to show it really wasn’t important.
“Would you say that this shows a potential for intelligence in other apes?”
Hasslein shrugged again. “I would think no,” he said. “We have, after all, rather thoroughly studied apes, and I think we have established the limits of their intelligence. Apes have been raised in human households, as children might be raised. In one experiment, you may recall, a chimpanzee and a human child of similar ages were raised by the child’s parents together as sisters, with absolutely no differences in treatment. Yet, after a few years, the chimpanzee could not speak and had fallen very far behind her human counterpart. No, I think these apes are from a genetically different strain. Quite different.”
“I see.” The interviewer smiled again to show the audience who was the star of the show. “Now, Dr. Hasslein, when you asked the male ape, uh, Cornelius, where he came from, he replied ‘From your future.’ Do you believe that?”
“Absolutely. It’s the only possible explanation,” Hasslein answered. He leaned forward to peer intently into the camera, and to the apes watching him on the screen he seemed almost to come into the room.
“He—frightens me,” Zira said.
“Well he might,” Lewis told her. “But you’ve got to get along with him. Oh, the entire Commission could probably overrule him, if we wanted to badly enough; but the president listens to Hasslein. Don’t blame the president, you understand. Hasslein’s brilliant, and he has a talent for explaining complicated subjects to educated laymen. Just remember, you’ve got to get along with him.”
“Shh,” Stevie said. She put her hand on his lips and gri
“I’m afraid, Dr. Hasslein,” the interviewer was saying, “that I don’t find it at all obvious what the ape meant. How could they be from our future? Is time travel actually possible?”
Hasslein smiled thinly. “Walter, there will be nothing simple about this explanation. I do not myself actually understand time, although I have written papers about its nature, mathematical papers. Men will probably never understand time. Only God can do that. But perhaps I can give an illustration, of something I call infinite regression—”
The interviewer winced, but Hasslein smiled. “It is not that difficult, Walter,” he said. “Remember the Morton’s Salt Box? On it there is a little girl carrying a box of Morton’s salt. On her box there is a little girl, also carrying a box of Morton’s salt. And so forth, until, of course, the engraver became tired and did not bother to make the actual detailed picture within a picture within a picture . . .”
“I suppose,” the interviewer said. He looked sharply at Hasslein, and the look said quite a lot. It said, “Whoever told me this guy knew what he was talking about?”
“The same was true of the old Quaker Oats boxes,” Hasslein said. “On those boxes was a man holding a box of Quaker Oats, and so forth. Now, let us see this in a different direction. Let us imagine a landscape painting. In order for it to be realistic, the painter would have to place himself in the painting, would he not? Otherwise something would be missing?”
“Why—yes.”
Hasslein smiled. “Excellent. But of course, now, in order for it to be realistic, the painting within the painting would itself have to contain a picture of the artist painting a picture of the artist painting a picture of the landscape. And, in fact, I that is not quite realistic either, is it? One would have to regress again. And again, and again—”
“It would never be accurate,” the interviewer exclaimed.
“Perhaps not,” Hasslein said. “But in order to understand time, you would have to be like the artist who had done an infinite series of such paintings until he had actually succeeded in portraying the scene realistically.”
“That’s enough to drive you mad,” the interviewer said.
Hasslein shrugged. “Perhaps. But let us imagine, then, that we have this capability. That we have made the, ah, infinite regression, and we are both the observers and the observed. And now let us look at time.”
“What would we see?” Walter asked.
“We might well see it as an infinity of parallel events, but not always parallel. Science fiction writers once called this, ah, ‘fan-shaped’ time; from ‘now’ there stretches forward a large number of alternative pathways. Some come back to the same path. Others lead very far away indeed. And thus, the choices made here determine different futures. In one of these futures, you will leave this building at eight-fifteen, precisely in time to be killed by an automobile which left the parking garage at eight-twelve.”
“I think I do not care for that future,” Walter said nervously. He laughed.