Mack Reynolds - Brain World

“Yeah,” Ronny said. “Everything’s brainy on this world.”

When Boy came abreast the skipper, he stuck up his paw to be shaken and said, “Glad to be aboard, Captain. My name’s Boy.”

Wald, looking as blank as had Ronny and Dorn when they had first come in contact with the talking dog, first shook his head, then shook the paw.

The skipper led the way to their quarters, which were ample enough. In her day, before becoming a tramp, the Cherokee had been an interplanetary passenger-freighter with accommodations for twenty, in addition to the crew. She seldom carried passengers these days, being on the rundown side, but the cabins were still available.

The run to New Delos was uneventful and Ronny and Dorn killed most of the time either reading or playing battle chess. Spotted two tanks and a machine gun nest, Ronny sometimes even won.

Largely, they avoided discussing their mission. There was simply nothing more to say at this point.

An exception was one day, after they had wearied of playing, when out of a clear sky Ronny exploded.

“Those damn Einstein funkers,” he snarled.

Dorn looked over at him.

Ronny said, “The bastards supposedly have the best brains mankind has ever developed and look at what they’re doing. Risking the whole race.”

Dorn thought about it. “It was you,” he said mildly, “who pointed out that high intelligence doesn’t guarantee integrity.”

He pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and went on. “In developing a viable intelligent life form, you have three requirements, a brain, a hand with an opposed thumb, or its equivalent, and a voice box with its necessary complement, the ear—or the equivalent, such as telepathy. Once given those basics, you can begin to develop all three. In a surprisingly short time, speaking in terms of evolution of species, the brain can be augmented. Bringing the hand up from the point where it can grasp and utilize a sharp rock to where it can thread a needle or assemble a micro-computer, is also possible. Evolving the voice box from the point where it can grunt, bark and whine to the level where it can render the Jewel Song from Faust , and evolving an ear that will appreciate the effort, is time-consuming, but it only takes time.

“But the evolution of a high ethic is still more time-consuming and man, certainly, is still at the task. The sands of our beaches are littered with those who have drowned in the attempt, from the Hebrew prophets, through the Buddah and Joshua of Nazareth to more recent examples, some too close to us for us to realize that this was what they were attempting to do. Our Voltaires, our Tom Paines, our Lincolns, our Ghandis, not to mention so many of our poets.”

Ronny said, “Wizard. I’ve never heard you wax so poetic, Dorn.”

Boy, who had been sprawled out on the floor next to Plotz, opened one eye and said, accusingly, “How’s a dog supposed to get any sleep around here?”

They ignored him and Dorn said, “Evidently, our friends from Einstein have yet to achieve a high ethic. We can only hope that the Dawnmen are more advanced in this respect.”

Ronny snorted deprecation at that. He said, “The planet Phrygia now has an atmosphere of methane, hydrogen and ammonia, as a result of the Dawnworlds’ attack. Does that sound like a high ethical code?”

“They were provoked,” Dorn said unhappily.

Ronny Bronston had been on New Delos once before. In fact, it had been the first planet, save Earth, he had ever set down upon. It had been his first assignment and Lee Chang Chu had been along to shepherd the fledging Section G agent. Theoretically, he had been in pursuit of the legendary Tommy Paine, an interplanetary revolutionist who had participated in the overthrow of a score of governments, socioeconomic systems and even religions. His latest escapade had been assisting the local revolutionists in the assassination, with a bomb, of the immortal god-king of New Delos. The planet was governed by a very restrictive theocracy, headed by this god-king, who supposedly never died. In actuality, approximately every twenty years, the ruling bishops of the church would get together and elect from their number a new head. Plastic surgery would then be used so that the new god-king would look exactly like the old to the people. Reactionary though the government was, there had seldom been revolt. It takes a brave man to rebel against both his kind and his god. However, Tommy Paine supposedly entered onto the scene and the god-king, while being televised all over the planet, was assassinated by the local revolutionists. The revolution then took place overnight, and was in full swing when Ronny and Lee Chang had arrived.

It was only later that Ronny Bronston found out that there was no such person as Tommy Paine. He was, in actuality, a cover for Section G when they secretly committed some of their subversive acts against members of United Planets who were failing to progress because of reactionary institutions.

New Delos had changed considerably since Ronny had been there before. For one thing, the capital city, formerly on the sleepy side, had doubled in size and was abustle with activity. The spaceport was also considerably larger and there were a dozen spaceships of varying size on the field. Obviously, New Delos was conducting a wide trade with her fellow members of United Planets. Under the god-king she had been what amounted to a hermit planet, with as little intercourse with other worlds as she could manage.

Among the spaceships, was a Space Forces cruiser. Captain Joe Wald set the Cherokee down as near to it as he could.

Ronny Bronston and Dorn Horsten had long since packed. They said hurried goodbyes and, accompanied by the dogs, started in the direction of the SFC Alexander Hamilton .

Plotz, happy at the chance for some exercise after the cooped up period on the Cherokee trotted ahead.

Ronny looked down at Boy, who was pacing along beside him. He said, “What are you looking so smug about?”

Boy hung his tongue out for a couple of quick pants and said, “Didn’t you notice? Plotz was in heat, back on the Cherokee .”

Ronny rolled his eyes upward. “Oh, wizard. A great lover I’ve got on my hands. She’ll probably have the pups before we get back to Earth—always assuming we do.”

Boy gave his bobbed tail several wags. “Sixty-three days,” he said with satisfaction. “Gestation period is about sixty-three days. I understand that you humans take nine months. Waste of time.”

Lee Chang Chu and a tall, uniformed Space Forces officer were awaiting them at the top of the gangplank. As always, she was dressed in a silken Cheongsam . And, just as characteristic, she was demurely smiling as the two Section G agents approached, a mere Oriental woman in the presence of men.

When Ronny and Dorn reached the hatchway she said, “Supervisor Ronald Bronston, Agent Dorn Horsten, let me introduce you to Captain John Fodor, commander of the Cruiser Alexander Hamilton .”

The three men shook hands. The captain was, tall, sparse, about forty and gave the impression of being the no-nonsense type. He radiated the air of spaceman.

Lee Chang looked down at the dogs and said, “Where in the world did you acquire these two beautiful animals?”

Ronny said, “Lee Chang, meet Boy and Plotz.”

Boy stuck out his paw for a shake and said, “Hello. You the Boss’ female?”

Lee Chang’s almond eyes widened and her chin dropped a little. She shook the offered paw, and darted a quick look up at Ronny.

She said, “Why, no. Why do you ask?”

“It’s the way you two look at each other,” he told her. “Meet my bitch friend.”

Plotz extended a paw and said, “I am happy to meet you. Lee Chang.”