Robert Heinlein - Beyond This Horizon

He wondered what the little tyke would be like.

Mordan seemed confident that he knew. He had shown them the diploid chromosome chart resulting from their carefully chosen gametes, expounding on how the characteristics of the two parents would be combined in the child. Felix was not so sure; in spite of his own reasonably thorough knowledge of genetic theory and technique he was not convinced that all of a human being's multifold complexity could be wrapped up in a little blob of protoplasm smaller than a pin point. It was not reasonable. There had to be more to a man than that.

Mordan had seemed to find it highly desirable that he and Phyllis possessed so many Mendelian characteristics in common. It not only, he pointed out, made the task of selection of gametes much simpler and shorter, but also insured reinforcement of those characteristics, genetically. Paired genes would be similar, instead of opposed.

On the other hand, Hamilton found that Mordan favored the alliance of Monroe-Alpha and Hartnett Marion, although they were as dissimilar as two persons could be. Hamilton pointed out the inconsistency in reasoning. Mordan had been unperturbed. "Each genetic case is a discrete individual. No rule in genetics is invariable. They complement each other."

It was certainly obvious that Marion had made Cliff happy, happier than Felix had ever seen him.

The big dope.

He had long been of the opinion that what Cliff needed was a keeper, to lead him around on a string, fetch him indoors when it rained, and tickle him when he pouted. (Not that the opinion subtracted from his very real devotion to his friend.)

Marion seemed to qualify on all counts. She hardly let him out of her sight. She worked with him, under the euphemistic title of "special secretary."

"'Special secretary'?" Hamilton said, when Monroe-Alpha told him about it. "What does she do? Is she a mathematician?"

"Not at all. She doesn't know a thing about mathematics-but she thinks I'm wonderful!" He grinned boyishly-Hamilton was startled to see how it changed his face. "Who am I to contradict her?"

"Cliff, if you keep that up, you'll have a sense of humor yet."

"She thinks I have one now."

"Perhaps you have. I knew a man who raised warthogs once. He said they made the flowers more beautiful."

"Why did he think that?" Monroe-Alpha was puzzled and interested.

"Never mind. Just what is it that Marion does?"

"Oh, a lot of little things. Keeps track of things I forget, brings me a cup of tea in the afternoon. Mostly she's just here when I want her. When a concept won't come straight and my head feels tired, I look up and there's Molly, just sitting there, looking at me. Maybe she's been reading, but when I look up I don't have to say anything-she's looking back at me. I tell you it helps, I never get tired anymore." He smiled again.

Hamilton realized with sudden insight that there never had been anything wrong with Monroe-Alpha except that the poor boob had never been happy. He had no defenses against the world-until now. Marion had enough for both of them.

He had wanted to ask Cliff what Hazel thought of the new arrangements, but hesitated to do so. despite their close friendship. Monroe-Alpha brought it up himself. "You know, Felix, I was a little worried about Hazel."

"So?"

"Yes. I know she had said she wanted to enter a divorce, but I hadn't quite believed her."

"Why not?" Felix had inquired blandly.

Monroe-Alpha had colored. "Now, Felix, you're just trying to get me mixed up. Anyhow, she seemed positively relieved when I told her about Marion and me. She wants to take up dancing again."

Felix thought with regret that it was a mistake for a retired artist to attempt a comeback. But Cliff's next words made him realize he had been hasty. "It was Thorgsen's idea-"

"Thorgsen? Your boss?"

"Yes. He had been telling her about the outstations, particularly the ones on Pluto, of course, but he mentioned Mars and the rest, I suppose. They don't get much recreation, other than canned shows and reading." Hamilton knew what he meant, although he had never thought much about it. With the exception of the tourist cities on Luna there was nothing to attract human beings to the other planets, save for exploration and research. The devoted few who put up with the unearthly hardships necessarily lived a monklike existence. Luna was a special case, naturally; being practically in Earth's front yard and an easy jump, it was as popular for romantic holidays as Southpole had once been.

"She got the idea, or Thorgsen suggested it to her, of getting together a diversified travelling troupe to play a circuit of all the outposts."

"It doesn't sound commercial."

"It doesn't have to be. Thorgsen took the matter up for subsidy. He argued that, if research and exploration were necessary, then morale of the personnel involved was a government matter, in spite of the longstanding policy against government participation in the entertainment business, luxury business, or fine arts."

Hamilton whistled. "Nice going! Why, that principle was almost as rock solid as civil rights."

"Yes, but it was a matter of constitution. And the Planners are no fools. They don't necessarily follow precedent. Look at this job we're on."

"Yes, surely. Matter of fact, that was what I dropped in to see you about. I wanted to see how you were getting along." At the time of this conversation Hamilton was feeling his way into the whole picture of the Great Research. Carruthers had given him no fixed instructions, but had told him to spend a few weeks sizing up the problem.

The phase of the research occupying Monroe-Alpha's attention-Thorgsen's project, the Grand Eidouraniun-was much further advanced than any other aspect of the whole project, since it had been conceived originally as a separate matter before the Great Research, which included it, had been thought of. Monroe-Alpha had come into it rather late, but Hamilton had assumed that his friend would be the dominant figure in it. This, Monroe-Alpha maintained, was not true.

"Hargrave is much more fitted for this sort of work than I am. I take my directions from him-myself, and about sixty others."

"How come? I thought you were tops in the numbers racket."

"I have my specialty and Hargrave knows how to make the best use of it. You apparently have no idea of how diversified and specialized mathematics is, Felix. I remember a congress I attended last year-more than a thousand present, but there weren't more than a dozen men there I could really talk to, or understand."

"Hmmm ... What does Thorgsen do?"

"Well, naturally, he isn't much use in design-he's an astrophysicist, or, more properly, a cosmic metrician. But he keeps in touch and his suggestions are always practical."

"I see. Well-got everything you want?"

"Yes," admitted Monroe-Alpha, "unless you should happen to have concealed, somewhere about your person, a hyper-sphere, a hypersurface, and some four-dimensional liquid, suitable for fine lubrication."

"Thanks. You can hand me back my leg now. I see I've been wrong again-you are acquiring a sense of humor."

"I am quite serious about it," Cliff answered without cracking a smile, "even though I haven't the slightest idea where I could find such nor how I could manipulate it if I did."

"For why? Give."

"I would like to set up a four-dimensional integrator to integrate from the solid surface of a four-dimensional cam. It would greatly shorten our work if we could do such a thing. The irony of it is that I can describe the thing I want to build, in mathematical symbology, quite nicely. It would do work, which we now have to do with ordinary ball-and-plane integrators and ordinary three-dimensional cams, in one operation whereas the system we use calls for an endless series of operations. It's a little maddening-the theory is so neat and the results are so unsatisfactory."