CHESTER [Novelette], Bernard Deitchman

I

The smell of Guam was the smell of thick vegetation. It overcame even the odors of the runway. The heavy jungle that fringed Andersen Air Force Base formed a living backdrop for the rows of B-52's parked beyond the passenger terminal.

For all its reputed strategic importance, Andersen served as Guam's commercial airport. All sorts of persons were free to come and go within sight of its operations. But as he came down the jetliner's ramp, Dr. Kenneth Ralston was in no mood to consider problems of Air Force security. The smell of damp air irritated him immediately. His discomfort over a trip to the tropics worsened. California was easy to take for granted; it had never seemed as pleasant as when remembered on Guam.

Ralston noticed a Navy staff car parked to one side of the plane. A young officer got out of the car to watch the passengers as they came down the ramp. Apparently this was the man assigned as liaison with the University. The uncertain task of confronting the military mind was at hand.

The officer had a respectful, if wary, attitude. His face suggested that he had his own reservations about the academic mind.

"Dr. Ralston? Lieutenant Mohr." He smiled. "Good to have you here. We need some expert help."

They shook hands, and Ralston said, "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'd say it was nice to be here in this steam bath, but I don't want to start off with a lie."

They walked toward the car. Ralston went on, "And you haven't got much of an expert. They just didn't have anyone lower on the pole to send."

Mohr opened the rear door of the car for Ralston, and they got in. The enlisted driver took them down the flight line and through an Air Police checkpoint. Mohr said, "I might have preferred to have Dr. Berg himself here, but that won't matter as long as somebody helps us out of this mess."

It was a mile to the main gate, where more obliging Air Police waved them through without a word. A smooth, two-lane asphalt road led into the jungle beyond the base. This was Guam's main highway. It joined Andersen with Agana, the capital, and the Navy base near it.

Ralston said, "Well, what kind of mess are you in? Or what kind of mess are the baboons in, should I say?"

Mohr stared at him a second. "Didn't Dr. Berg tell you? I must have written him a dozen letters about it, by now."

With a silent curse for Berg, Ralston said, "No, I'm afraid all he told me was that you were having some trouble with the animals."

Mohr gave him a resigned look, as if nothing Berg did could really surprise him, and, Ralston thought, as if he didn't quite believe Ralston.

Mohr said, "Dr. Berg doesn't seem to take this very seriously. Did he send you out here just to hold our hands and keep us quiet?"

Ralston said nothing. That, in fact, had been the gist of Berg's instructions to him. But Mohr did not scent to care much for hand-holding.

"Am I right?" Mohr asked. "Pretty much so. You'll have to forgive Berg - zoologists sometimes forget you can't treat people like lab animals."

Mohr said, "Are you a zoologist?"

Ralston laughed. "Please - I'm a biologist."

"Pardon me." Mohr laughed with him. "But you are familiar with this project of Dr. Berg's?"

"I am in theory. I've never been out to the island before. The project got started before I arrived at the University. Several departments are running it, and as junior member in my department, I have to show some interest."

Mohr nodded. "Then maybe you can fill me in on some things. Mr. Skinner's the only man I've met that's connected with it, and he seems to think the whole thing is classified, and I'm some sort of spy."

"The project is hardly that serious. But I understand he's been on the island almost continuously since the project started. He's bound to be a bit eccentric by now."

"Maybe," Mohr said, a trace of doubt in his voice. Plainly, he had no love for Skinner. "He's part of your faculty?"

"No. He's had experience as an animal trainer, and that qualified him as an observer for the project."

"I see. One man and an island full of monkeys. What for?"

"What for?" Ralston asked, amused. "To get our names in learned publications," he said drily. "So we can keep our jobs."

"But you people have a defense grant for this project, so you must be doing more than keeping your jobs. But no one's told me what monkeys have to do with defense."

Ralston's expression became abstract. "They used to train monkeys as soldiers in the Far East. They were used as archers or spear throwers, I forget which. But that was before my time."

"Seriously?"

"More or less. How effective the monkeys were is another story. It was probably just a marginal affair. Anyway, our monkeys aren't involved in anything that plebeian. We're trying to start them farther back in the development of warfare - as Berg sees that development - to see if they can get to the bloodletting on their own."

Interested, Mohr said, "Dr. Berg has theories about war?"

"Plenty of them," Ralston assured him. "He's an instinct theorist at heart, and, simply put, he believes that most animal behavior is genetically determined, or innate. For example, aggressive behavior is innate. Accept this, and you must accept that aggression will always find an outlet. Take animals long on aggression, like men and baboons, and put them in an environment without threatening stimulation for their instincts to act on, and they will create their own. That is, war.

"Lack of environmental danger may have something to do with war as a human institution, but it can't be the whole answer. Whether we can induce baboons to imitate their cousins by giving them the benefits of civilization - as we're attempting in this project - is also questionable.

"My guess is, given a Garden of Eden they will respond in true monkey fashion, by relaxing and enjoying it. They may squabble over sex or the ripest fruit on the tree, but real violence is out of the question unless population gets out of hand and the island becomes a zoo."

"You don't sound too impressed with this project, Doctor," Mohr said, as if he had found an unexpected ally.

Ralston shrugged. "The basic hypothesis is too simpleminded, essentially pointless. The project was born of completely outdated doctrinal arguments. Of course, were it not for doctrines, we'd have none of this military money. But it could be spent on better things."

"How did Dr. Berg get the grant then?"

Ralston stared out at the passing jungle. Occasionally there were small collections of wooden houses by the road. "The theory behind the project is not really Berg's," he said. "It's derived from a teacher of his, J. L. Wilson, a misanthropic psychologist. You've probably heard of him, he wrote some popular books a while back."

"The name sounds vaguely familiar."

"He wrote about instincts, more particularly the violent ones. His ideas have lost ground since his exile from the universities. They tell me the exile was caused by an affair with a student. Anyway, there are only a few of his disciples left in important positions. His theories were somewhat revived recently when the Pentagon got hold of his books and saw a chance to prove that man was instinctively a killer. You know, it's Nature's Way, as well as patriotic, to kill the godless Communists, and so on."

Mohr laughed. "They never told us that at O.C.S."

"With any luck, they never will." "You don't think baboons can prove anything, then?"

"As far as man's behavior is concerned? No. They are charmingly similar to us, though. They're largely terrestrial animals. By abandoning the safety of the trees they've been forced to develop, like man, social aggression. A single baboon, like a single man, is no match for African predators: But a gang of them can face down anything but a pride of lions. Killing on the ground by concerted action, and a high degree of social responsibility not found in most primates, are what make the baboon so enticing an analog to man. But their killing is usually in self-defense, and aggression toward each other is neatly ritualized. They may be too enticing, and we may draw some unjustified conclusions about human behavior from theirs."

"But there's such a gap in intelligence - "

"Scientists find it easy to overlook trifles like that. This project is a throwback to the simplistic thinking of twenty or thirty years ago, Lieutenant, when Wilson was in vogue. Your superiors would like to have their opinions verified by science, but they're not getting a very good brand of science. Few of us put any faith in it these days."

"You've certainly been candid, Doctor," Mohr said, as if Ralston had just performed a considerable feat.

"Compared with Berg, you mean?" Ralston asked.

Mohr nodded, and Ralston said, "I usually try to be. I'm not always this openly critical of Berg, but it sounds like he's been giving you the runaround, and I hate being sent out to catch another man's static."

"Well, I hate to make things worse, but the runaround is just the beginning of what's been going on out here."

"Such as?"

"Such as a complaint from a Dr. Isaacs, representing some U.N. wildlife agency, that the University has been mistreating a protected species on the island."

"Protected species? Which one?"

"Baboons. Aren't they protected?"

"Not that I know of. They need protection as badly as a gang of Huns. You're sure this Isaacs was legitimate?"

"That I'm sure of. He came through here about eight months ago, with plenty of identification, and a letter from the Secretary of the Navy besides. And we have to answer that letter, prove that the Navy has been cleared of any blame, or we'll never hear the end of it."

Ralston sighed. "So much for authority. How would Isaacs know anything about the island? Isn't Skinner the only person out there?"

"Yes. And the only contact he has with Guam is through our helicopter crews who take him supplies and mail. There has never even been a radio put in on the island, so he's pretty isolated.

"But I know who brought Isaacs out here, even if I'm not sure how he knew what was happening on the island. Isaacs had a man with him from a land development company, as an interested party. It sounded funny, but I couldn't keep him off the island. He was with Isaacs, and where Isaacs went, he went."

"What was this party interested in?"

"Leasing the island from the Navy and running it as a resort, if your project could be moved out. At least, that's the idea I got."

"And hopefully the U.N. would move us out?"

"I suppose so."

They were passing through the eastern edge of Agana. The harbor was below them as they climbed a long hill toward the Navy base.

"What happened out on the island?" Ralston asked.

"I offered to take them to see Skinner, but Isaacs wasn't interested. He didn't even want Skinner told that he had been there."

"And you never told Skinner?"

"No."

"Well, what did you show them that was so exciting?"

"I didn't show them anything. They found it by themselves. They had us cover the island thoroughly with the copter. They were mainly interested in the grasslands. As a matter of fact they seemed to have a good idea what they were looking for. We flew around until they found it."

"Found what?"

"A dead baboon - and a wounded one not far away. The live one's back leg looked broken. That real estate man thought he was being funny, and named it 'Chester'.

"The dead one had been shot, probably with a rifle. Chester's wound looked like it came from a bullet too."

They passed through the gate at the Navy base. Mohr continued, "The carcass had been chewed up by scavengers, but we took it back with us. Isaacs dug the bullet out, just to be sure of what killed it."

"What happened to that carcass?"

"Isaacs had it crated and took it back with him."

"And you never told Skinner about all this?"

"I told Dr. Berg that someone had killed a baboon, for all the good that did. As for Mr. Skinner, he probably would have just told me to go hell if I'd bothered to visit him."

"I'm not responsible for him, but while we're on the subject, has Skinner been having difficulties out there?"

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't answer his mail too often. And when he does, he isn't very informative. I was wondering if the baboons had killed him, and one of the slower ones was answering his mail."

"Well, he's had one difficulty. He broke his leg just about the time of Isaacs' visit, maybe a few days be fore it. He set it himself and refused to see one of our doctors. It didn't heal too well, and he needs a cane to get around. 'Chester' has become a popular nickname. Some of the copter crews have started calling him that."

Ralston was not amused. "But there's no transportation on the island. He had to observe on foot. He can't be doing much if he's crippled."

"Maybe he never told Dr. Berg for fear of losing the job."

"Well, he's probably lost it now." The staff car turned once more onto a flight line. It stopped in front of one of a half-dozen helicopters. Boxes were being loaded on the copter, and Ralston and Mohr stood in the sun, watching. Ralston had never flown in a helicopter and he looked the machine over suspiciously.

"All this stuff is for Skinner?" he asked.

"His usual supplies."

Ralston watched. A thought struck him. "Skinner and some baboons got hurt around the same time."

"Yes?" Mohr asked.

"It suggests things to me. Skinner might have done the shooting himself, and a monkey attacked him while he was doing it. Or, someone else went quietly out to the island to shoot some baboons, and Skinner found them. They got nervous, shot Skinner, and left."

"It's forty miles out to the island, roughly," Mohr said. "You wouldn't make it in a raft."

"I'm sure a wealthy real estate developer could afford to hire a boat."

"It's your idea. But for the record, I don't think Skinner was shot. His leg did look like an animal might have been chewing on it, though."

"You ruined my favorite of the two, Lieutenant. I was thinking that the same man who did the shooting could have stayed around to find the body. But now it looks like Mr. Skinner and I will have to have some words."

"Enjoy yourself. He's a hard man to talk to."

Mohr gave Ralston a hand up into the copter. A crewman followed them aboard and closed the door. The engine started as they were settling themselves on the cargo. They were airborne in minutes.

Their destination was an island nearly nine miles long and varying in width from one to five miles. Uninhabited by primates of any sort until five years earlier, it had at that time been turned over to a troop of chacma baboons, to do with as they pleased.

The accommodations promised to be ideal for them; there were no predators larger than a small wildcat, and only one animal large and nasty enough to stand up to a baboon, a species of wild pig. The coasts were thickly jungled, and would supply the fruits, nuts, and shoots that made up a great part of the baboon diet. The inland savanna was a good substitute for the grasslands of Africa, where baboon troops spent their afternoons in search of roots and seeds and insects. A line of low hills ran along the edge of the eastern jungle. Here were a few bare, rocky faces such as the chacma favors for sleeping places. It was a monkey's paradise.

The helicopter made the trip in less than a half-hour. Mohr and Ralston moved to the cockpit as they dropped toward the island. They made a low trip along the coast, and saw no baboons. Mohr pointed out the collection of cabins where Skinner lived.

They crossed back arid forth above the savanna. Not far from the cabins they found baboons. Ralston counted thirty-eight of them, fewer than he had expected. But it was just past noon and stragglers might still be grooming each other in the shade of nearby trees before the afternoon's foraging.

"Those some of your boys?" Mohr asked.

"Some of them, yes. They seem to be doing all right for themselves."

The monkeys were moving lazily through the grass, snooping under rocks and plucking leaves off bushes. Many of them seemed half asleep, as though just awakened from a midday nap. The helicopter intrigued a few and they stared up at it.

"Seen enough?" Mohr asked. "Why? What's the rush?"

"I thought you'd want to see the other troop before we visit Mr. Skinner."

Ralston looked at him for a long moment. "Did I say something?" Mohr asked.

"Did you say two troops?" "There are."

"And when did this happen?"

"What?"

"When did the troop divide?"

"I'm sure I don't know. There were two of them when Dr. Isaacs came through. Weren't there always?"

"No. Only one troop was released to start the project."

Mohr frowned. "Dr. Isaacs knew there were two troops. He made sure we found both of them."

"I'd be interested to know who he'd been talking to."

"This division is important?"

"Very. It's early for population pressure to cause a division, though not impossible. We'll have to see how big that other troop is. It is possible there were too many males the same age, and not enough status to go around."

"You wouldn't consider aggression as a cause?"

"In the form of rifle bullets? Until we straighten that out, all bets about instincts are off."

The helicopter turned away from the baboons and began its search pattern again. In the south of the island was a larger troop, moving rapidly across the grassland. Ralston had difficulty counting them. He reached a rough total of fifty.

"There are enough of them, but the wrong sex," he said.

"How's that?"

"I can see ten or a dozen adult males down there. If the original troop split over status fights, I'd expect more than that. They're mostly females and young."

"They're sure in a hurry. That other gang wasn't even awake," Mohr said.

The monkeys were not far from a grove of trees on the edge of the eastern jungle, and apparently had just left it. They were moving west, deeper into the savanna.

"No, that's not normal for them. Foraging is usually a casual affair."

Mohr brought out a pair of field glasses to look at the trees the troop had left. "Here's something else for you," he said to Ralston. "In those trees."

Ralston took the glasses. What might appear as a few lumps of shadow to the unaided eye became a group of three baboons, sitting on their haunches and picking at the ground around them.

"Three males. But one is just an older adolescent, I think," Ralston said.

"Then that adds a few adult males to this troop," Mohr said.

"But it raises more questions. Baboons stick together while they're foraging on the ground. They spread out some, but they don't leave anybody behind like this."

"Want a closer look?"

"No. It might take days to figure out what those three are doing. They might just be lazy, but I doubt it. Berg will be out here with half the faculty when he hears about this. We can figure it out then. I think I'd like to see Skinner."

The helicopter rose. Looking back at the trees, Ralston thought he saw another shadow leave the edge of the jungle and move toward them. What next?

There was a clearing for the helicopter near the cabins. Coming down, Ralston could see six sleeping cabins ringing a larger building he supposed was the meeting room and kitchen. When they had landed he could hear a generator running somewhere.

Skinner was older than Ralston had expected. His bald scalp and his face were leathery, but the tan on them was fading. His eyes were black. He was unimpressed as Mohr introduced Ralston, and he remained distant after Mohr had left the cabin. He sat at a small desk writing a letter, his right leg propped on a chair.

Skinner was first surprised, then indignant, at hearing of the U.N. visit and its results. "If I hadn't hurt my leg, they'd never have come near the place. They must have known I was laid up," he complained.

"It's more than Dr. Berg knew. Mind telling me how it happened?" Ralston asked.

"Why should I? You're nobody to me."

"I can get you dumped off this island."

Skinner glared at him. "You don't run it."

"As far as the Navy knows, I'm a lot closer to running it than you are. If I want you gone, you'll be gone."

"Think you're somebody, do you?"

Ralston had to control his irritation before he said, "Let's try it again. How'd you get hurt?"

"Now that's the funny thing, friend. I shot that precious monkey myself. The little bastard came at me and ripped my leg open to the bone. I had to kill him."

"Some caretaker. How'd you manage to let that happen?"

Skinner was silent. Ralston said, "All right, we'll try another: who did you tell about the injury?"

"The Navy, they sent a doctor over."

"No one else?"

"No."

"You know that the troop has split into two separate groups somewhere along the way?"

"It has?"

"You didn't know? It almost certainly happened before you got hurt."

"You think I'm lying?"

"The thought has crossed my mind."

"Well, you can uncross it."

"Oh? Somebody killed a baboon. The troop has split. The two events could be related. You were supposedly the only man on the island while all this was happening, and you don't know anything about anything. But you're not lying."

"I was hurt. Anybody could have come and gone without me knowing it."

"And they did. That U.N. man knew an awful lot about this place, more than you admit to knowing. Somebody was talking to him, you can be sure of that."

"It wasn't me, friend."

"Some other baboon, maybe?"

"What did you say you were at the University?"

"I'm in the Biology Department."

"Berg sent a stiff, huh?"

"He sent someone who didn't know much about this project to start with. But I'm learning fast. For instance, I've learned that somebody has been talking to a real estate developer if he hasn't been talking to the U.N."

"Real estate? What real estate?"

"This real estate. A company wants to lease it and run it as a resort. If they can get us off for mistreating animals. Their evidence so far is a baboon you say you killed. This company brought the U.N. out here, and I imagine they were overjoyed at what they found."

Skinner swung his leg off the chair and reached for a walking stick leaning against the wall. "You've said your piece. Now I'll tell you, I took care of those bastard monkeys as well as I could, and I don't know any real estate men."

"But are you sure you shot only one monkey?" Ralston asked with mock sweetness.

"What?"

"How many monkeys did you shoot? I forgot to mention that they didn't find just a dead one. They saw a wounded one, too. He'd been shot in the leg."

Skinner was silent. He grasped the stick and pulled himself to his feet. "I shot one monkey, and it was to save my own life. I don't know about any others."

"Fine. You can tell the same story to Berg next week and see how he likes it. You can also explain the coincidence that you were hurt just about the time the shootings happened. Thanks for the hospitality."

Ralston moved toward the door and Skinner said, "They're coming out here?"

"You know they will. You knew not to tell Berg the troop had split, didn't you? Why else keep that and a lot of other information from him, except that you didn't want him out here finding bodies?"

Skinner ignored that. He said, "Tell that lieutenant to come in here, will you?"

Ralston sat in the meeting hall with the copter crew and waited several minutes for Mohr to return from Skinner's cabin. As they took off and turned for Guam, Ralston told Mohr about his conversation with Skinner.

"Sounds like Skinner shot both those animals, doesn't it?" Mohr asked.

"It does, and that makes me think he was paid to do it. I'd like a little more information on our real estate man."

"I can get you some, but not much. I think the Andersen base paper did a small article on his visit."

"Good." Ralston noticed that Mohr carried several envelopes in his shirt pocket. "Skinner's been writing a lot, hasn't he?"

Mohr nodded, and Ralston said, "Could I see them?"

"What for?"

"Someone has been getting real good information about this experiment, and Skinner looks like the obvious source. I'd like to know who his correspondents are."

Mohr considered that, and said, "You know, in this instance, I work for the Post Office as well as the Navy: We're responsible for mail service to the island. Who he writes to is his business - at least that's the way the Post Office feels about it."

"Lieutenant, you know how I feel about Berg's theories. If this experiment proves they're hot air, as I expect it will, that won't hurt my feelings. In fact, even if we should happen to substantiate his theories, it won't really offend me much. As long as the experiment is honest.

"But suppose it's not. And suppose we publish the results of it without knowing that there has been some tampering? Because there might be more involved here than the interests of some real estate company. What if some attempt has been made to affect our results? What then?

"If the tampering was never uncovered, we'd all be fine. Wrong, maybe, but fine. If the tampering ever did come out, all the people involved - me included - could be washed up professionally. We'd be known as stupid people or dishonest ones. In any case, poor scientists.

"This experiment might be a bear trap. The thought that my reputation could get caught in it is enough to make me read the addresses on someone's mail - and worse. Can I see those letters?"

"Sure. I was just wondering if we were trying to do the same thing. I'd say we were." Mohr handed him the letters.

There were six of them. One was addressed to Berg, and Ralston wondered what useless information it contained. "Is this the one he was working on when we came in?"

"Maybe. But it's not the reason he made me wait so long. He wrote another letter while I was there, a short note. It's on the bottom."

Ralston passed over the next four letters, all to scientific supply houses. The bottom letter was addressed to Samuel Abbott, Albion Gift Shop, Agana, Guam.

"He wrote this after I left?"

"Yes. And he wants it mailed immediately. He says it can't wait."

Ralston eyed it curiously. "Mr. Skinner is losing his touch, and what credibility he had left."

Ralston waved the letter in his hand and held it up to the light. Mohr said, "That really would be tampering with the U.S. Mail, Doctor."

"You don't think I would try to invade his privacy, do you?" Ralston handed the letter back reluctantly.

Mohr smiled. "You'd probably be interested in this gift shop, wouldn't you?"

"Have you been there?"

"I've been by it. It's a made-over house on the bluff above Agana. Not much to look at. I'll see if anyone up front has been there."

Mohr went forward and returned with the enlisted crewman. It turned out that he had bought a gift, an artificial diamond, in the Albion. What he remembered most about the shop were odd displays having little to do with jewelry. Ralston listened closely to his description of skulls and parts of skulls, some said to be ape, some human, he had seen in the shop.

"I wonder if any are baboon?" Ralston said, after the crewman had gone forward.

"I think we could take a ride up there and see for ourselves," Mohr said.

After they landed Mohr got a staff car and drove them out toward Agana. He made a point of mailing Skinner's letters before they left the base.

The Albion Gift Shop was in a faded pastel stucco house, the front of which had been modified to serve as a display room. Signs in the windows advertised jewelry and souvenirs, but inside it proved to be a mixture of museum and curiosity shop.

The proprietor was a man in late middle age. He was small and white and wore a gray suit and white shirt without tie. From a stool behind a cash register he watched as Ralston and Mohr, his only customers, inspected the exhibits in the place.

In one display case there were flint artifacts, spearheads and arrowheads, and small pebble tools Ralston guessed must date from dim prehistory. Other cases contained a variety of fossil bones. The animals they came from were impossible for Ralston to identify, even when the fossils were labeled, and he supposed that most were extinct species. His knowledge of paleontology was more limited than he had thought.

Another case held more recent artifacts, pottery and tiles, knives and vases, remnants of distant historical times. But the most impressive case contained fragments of skulls and jaws. Some were labeled as human or protohuman, others as ape, modern and extinct. They were arranged to invite comparison between the human line and the ape. It was a convincing evolutionary display, and Ralston wondered how it came to be there.

They moved gradually around the room until they reached the counter where sat the proprietor. Ralston tried to make his interest appear casual, as if he were a chance tourist, but the contents of the shop nagged at him. Somewhere he had heard, of such a shop, jewelry mixed with fossils. Where?

"May I help you?" The man's voice was low, and its accent suggested England.

"I was just admiring your collection here. I know very little about this sort of thing - fossils, that is - but it is a very intriguing collection. Are you a scientist?" Ralston tried to put the proper note of amateur enthusiasm in his voice.

"Something of one, when I have the time to work. This collection you see was begun by my grandfather, and I've been able to add to it occasionally." .He spoke as though the collection held no real interest for him and he took no pride in it.

"You mean you do research on Guam?" Ralston asked.

"Yes. It's been my belief for some time that quite a bit of human prehistory can be unearthed here. I have been developing some sites on the western end of the island."

"It must be exciting work," Ralston said.

"Oh yes, very," he said, without a trace of interest or excitement. Ralston had never heard of any human fossils, or artifacts of prehistoric age, having been found on Guam. Still, anything was possible. Did any of the contents of the shop's display cases come from the island? The man's claims made his presence and that of his collection more puzzling than before.

Conversation had bogged down. The proprietor plainly had no time for Ralston's enthusiasm; perhaps its underlying hollowness showed through. Ralston noticed a business card taped to the cash register which identified Samuel Abbott as the owner of the shop.

"You're Mr. Abbott, then?" Ralston asked.

Abbott nodded, and Ralston introduced himself as a high school drama teacher.

Looking away from Abbott, Ralston noticed a skull fragment resting in solitary display on the wall behind the counter. It was the better part of a brain case, and it looked big enough to be hominid. It was brown and looked brittle, and had on its glass case a card yellow with age. Two words were there in faded ink; Ralston could read only the first. It sounded like a generic name: Eoanthropus. The second word was too faded to read. Eoanthropus. The name raised some dust in his memory. What was this creature? The name implied it was definitely in the human line, but he could not place it, and that bothered him. Something this close to human should be familiar. He shouldn't have to beat his brains to identify it - and still come up empty-handed.

Despite his curiosity, he did not ask Abbott about the skull. The connection between Skinner and Abbott had made him cautious. He did not want to appear too inquisitive. He bought a small tie clasp with a plastic imitation of a fossil human tooth on it, and he and Mohr left the shop.

"Quite a place," Mohr said, as he drove back through Agana.

"If those displays were authentic, someone was a fine paleontologist. But not on Guam."

"I was wondering. I never heard of any fossils dug up around here."

"Too bad his collection didn't include some green baboon bones. Not that I really expected Abbott to be our real estate man."

"No. He was only in his late twenties or so. Didn't I mention that?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. Abbott is still someone I want to know more about. That shop reminds me of something I once saw or read about, but I can't remember what it is."

Mohr drove across the island to Andersen, and its base publications office. In a copy of the local news sheet dated several months before, they found the item Mohr had mentioned. It was a photograph of two men, one identified in the caption as Dr. Elton Isaacs of the U.N. Wildlife Protection Agency, the other as Mr. J. L. Wilson of Ski-Hi Properties Corporation. The latter was said to be interested in developing a tourist resort in the area. There was no story other than the caption.

Ralston pointed to the picture of Wilson and asked Mohr, "Did you catch his name?"

"I didn't when I met him, but I do now. The psychologist you mentioned, the instinct man. But this can't be him, can it?"

"Obviously not. In fact, I'm sure the name is an alias: I know 'Mr. Wilson'. He's a grad student in psychology at the University. His name is King." And he's the protege of Stoker, psych's main participant in the project, Ralston said to himself.

"What would he be up to impersonating a real estate developer?" Mohr asked.

"Right now I have no idea, but we can forget about high-class tourist traps out here. Though that doesn't do much for Skinner. He shot some monkeys, only now I have no idea why." The possibility that the project had been tampered with in order to produce a specific result came immediately to mind, however. Somebody wanted to doctor it, but who? Skinner himself? Ralston did not think it likely. He could not imagine what Skinner would have to gain from it.

There was Berg. His delaying tactics in dealing with the Navy hinted he might be hiding something, that he wanted no attention drawn to the current state of the project. There was also Stoker, now. Where did he come in? It seemed that he might be working at odds with Berg, trying to bring some notice to Skinner's activities. But why resort to such games as having King running around under an alias?

Ralston found himself without an antagonist, though he had three candidates. Four, if he counted Abbott, who might or might not have anything to do with the tampering, who might just be a friend of Skinner's and no more.

Ralston said, "When can I get a plane out of here?"

"You're leaving?"

"Yes. I don't think I can do much more good here. I want to see Berg, and I want to find out what King's business was out here."

They left the news office and drove to the passenger terminal. Four hours later, Ralston managed to get a seat on a transport returning from Japan. He promised Mohr that he would let him know what he learned.

II

For more than four years the baboon troop that Berg had taken to the island lived idyllically. They foraged where they liked, with no competing troops to incite their territorial inclinations. They had no need to attach themselves to a certain part of the island, and considered all of it loosely theirs.

A new troop's appearance in the north of the island breathed life into their sense of property. Encountering each other to their mutual dislike several times, the two groups settled on a division of the island. The settlement, though noisily worked out, lacked any violence. When the screeching was over, the old troop owned the southern two-thirds of the island. The rest went to the newcomers.

The southern troop had no time to adjust to this accommodation before the killing began. In a few days, the troop saw half its members murdered.

Among the animals spared were three named Leroy, Muggs, and Hamlet. Their names came courtesy of Stoker. Every baboon troop - except for the family groups of the hamadryas - is an oligarchy, and these three were the ruling clique of the old troop. Their survival ensured that the troop would keep its cohesion and its territory in the face of slaughter.

Leroy was most powerful within the triumverate. He had the attributes necessary in a baboon leader: an even temper and the courage to meet every situation without alarm, and the willingness to be in front when the troop faced danger. He settled disputes with a cool stare and the manners of a gentleman. Only in extremity did he discipline a member of his troop loudly or physically.

Hamlet warranted his name. He was an erratic creature who knew little of the demands of leadership. His temper was mercurial. The only qualifications he brought to the triumverate were a desire for dominance and an impressive physique. Too often he handled minor problems hysterically, and was irresolute when a situation demanded vehemence. Despite these traits Leroy had learned to use Hamlet's size and fury in the interests of the clique.

Muggs was a large but otherwise nondescript animal. He had learned early in life a role as Leroy's aide. He was a faithful, stoic soul, whose courage was as great as Leroy's but whose brain was considerably slower. As juntas went, they were no nastier a collection than most.

These three, especially Leroy, were faced with the deaths of their fellows, and the question of its cause. For most of their lives they had been protected from human predation, and knew nothing of the uses of a rifle. They were mystified as friends and relations dropped in their tracks. But baboons in Africa had long known the significance of a rifle in a man's hands, and it did not take Leroy long to learn that lesson.

The sight of their attacker soon sent the troop running, and the man's job became more difficult. When he chanced a long shot, and wounded a male in the hind leg, Leroy and Muggs themselves ran back to carry the victim to safety.

Baboons will carry a hurt fellow out of immediate danger, but they do not care for the sick or wounded, or mourn their dead. When the killing stopped, they forgot its victims, including the straggler they had left behind with a broken leg.

Chester nursed his wound alone. In an environment laden with predators he would not have lived a week. He might have huddled in a tree, but only until a leopard found him. On the island he could tuck up his bad leg and hobble along on the other three without fear. He became that primate rarity, a solitary baboon with a chance of survival.

Until the wound closed he stayed in some brush and dug for roots and insects. It was here that Isaacs and King saw him. When the wound healed he began moving out from the hushes in search of other food. Months later the bone itself mended. It would always be twisted, but he could limp along without much pain, and he set out to rejoin the troop.

The day he found them, it was Hamlet who noticed his approach and charged out to meet him, snarling. Hamlet's memory, no more reliable than his temper, told him Chester was a stranger. But the stranger refused to be intimidated; he behaved as though he belonged to the troop. Hamlet's fury evaporated. He screeched sharply at Chester once, and sat back in confusion, scratching himself, to await the arrival of Leroy and the other males.

Hamlet urged the immediate disembowelment of the intruder to Leroy. But Leroy recognized Chester, and elbowed his cohort away. Hamlet was outraged by this snub. He turned on some of the other males and distributed several slaps and punches. In his anger he cuffed Muggs without knowing it, and received a foot in the stomach for his inattention. Leroy separated them with a rare snarl that sobered the whole group.

Chester saw that Leroy recognized him. He presented his rear for mounting, in acknowledgment of Leroy's status. Leroy, however, was fascinated by Chester's limp and only absentmindedly slapped him on the back. A crippled baboon who had survived his injury was a novelty, and Leroy sat down to contemplate Chester.

Foraging is a leisurely activity. A troop may cover a few miles in an afternoon, but no more than that. The baboon diet being catholic, food abounds for them. Calm and complacent, baboons accept the pace set for them by their leaders without question. When the clique rests, everyone rests, settling down to doze or groom one another. When the clique moves, everyone moves. And when the clique suits itself to the pace of a cripple, everyone does.

Leroy tended to his duties in the weeks that followed Chester's arrival, but his fascination with Chester was constant. He kept the cripple near him and spent hours watching his limp. His imitative capacities gave him a glimmering of something to be learned from Chester's survival. But the picture was incomplete, and had to wait for time and chance to fill it in.

There were several groves of trees in the southern troop's territory where a kind of wild yam grew. The monkeys had acquired a strong taste for them, and never got their fill, for the groves had other visitors. It was in one of these groves that Leroy completed his vision.

The troop had been rooting in the grove for some time. Leroy was ready to leave. Most of the troop left quickly with him, but a few adolescents lingered in the grove. This was not unusual, but when Leroy looked back at them he was in his own simple way possessed of a gestalt. He saw the young baboons in the grove, and he turned to see Chester limping beside him. The picture was complete. Monkeys could survive away from the troop. Monkeys in the yam groves would ensure a constant supply of treats for the troop. Leroy was the first monkey farmer.

It needed all his authority to convince three adult males to remain in the grove while the troop moved on. The baboon sense of time being limited, there was no way any of them, Leroy included, could deal with the question of the troop's return. Intuitively Leroy knew he would be bringing the troop back soon, but "soon" was a concept beyond the ability of the most intelligent baboon to communicate.

In the end they left three disconsolate waifs behind, and it was only the start. Within a few days the three most fruitful groves were staked out. The troop centered its movements around them, relieving the guards frequently. The yield of yams went up sharply, and the troop grew to appreciate the wisdom of Leroy's system.

Predictably, setting up the guard system satisfied the itch Leroy had felt whenever he watched Chester walk. Chester was forgotten as Leroy put as much concentration into his new duties as a grand master might into a championship chess match. The troop no longer set its pace by Chester's limp. In fact, it moved faster than ever. Leroy's concern over the need to change guards regularly dictated the new pace. The system was expanded to include five groves, with two adult males and one older adolescent male guarding each. The days of lazy foraging were gone, but feasts of yams made up for the loss. And with this new pace Chester often found himself hours behind the troop. He only caught up with them at twilight, after they had settled into their cliffs to sleep.

Chester had enjoyed the attention Leroy had given him. As any lower-ranking male might, he had felt uneasy with it at first, for fear he had angered Leroy. But when he saw that Leroy meant no harm, the attention was flattering. After his long exile, it came to be intoxicating. When it was gone, and the troop with it, Chester was lonelier than ever. He took to spending his afternoons in the groves. The guards, usually bored, enjoyed his company, but they were a poor replacement for the troop itself.

During Chester's new abandonment, Ralston made his trip to the island and caught a distant glimpse of the cripple. The helicopter interested Chester, but did not alarm him.

Late in the morning of the second day after Ralston's visit, as the troop prepared to leave its sleeping quarters in the rocks, a man approached on foot carrying a rifle. Chester fled into the brush before he was seen.

The hunter watched the monkeys from a distance. Leroy, whose memory needed no jogging, eyed the man distrustfully, but the rest of his troop showed no concern. Warily, his responsibility for his guards overcoming his desire to stay in the rocks, Leroy led his troop off on their daily rounds. The hunter followed, but made no attempt to harm anyone. Chester came out of hiding and followed the hunter.

III

Ralston flew through the night. He reached his apartment after sunrise, tired and confused. The sleep he had got on the plane had not refreshed him, and two trips across the Date Line left him with the sense of having lost a day out of his life.

He could not go to bed. He shaved and showered, had breakfast, and at nine-thirty was in Berg's office summarizing his trip.

Berg took the news of Skinner's injury gloomily. His mood got no better as Ralston told him of the U.N. visit to the island.

"This Isaacs was legitimate?" Berg asked.

"Apparently."

"I don't know - this whole complaint sounded funny to me from the start. When the Navy wrote to me that someone had shot one of the monkeys, I wrote and asked Skinner about it, and he told me it was self-defense. The animal at tacked him. There was nothing more to it than that."

"You knew about the shooting before you sent me out there? Why didn't you fill me in a little better, then?"

"I'm certain I told you all I thought you needed to know."

"That wasn't enough. Anyway, there's quite a bit more than you knew, if Skinner was your source of information." Ralston told him about the real estate developer. He did not mention that he knew the threat of competition for the island was imaginary. He wanted to hear Stoker's side of that story first.

The imaginary threat angered Berg. "The Navy is probably behind this. All they've done is harass me."

"Then maybe the Navy shot the other monkey, too."

"What other monkey?"

Ralston described his meeting with Skinner.

"You really think Skinner shot more than the one he says attacked him?"

"Well, I got quite a reaction out of him when I told him about the second one."

"But maybe he shot the second one and doesn't remember. After all, they were attacking him."

"I think he's lying."

"Why?"

"Because I think he may be trying to tamper with the experiment, and the shootings could be part of it."

"Tamper with it? To what end?" "See for yourself," Ralston said, and he went on with the information he had saved for last, the news that the troop had divided. Though he tried to impress upon Berg his suspicions regarding its origins, the news of the division banished Berg's anger over the real estate company. He would not consider it possible that the shootings were at all involved in the division, or that tampering of any sort had taken place. The more he savored the news, the more excited he became. A man whose faith in his own ideas was all powerful, Berg needed only a hint of proof to take him to dizzy heights.

Ralston cut his report off there. He did not mention the odd behavior of the three baboons in the second troop. The possible implications of that were best left untouched at the moment. There might be nothing important in it at all.

"Well, then, you've convinced this lieutenant that we haven't been mistreating the animals?" Berg asked briskly.

"Not really. He thinks Skinner's lying too."

"But it was self-defense. They've no complaint with us."

"Then why not tell them that? All they wanted was somebody to talk to them. Skinner won't. You won't. You act like you've got something to hide."

"I've nothing to hide from anyone. I simply have no time for such nonsense. Skinner's word satisfied me. All the rest sounds like much ado about very little." Berg paused, looked up at the ceiling as if he were doing a problem in long division in his head. "Now. We need to get ourselves organized. With people gone on grants for the summer, it may be just you and I and Stoker and some graduates at first, but we must get over there soon and try and reconstruct what's happened. It's a shame that Skinner got hurt. We've missed so much."

It seemed to Ralston that Berg took the loss with no great grief. He said, "We may have missed too much already."

"You made that point already. You really believe there's been tampering?"

"Yes. All the wishful thinking in the world won't explain those shootings."

Berg would not have his enthusiasm dampened. "Back on Skinner? Look, I've known him for some time, and I trust him. These shootings are regrettable, but I doubt that they will have much bearing on the results of the project."

The question was closed. Ralston promised to be ready to leave for the island at short notice, and went to find Stoker.

The Psychology Department was in the basement of the building. Ralston hiked downstairs. The only person in the lab was King. He was standing over an alley maze, holding an albino rat to his chest, talking soothingly to it.

"Dr. Stoker around?" Ralston asked him.

"Sure, out in the rat house."

The department's animals were kept in a small concrete outbuilding. Stoker was alone with his rats. Ralston had the impression as he entered that Stoker had somehow been communing with them. Dozens of red eyes stared coldly out from ranks of drawer cages at Ralston. Rat psychology, he thought to himself. Freud and the rat-men.

"Well, hello, Ralston. Have a nice trip?" Stoker was thin and dark. His face was almost always bland, his voice neutral.

"I don't like the tropics. Otherwise it was all right."

"And how is our project doing?"

"Fairly well. I see things are still jumping in psychology."

Stoker indicated the cages. "Always plenty of volunteers." He pulled a cage out and lifted a rat from it. "Meet Fat Simon, the local champion."

Fat Simon was big and healthy, but not at all fat. He was cocky. He hung easily from the front of Stoker's lab coat and sniffed at Ralston.

"Champion what?"

"Name it. Maze runner, bar presser, stud. A hard man to beat."

"Your boy in there - King, isn't it? - is he using Fat Simon?"

"For some preliminaries. Simon's a little too experienced to be used in real testing."

Ralston eyed the rows of cages casually. "I know this will sound funny, but you wouldn't know if King has been to Guam anytime recently, would you?"

"Guam? Why do you ask that?"

"Because I saw a picture in an Air Force newspaper there of a man named J. L. Wilson, which is probably a common enough name, but the man looked a lot like King without a beard. Of course, this `Wilson' was supposed to be a real estate agent of some sort, not a psychologist."

Stoker said nothing, rubbed Fat Simon's fur lightly.

"Naturally, it didn't have to be King. And even if it was, you're not responsible for what .your students do in their spare time, are you? But using that particular alias has your touch to it, Stoker, it's unmistakable. You like to play with names."

Ralston looked at the rat cages. Poking' his nose from the cage he shared with Fat Simon was another large male. The tag on the cage said his name was Garfunkel. In a cage down the row resided the slowest rat in the house, and Stoker had named him Portnoy. Two others sharing a cage were named Pasteur and Lister for no easily apparent reason. Higher up the rack lived the only hooded rat, and he was named Robin Hood.

Stoker smiled at his charges. "Why shouldn't they have names?"

"Sure, why not? But about King - "

"Have you mentioned this about King to anyone else?"

"You're the first. I imagined you'd have something interesting to say about it."

"Have you seen Berg?"

"Yes."

"But you failed to mention King? Maybe you had reason to think King was doing something that needed to be done, even though under false pretenses? And that it might not seem that way to Berg?"

"Maybe, but I'd like to know just what he was doing."

Stoker let Fat Simon slide off his hand into the open cage. "He was trying to expose a hoax before it progressed too far. Thanks to Berg sitting on the Navy's complaint for eight months, it may be hard to prove as much now as it would have been then, but not impossible. I'd guess that you have some ideas about it yourself, don't you?"

"I've got plenty of ideas. Go on. Describe this hoax."

Stoker's voice was still calm, his face unmoved. "There are two troops on the island, aren't there? I knew there were two of them just after Skinner did, about nine months ago. Which was when he released the second troop on the island."

"Those two troops don't derive from one earlier troop?"

"No. It would be nice for theories of aggression if they did, but they don't. Skinner got the second troop from the same supplier as the first, and planted them for us to find at some future date."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"I know several animal suppliers. The ones I know best I asked to keep an eye out for orders of chacmas. I wanted to know where they went. It wasn't hard to find out about Skinner's order."

"But how could he pay for them? With University money?" "I'm not certain."

"But Berg would have to O.K. that money."

"If it was University money," Stoker agreed.

"If this is all true, you showed pretty fair foresight in looking out for that second shipment of monkeys. Why did you do it?"

"I had pretty fair foresight," Stoker said, smiling.

"Or a suspicious mind."

"Possibly. So?"

"So this project is a little more involved than I thought. All right, go on. You sent King to Guam to bring attention to Skinner?"

"Of course. I had to get things stirred up somehow." Stoker was losing his blandness. "It was about a month after Skinner set his new troop loose. It seemed to me that if he were to introduce a new troop - and pretend it was part of the old one that had broken away, the only possible reason for introducing it - he would have to thin out the old one. Natural population growth couldn't account for all the animals he would have if he didn't. That meant killing some of the original troop. I counted on him doing a slow job of cleaning up. I was. right. King found a corpse.

"He also saw a crippled animal that had been shot but got away somehow. If it's still alive, it will be more proof. I hope to corner it and show it to Berg, once we get over there."

"It may be dead by now. Why didn't King try and help it then?"

"Neither he nor Isaacs had the equipment to knock it out. Ever try to dig a bullet out of a wide-awake baboon? They had to leave it alone."

"Well, we'll be going over there in a few days. Let's hope the beast is still alive."

"Berg's finally going back?"

"This apparent division of the troop was too strong to resist. But tell me about this Isaacs. Was he a fake too?"

"Oh, no. He was real, but another friend of mine. I had hopes his authority would make the Navy light a fire under Berg. And it did. The Navy has been touchy about its - what should I call it? - ecological image since the affair with the gooney bird nesting grounds on Midway: Berg tried awfully hard to ignore them, but I think they threatened to run us off the island if he didn't talk to them."

Ralston paused, thinking of what he had told Mohr about scientific reputations. "From what you've said, the project is washed out already."

"I would say so," Stoker assured him.

"But you haven't told Berg all this."

"No. I'm not sure how much he is involved in what's happened on the island."

"You don't think Skinner is doing this on his own?" Ralston asked. He was interested to see if Stoker had any hint of Abbott's existence.

"Skinner's the only one I'm certain of. He may have help, but I don't really know."

"Skinner is just the hired man. What's in this for him?"

Stoker glanced at the rat cages. "That's the point. That's why I haven't told Berg anything."

"But anyone could have put Skinner up to this."

"Anyone? Who else would have as much to gain by such a hoax as Berg would?"

"I don't know, I'm just talking. But if we went to Berg with this now, it wouldn't make much difference who was doing the tampering. If it is Berg, he couldn't very well keep it up. And if he's not involved, we'd have some help in clearing it up."

Stoker's face soured. "I don't think we should. Let the hoax play itself out. We can expose it when we know the full extent of it."

Ralston thought that Stoker did not believe Berg was in on the hoax, yet Stoker plainly wanted Berg kept uninformed of the events on the island. Why? Ralston said, "By then it may be too late for all of us, if we've published. Why not stop it now, and avoid the grief? Why let the experiment go completely to ruin?"

"I suppose it would be a shame if something got published, wouldn't it? Still, I'd rather wait it out."

"You're awfully loose with other people's reputations. Do you want Berg embarrassed?"

Stoker sounded disappointed as he said, "I thought we could see eye-to-eye on this thing, Ralston. Now I'm almost sorry you caught on to this fraud. I can't see any reason for sympathy toward Berg. He entrusted the entire project to Skinner, against other advice. If that doesn't impress you, it certainly places all responsibility for anything that happens out there completely on him."

"Friendly, aren't you? You and Skinner. Did you learn your sense of loyalty from him?"

"Oh, I know Skinner, but there's very little we have in common. You know, if you take what I've told you to Berg, he won't love you for it."

"Probably he won't. I'll think about your arguments. Maybe I'll even be convinced."

Ralston left him staring moodily at his rats. He took his solitary ignorance to the library. He hoped to refresh his memory concerning Abbott and Eoanthropus, and planned to look into Stoker's background at the University. Events might be there that would explain the psychologist's attitude toward Berg.

He began his work in an anthropological dictionary. Eoanthropus was not listed. He tried a volume of primate taxonomy. Nothing. He tried three more sources, with the same result. This irritated him before the significance of it struck him. He knew now what Eoanthropus was, and he knew where he had read of it and of a shop like Abbott's.

He located the book he wanted quickly enough, once the pieces had fallen together in his memory. The pages he turned to sounded familiar, as though he had read them recently instead of a decade before. What he read confirmed Abbott as an excellent antagonist. He took the book with him to check out.

His research on Stoker took longer. The current school catalog told him that Stoker had taken all his degrees at the University. After receiving his Ph.D. he had taught in the East for three years, then returned to take a position at his alma mater. That had been twelve years ago. Stoker was now a full professor, second ranking man in the Psychology Department.

With this information, Ralston began checking through the back files of the school newspaper. He had no idea what he was looking for, was not even sure there was anything to find. He started with the issues from Stoker's days as a student, scanning the front pages quickly. It was a tedious job, but he was certain he had what he wanted when he came across an issue from the time of Stoker's doctoral presentation.

There had been an uproar over Stoker's paper. The newspaper had covered it all with a vengeance. A good psychologist of the period, Stoker had done his research in the field of learning. In the concluding remarks to his paper he had taken a few passing shots at instinct theorists. One of these was Wilson, and Berg, already head of the Zoology Department, had taken offense. He had branded Stoker unqualified to evaluate Wilson's theories, and hopelessly bigoted as an enthusiast of learning theorists anyway. But Berg had gone too far in hinting that Stoker's research was not original. This had brought a demand from Stoker's sponsor that Berg provide some specifics or eat his words. With bad grace, Berg managed an apology to Stoker.

The school had awarded Stoker his degree without any official notice of the controversy. In a final footnote to the brouhaha, the newspaper had interviewed Stoker. He was quoted, "Dr. Berg has entirely too much stock in Wilson's doctrines. My data disagree with those doctrines, so my experiments must be suspect. But theories have to agree with facts, and not the reverse, as Dr. Berg seems to believe." It had been a brash thing to say. It was even more brash to return to the University as a member of the faculty, Ralston thought.

The dispute clarified things. Was it enough to explain Stoker's apparent desire to see Berg fall into an experimental morass? And could Stoker be working with Skinner to create that morass? Ralston gave up his research with a more complete picture of what went on below the surface of the project, but with a lot still missing from it. He was too tired to do anything further, and had no other ideas that could be explored immediately.

He went home and wrote a short letter to Mohr. He explained what he had learned about Skinner's activities from Stoker. He asked Mohr if it would be possible to confirm Stoker's claims about the origins of the second troop. He took the letter out and mailed it, and came back for a sandwich and went to bed.

IV

Ralston looked down the helicopter flight line and sniffed at the moist air. The humidity was making him edgy again. No matter what Dart and Leakey might say, he found it hard to believe that any ancestors of his had evolved in tropical Africa.

To add to his displeasure, he had been unable to speak to Mohr without Berg or Stoker overhearing. He would have to wait to learn the results, if any, of his letter.

Berg had brought equipment and supplies enough to fill two helicopters. The University party would fly over with the first load and Mohr would return with the helicopter for the second.

Besides Ralston, Stoker, and Berg, only a graduate student in biology, Malone, had made the trip. Other faculty and graduates who could have helped had commitments for the summer.

As they boarded the copter Stoker looked over at the boxes of dog candy Berg had brought as treats for the baboons. He said, "I feel like we're going to Manhattan with twenty-four dollars in beads."

Ralston was too irritated at the sweat forming on his neck and arms to answer.

As the island approached they squatted on crates and peered out the tiny windows in the cargo compartment. The helicopter circled above the southern grasslands and soon found some baboons. The monkeys were moving briskly, headed east. The men crowded into the cockpit for a better view. Berg had his binoculars trained on the baboons immediately.

"Stoker, have a look at the front of the troop. See anyone familiar?" Berg asked.

"It could be Hamlet. I'm not sure, it's been so long since I've seen him."

"I'd bet it's Hamlet," Berg said. "I've never seen a larger monkey. I always thought his father was an ape." Berg laughed at his dull humor. His excitement was as high as when he had heard there were two troops, and going higher. He stared at Hamlet as if the baboon were a bequest from a rich relative. "It's Hamlet, no doubt of it."

"I'm surprised the oaf is still alive," Stoker said.

Berg was too engrossed to answer, and Mohr had to ask, "Can we go on, Dr. Berg?"

"Wait. Would it be possible to land about a half-mile ahead of them?"

"I suppose so."

"Good. There's plenty of the afternoon left to work with. I'd like to start observation immediately. Stoker, Ralston, what do you say to taking this troop? Malone and I will take the other when we find it."

Ralston thought the idea putrid; he wanted a night's sleep before risking sunstroke. But Stoker gave a vague agreement and Ralston could not refuse. Berg's excitement was becoming too feverish to argue with.

They landed well in front of the troop. It was agreed that the helicopter would return to pick them up just before sunset. Stoker and Ralston loaded themselves with Navy canteens, fresh fruit, cartons of dog candy, field glasses, a compass, and a .38 revolver apiece. Berg nervously admonished them to use the guns only in direst straits.

Mohr gave them one of a ream of mimeographed maps of the island Berg had brought along. He marked a small cross on it. "We're here, maybe a mile and a half from this jungle to the east." The cross lay along the widest part of the island. Mohr smiled cheerfully as he opened the hatch for them. "Have a nice hike."

Ralston ducked out the hatch, Stoker behind him. The sunlight struck him. He felt weak, trembling in the heat and the backwash of the rising helicopter.

"The old bastard's still quick on the uptake, isn't he?" Stoker asked. "What's that mean?"

"He got what he wanted, a chance for a few words alone with Skinner before he sends the copter back for us tonight."

"You went along with him pretty readily, I noticed."

Stoker was resigned to their fate. "Oh, he would have got his way no matter what. I was just making talk. And we may as well get used to walking. There's no other way to get around but the copter."

Ralston merely nodded irritably.

"I take it you never had any more words with Berg?" Stoker went on.

"No."

"Good."

"You still think Berg can be duped into publishing a bad experiment, don't you?"

"Duped? You said yourself that Skinner is only hired help," Stoker said.

"But anyone might hire him. You, for example."

"True. But why would I?"

"Beats hell out of me," Ralston lied.

They sat down on a small rise. The grass around them was about two feet high. Without using their glasses they could watch the baboons coming toward them.

The troop was less than a hundred yards away when Stoker said, "They're moving awfully fast."

The leading animals were males. They were spread along a wide front. They loped along purposefully and paid no attention to the men watching them. Behind them came females, juveniles, adolescents, and then another line of adult males.

They passed in front of Ralston and Stoker at a distance of twenty to thirty yards. Stoker said, "They aren't even trying to forage."

"They've got places to go and people to meet."

"Maybe. But they might be scared of us, and the copter. This is the troop that -Skinner thinned out."

"So you say. They don't look scared," Ralston answered.

"Oh? Well, how many adult males do you see?"

Ralston took some time counting. "Ten."

"Not many, for a troop this size. And the order of march is upset. The males are either in front or in back, none of them with the females and infants. Not enough males to go around, I'd say."

Ralston almost told Stoker about the three males he had seen idling in a grove, but he decided not to. Wait and see if they were still up to those tricks.

"All right, they're missing some males. You think it's because Skinner didn't watch who he was killing?"

"Exactly. He thinned out too many males."

They gave the troop a comfortable lead, and started after it. Reaching the line of march, they found that the grass was beaten down. A path, irregular in width but unwaveringly straight, ran east to west across the savanna.

"How about this, Stoker? They must use this trail regularly. It's a real monkey highway. Still think they were moving fast because they were scared?"

"Then what are they up to?"

To the east, the baboons were shrinking from sight quickly. Ralston said, "I don't have any idea, but we'd better get after them. They mean business."

When it was evident that walking would not keep them close to the troop they started to jog. But the pace was more than two academics nearing middle age could manage for long. They collapsed and cursed the monkeys out of sight.

Twenty minutes of rest, some water and fruit, and they felt strong enough to start after them. Following the trail they came upon the troop gathered in a grove of trees.

Stoker took out his field glasses. "They're digging for something, maybe some kind of tuber."

Ralston was counting monkeys. "And there are three more of them than there were when they passed us."

"What?"

"There are fifty-one of them in there. After I counted those males earlier I counted the rest of them too. There were forty-eight."

"How could that be?"

Ralston was content to look innocent and puzzled and say nothing.

In the center of the grove most of the males were gathered in a close group. There was much activity among them, amiable jostling, slapping, nudging. "It looks like Alumni Day down there," Ralston said.

The males broke up with -more gestures of amity. Everyone rooted among the trees for some time, then the troop began to form for travel. When they started east again they left three males behind.

"What the hell?" Stoker demanded, as if the monkeys had insulted his intelligence.

Ralston was quiet, and Stoker asked, "What do you think? Were they waiting here for the troop?" "Apparently. If not them, three others."

"Baboons don't leave people behind. I'd give a lot to know what these beasts have been up to out here."

"Don't you think this is another of Skinner's tricks?"

"No, how could it be? I think this is significant, but what good is it to us?"

"Given time we might figure out how it happened."

Two of the baboons settled down for a nap. The third sat on his haunches and solemnly surveyed the grove.

"What is he doing?"

"Nothing but day-dreaming, as far as I can tell," Ralston answered. "It's going to take days to catch on to them. Why don't we follow the troop?"

"You think there's more of this?"

"Why not?"

They marked the grove's position on their map. Stoker estimated they were a mile from the eastern jungle.

The troop was moving fast, and a brisk walk kept them in sight only a few minutes. Ralston and Stoker had to rely on the trail to find them again.

They caught up with the baboons in a grove immediately near the jungle. "Fifty-one," Ralston said after a quick head count.

Stoker sat down in the shade of some bushes. "What is so great about these groves?"

"It must be the roots. They haven't been eating much of anything else. They've been moving too fast for that."

"Must be pretty tasty roots," Stoker said.

"They wouldn't be guarding them for nothing."

"That has occurred to me. And God knows there's enough other food around."

Ralston said, "The question is, what are they being guarded against?"

"Weevils," Stoker said, and took an orange from his pack.

"Losing your patience, Stoker?"

"No, I lost my patience with the way this experiment has been run a long time ago. The monkeys, bless them, are doing wonderfully out here. But what good is any of it?" Stoker ripped at the orange skin.

"If we could get Skinner to tell Berg what's been done here, we might still salvage the thing. We get Berg down to earth and we can run it properly."

"Meaning we ought to tell all to Berg?" Stoker asked around a mouthful of orange.

"I'm sure he's not behind the hoax."

"Oh? Can you prove it?" He spit seeds juicily.

"I'll be able to soon."

Stoker stared at the monkeys rooting happily in the grove. "Look, they're still eating leaves and grass along with the roots. They're not completely deranged."

"I don't think they could live without some greenery."

Stoker finished his orange. "Well, you get your proof and we'll talk about it. I owe that son of a bitch nothing, but this is too beautiful to lose. These monkeys are on to something."

The troop left the grove and turned south. As before, they left three males behind. To follow the troop might mean not meeting the helicopter before dark. They chose to stay with the three in the grove awhile and then start back.

They moved closer, and their presence did not bother the guards. The baboons only looked at them with mild interest.

"Think they'd like some dog candy?" Ralston asked.

"They'd probably like some fruit better."

They came in among the trees with the monkeys. They got within twenty feet of them, moving slowly, and Stoker tossed their remaining fruit to the monkeys.

The guards scrambled for the fruit, sniffed it, rubbed it, licked it.

Finally they devoured all of it and came closer, looking for more.

"They haven't forgotten how to mooch, anyway," Ralston said.

"Let's hope they like dog candy."

The monkeys approved of the candy, and were munching at a boxful when Ralston noticed motion among the trees. He turned and saw another male looking out at him from deeper in the grove.

"Stoker, look there."

Stoker turned. "Who's he?"

"A friend of theirs, I guess. Maybe he'd like some candy."

Ralston threw candy at Chester, but one of the guards jumped after it. Stoker got the guards' attention by rummaging in his pack, and Ralston tried again to get some candy to Chester.

Chester looked carefully at the offering. He eyed the men, saw no rifles, and decided to try the candy.

"It's the cripple," Stoker said.

The candy tasted good. Chester ventured closer. Eventually he came up with the guards, looking for more.

"He must have been here waiting for the troop," Stoker said.

"Didn't King name him Chester?" Ralston asked. "I guess it'll stick. I wonder what the odds are he's mixed up in this guard system?"

"You think he is? Maybe, but how do we find out? God knows we've got our work cut out for us." Stoker threw Chester a piece of candy. "Hiya, Chester."

When the candy ran out they reluctantly left Chester and friends and hiked back along the trail. The copter met them at sunset and flew them north to the cabins.

Mohr came out of the meeting hall as they landed. Stoker was first out of the copter. "How long has Berg been back?"

"About half an hour," Mohr said.

"He's with Skinner?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think I ought to pay my respects to brother Skinner, too."

Mohr pointed out Skinner's cabin to Stoker and watched him walk off. "Whose side is he on?"

Ralston said, "His own, but I have hopes of getting him to lay off Berg."

"Lay off him?"

"There's more to things than I told you in the letter."

They went into the dining hall for coffee. While they drank, Ralston filled in Stoker's background at the University for Mohr.

When he was done, Mohr said, "The Navy hasn't been too happy with Dr. Berg, for that matter."

"I can understand that."

"Even if Dr. Stoker did put Isaacs up to his investigation, we have to take the U.N. complaint seriously. We haven't always been popular with conservationists and that crowd. We can't have any charges of mistreating wildlife stick. If Skinner is to blame, I'm going to see that the U.N. knows about it.

"And I don't think I can trust Dr. Berg to see that all the facts are made public."

Ralston said, "Then Stoker's claims are true?"

"Completely. Skinner had at least forty baboons shipped to this island nine months ago. They were brought over from Guam by the same fisherman who brought over your first bunch.

"After Skinner was hurt, he had this fisherman hire some local labor and bring them out here. They were paid to collect the bodies of some baboons that had been shot, and bury them. When this fisherman got curious about the shootings, Skinner told him the baboons had a virus and had to be killed. The new monkeys were supposed to replace them. It's a nice story."

"Except that Stoker anticipated it."

"And he won't say how?" "No."

"Well, you see what I'm getting at. I caught hell today when I told my boss about that second shipment. He seems to think I should have known about it when it happened."

Ralston tried to look sympathetic. "Tell him you weren't the only one who got taken. We weren't too alert either."

"Yeah."

"And I don't think the damage is irreparable. The experiment can be kept going, once we get rid of Skinner - and if I can prove what I think Abbott's up to. It'll bring Berg down hard when he hears what Skinner's done, but that's what we need."

"Oh - speaking of Abbott, he just got out of the hospital today."

"The hospital?"

"You won't believe what happened to him. He says he came over here to visit his friend Skinner, and fell into a ravine while he was out for a stroll. His leg was really chewed up, but I guess it wasn't as bad as it looked. It still has some stitches in it, though."

"When was it he visited Skinner?"

"Two days after you were here, or thereabouts."

Ralston smiled. "He got the same medicine Skinner got. Fell into a ravine. Not a chance. I wonder what he was up to when the monkeys got him?"

"All he would tell me was that he was visiting Skinner."

"I think we'll have to pay Abbott a visit, take him our condolences."

"When do you want to go?"

"Tomorrow night, I'd. say. Although maybe we ought to go now. Abbott may decide to take a trip for his health."

"If he does, Customs won't let him off Guam. We can detain him on charges of interfering with Navy operations."

"All right, tomorrow night."

Mohr had to return to Guam to file his daily report. He promised to return in the morning to provide transportation around the island. He had not been gone more than a few minutes when Skinner entered the meeting hall. He glared at Ralston, said, "That boy left already?"

"Which boy is that?"

"That Navy punk."

"You've a lovely tongue, Skinner. The gift of gab." Ralston noticed the envelope in Skinner's hand. "And another letter to mail," he concluded.

"Can't you answer a question?" Skinner asked furiously.

Ralston shrugged melodramatically. "If you mean Lieutenant Mohr, yes, he's left already."

Skinner limped out without another word.

Several minutes passed. Ralston finished another cup of coffee and went into the kitchen, where Malone was sorting supplies. Together they made cold sandwiches for dinner, and more coffee. They were setting one of the tables in the dining area when Stoker came in.

"Sandwiches? What's wrong with a decent meal?"

"You want it, you make it," Ralston said. "The help is through for the day."

Stoker laughed. "Easy, boy, easy. I was joking." He began piling sandwiches on a plate. "Why didn't you tell me about Skinner's bad leg?" he asked Ralston.

"Didn't I? I guess I assumed Berg would tell you."

"Berg tells me nothing."

"Well, are they going to eat?" "I don't think so. Skinner has his own stock of food and Berg has gone to bed. A hard day." He paused, chuckling to himself. "The limp does give Skinner a certain aura of dignity, don't you think? And by the way, I'm sharing a cabin with Berg, so I guess that means you two will be cell-mates."

Stoker went to pour a cup of coffee, humming to himself. Ralston gave up eating to watch him.

"Skinner was glad to see you, was he?" Ralston asked.

"Glad? Not quite. He hates the sight of me. That's the great thing about Skinner."

"What is?"

"His temperament. He was born to needle."

"Possibly. And you've been needling him?"

"A little."

"He was just in here looking for Mohr. I think he wanted to send a letter off."

Stoker started to eat.

"You wouldn't know anything about that letter, would you?"

"No. Berg and I left Skinner's shack about twenty-five minutes ago. I suppose he wrote it after we left. Why?"

"Your needling couldn't have caused him to write it, could it? What did you say to him, if it's not too personal?"

"Not much. A few insults. Berg dragged me out before I could really get started. Blessed are the peacemakers." Stoker went on eating.

Ralston gave it up and went back to his food. They finished the meal without much more conversation and cleaned up the kitchen.

Neither Berg nor Skinner came into the meeting hall before they left for the night.

V

Stoker awakened Ralston and Malone just after sunrise on his way to get the coffee started. He was in the kitchen trying to get breakfast organized when they got to the dining hall. Skinner and Berg were there together at a table. Berg called Ralston over to have coffee with them.

Berg had lost his excitement since Ralston had seen him last. His face was rested and serious. When he spoke he stared intently at Ralston. Skinner sipped his coffee quietly and listened to Berg.

Berg said, "Stoker has given me some idea of what you two saw yesterday. To say it's important is an understatement. But I think his interpretation of it is short-sighted. The value of these groves to the baboons is certainly not limited to a supply of roots."

"Why? It's a good hypothesis at this point. The roots were what they were interested in."

"But with so much other food available ..."

"These roots may be in short supply, though," Ralston said. "It might be worth it to them to keep other animals away."

"Then they must have a very strong appetite for these roots, or whatever they are," Berg said.

"Why shouldn't they? Baboons grow to like things. They've been known to become alcohol and tobacco addicts. A strong taste for a specific food isn't impossible."

Berg stared at him as though he were a pupil missing the point of a lesson.

"Then again, they're energetic animals," Ralston conceded. "With no predators around, they might need something like guarding these groves as an outlet for all that energy."

Ralston expected that Berg would appreciate this point of view, and he was not disappointed. "I think that's closer to the truth," Berg agreed. "Given a lack of predators, their territorial instincts are serving as an outlet for energy. Of course, they may not merely be guarding against an invasion of their territory, but specifically against raids on these roots by the other troop. If one troop has a strong liking for them, there's no reason why the other shouldn't," Berg said, switching horses without getting his feet wet.

"I don't see why it has to be the other troop," Ralston said. "Different species often compete for the same food."

"But the division of the troop, Ralston. Look at it in light of what you saw yesterday."

Ralston wanted to laugh. He said, "You think they split up over these roots?" He made a point of staring at Skinner as he spoke. The black eyes were cold, normal.

Berg said, "Yes, in so far as the ownership of these groves ties in with their territorial instincts. Obviously there weren't enough roots to go around. There was a squabble, and one faction threw the other out of the groves, taking control of the territory containing the groves.

"It's a perfect example of intraspecies aggression based on territoriality, and precipitated by a relatively minor issue. Aggression quite similar to that of human beings."

"That's a tidy description of World War One, but we're talking about animals with more sense than men. The fact that one troop likes these roots well enough to guard them doesn't say a thing about intraspecies aggression or territoriality. It says they like the roots."

Berg was patient. He took one of the mimeographed maps of the island out of a shirt pocket. "This is my map of the northern troop's movements yesterday. I've copied the data from Stoker's map onto it."

Ralston could see the trail of the southern troop running east from the center of the island to the edge of the jungle.

"Now the groves you saw, being almost exactly on an east-west line, could easily lie on the territorial boundary. Notice the position of the northern troop. At times they were no more than a half-mile from this line. If the groves are not exactly on the boundary, they are not far from it."

"All right, baboons are territorial animals. I'm not arguing the point. You have two troops, you have two territories. It's among the things that make them attractive subjects for experiments like this. And the border is probably somewhere near where you say it is. But there's no proof those groves are tied in with questions of territoriality. Territories were probably established without anyone worrying about where those groves ended up."

"But there are baboons stationed along a line quite near the border, Ralston," Berg said.

"A monkey Maginot Line, since we were talking about world wars?"

"Essentially, yes. And because the southern troop was moving east when we first saw them, it implies that more groves exist farther west in the savanna. There could, in fact, be a line of them across the island."

"But when we saw them last they were heading south," Ralston argued. "Why guard more groves down there if they're guarding against the troop in the north?"

"There may not be any down there. It was late in the afternoon. They were probably making for some sleeping places." Berg looked pleased with his explanation.

"Maybe. Did Stoker tell you about the trail they've worn in the grass?"

"Yes," Berg said.

"If we follow that trail west, we'll know whether any more groves exist."

"Exactly. We're going to do that this morning, by helicopter. Then you and I will observe the southern troop while Stoker and Malone take the other."

The change in teams told Ralston he was in for a day of argument. Did Berg think he was being hard to convince for the hell of it, or had Stoker really shot his mouth off to Berg and Skinner last night, and made him seem like the complete heretic?

As Ralston got up and started for the kitchen, Skinner spoke for the first time. "I understand you're going to prove I'm some kind of bad influence around here?"

Ralston looked at Berg, who was staring into his coffee cup. Ralston said, "Unless the baboons are gullible enough, you're no influence at all, Skinner." Stoker and his mouth.

It surprised Ralston when Skinner laughed.

Breakfast was eaten with limited conversation. When Mohr arrived, they became more sociable, including Skinner. He joked with Mohr before Berg became serious and outlined the day's plans for the lieutenant.

When Berg finished, Mohr said, "Do you think I could come along with you and Dr. Ralston?"

Berg was surprised by the request, and a little wary of it. "To observe on foot?"

"Yes."

"It's uncomfortable work."

"I'm prepared for that."

"Well, if you want to, I can't stop you, can I?"

The pilot found the two groves without trouble. From the western one they followed the trail into the savanna. It could be seen easily from the air. It ran straight west, as straight as it had seemed to Ralston from the ground.

The trail covered two miles to the western jungle. They searched those two miles carefully, but there were no more groves, no more baboons. Only a scattering of trees and bushes broke the grass, and few of those were anywhere near the trail.

"Last night you were saying there were more guards along this trail," Stoker said to Berg. "What do you say now?"

Berg was upset by what they had not found, but he said, "With no trees of any size out here for shelter, obviously there could be no permanent guards. But the trail is well used. The troop itself must patrol this segment of the border. The job would be that much easier because the two groves protect the east."

"It's also possible they have another use for this trail," Stoker said. "I think we ought to follow it into the jungle."

Berg was not enthusiastic about the suggestion, but he asked the pilot to land.

The trail did not go far into the jungle. The party had just entered the first thick growth when the trail ended at the edge of a stream.

"This must be the troop's regular water supply," Ralston said.

"Perhaps," Berg said. "But there must be streams in the eastern jungle too. Why come all the way over here?"

"If they visit those groves frequently enough," Stoker said, "it seems they'd use the water supply nearest to them. This may be it."

Berg became irritated. "The trail could be used just as easily to patrol the border."

"They might use it to chase butterflies, too, if butterflies flew in straight lines," Stoker said.

"Baboons usually defend their territories on the run," Ralston said. "What you're suggesting about the trail as border defense is nothing new. The groves and the water-hole lie near the border, but they don't have to have anything to do with the border."

"I suppose there's no use arguing here," Berg said. "We may be able to throw some light on the problem today."

When Ralston, Berg; and Mohr were dropped off at the western grove, Berg had little to say other than to suggest that Ralston keep the day's log of observations. Either the presence of Mohr or the morning's disappointments had stifled the lecture Ralston had expected.

The morning went by quietly. It was after ten before one of the adults guarding the grove climbed out of the tree he had been sleeping in and began chewing at handfuls of grass and leaves. He dug around and came up with something resembling a brown rock. He ate it slowly.

The other adult and the adolescent soon joined him in breakfast. After the meal they settled into a routine of strolling around the grove, squatting down to dig at the ground, chewing at plants, or napping. It was past noon when the routine was disturbed by the troop arriving from the east.

"All right, let's each of us watch one of the guards," Berg said. "I want to know if the same animals are left behind, or if they are replaced." He assigned them each a guard and they watched diligently. When the troop headed out to the west, the three males they were watching went with it. In their places were two other adults and one other adolescent.

It was not much of a surprise; no one said anything. The troop was out of sight quickly. They went back to watching the grove.

The new guards spent some time digging for roots and looking under rocks for insects. Eventually they sat down together and kept an eye on things.

East of the grove were several clumps of brush. These harbored native pigs. At the edge of one clump a pig lay hidden, watching the monkeys grow bored with their duties. When the baboons began to doze, the pig decided to sneak across the grass toward the grove.

The monkeys were not as lethargic as they seemed. The first growling screech out of them woke the entire neighborhood. The human observers, who had been half-dozing themselves, were as startled as the pig.

"Whatsat?" Mohr asked.

"A pig," Ralston said. "The monkeys just saw him."

"A pig?" Berg asked.

"I'm afraid so."

The pig made a show of ferocity. He charged toward the grove, but the monkeys stood shoulder to shoulder barking and screeching, and the pig pulled up short of them by several yards. The baboons hunched down on their front legs and made lunging motions at the pig. They bared their teeth, and their manes came up straight in a horrific display. It was a moderate statement of displeasure, not an invitation to mayhem, and the pig seemed to realize this. He snorted and grunted, but came no closer.

The monkeys were showing him the door, as politely as baboons can, and he took the hint. To the tune of more barks and screeches, the pig backed away and was gone into the brush.

"And what animal normally thrives on roots?" Ralston asked of the air. "There must be some very unhappy pigs on this island."

"That's what all the guarding is about?" Mohr asked.

"It's a good bet right now."

Berg said, "You don't think much of my ideas, do you, Ralston?" He was bitter, and he was outraged that Ralston should disagree with him so casually in front of an outsider.

Mohr pretended to be watching the place where the pig had vanished, embarrassed to know exactly what Ralston thought of Berg's ideas.

"We haven't seen the other troop come near this grove, but we have seen a pig try to sneak in. All I said was, it's a good guess right now."

"You enjoy putting me in a bad light, just as Stoker does. And what do you two have against Skinner?"

"Is that what Stoker crowed to you about last night?"

"You didn't answer me."

"I have nothing against you, but I think Skinner is trying to ruin this experiment. I've told you that before. I think I'll be able to prove it soon."

"You'd better be able to." Berg walked away from them to stare at the monkeys. Ralston had to look at them too, and found them staring back, wondering at the commotion.

"What do you think of him now?" Mohr asked.

"I think I'd better be right about Abbott, that's all."

"Don't let that worry you. Abbott's in on it."

"What?"

"I would have told you earlier, but people were around," Mohr said. "I've had a man checking into details on that second shipment of baboons. When I got back to Guam last night, he had a copy of the original shipping order that came with them. It was made out to Abbott, and he signed a receipt for them when they arrived on Guam."

"Why Abbott and not Skinner?" Ralston asked.

"Easy. Skinner's only contact with Guam is through the Navy. Thick as we are, we might have wondered a little about another shipment of baboons arriving at the base addressed to Skinner. We would have remembered it, anyway."

"I think I'm looking forward to seeing Abbott."

Some time after the pig was routed, Chester came limping along the trail from the east. The three guards greeted him happily, and one offered him a fresh root.

Berg watched Chester with uneasy interest. It was plain to Ralston that he did not like reminders of Skinner's handiwork, but Chester could not be ignored.

Ralston dug out some fruit and dog candy. "Come on, I'll introduce you to Chester," he said to Mohr.

They approached the guards cautiously. Once the three saw the food they became quite friendly. Chester hesitated, but soon came up with the guards.

"I didn't realize they were this friendly," Mohr said.

"They're not. They're greedy. Any food is good, but food they don't have to hunt for is twice as good."

The treats finally ran out and Ralston and Mohr retired to wait for the troop's return from the water hole.

It was past three when the monkeys came through the grove. This time they did not change guards, but the males went through the fraternal rites Ralston and Stoker had witnessed the day before. Chester went with the troop when it left.

The helicopter picked them up at four o'clock. Ralston suggested they trace the baboon trail south from the eastern grove. Berg was indifferent to the idea, but Ralston insisted they go ahead with it.

They overtook the troop leaving the eastern grove. From there the trail covered four miles going south. It stuck to the edge of the jungle. Following it, they found three more guarded groves. Between the southernmost grove, where the trail ended, and the one immediately north of it, was a long face of bare rock.

"They probably spend their nights there," Ralston said, pointing the face out to Mohr as he marked it on his map. Berg had few comments on their latest finds as they flew to pick up Stoker and Malone.

Stoker and Ralston compared notes on the way back to the cabins. Berg showed no interest in Stoker's report until they had landed and were seated in the meeting hall. Stoker pointed out the northern troop's movements on his map. It had been foraging farther south than the day before. At times it had been within shouting distance of the southern troop before it had turned back for the night.

"Since they're moving south," Berg said, "it's possible they'll reach the trail and the groves tomorrow. What they do then will be invaluable to us. What both troops do, I should say."

"You still think they're the root bandits, after what Ralston's been telling me about that pig?" Stoker asked.

"The guards may be there to keep pigs out as well as the other troop," Berg said.

"I don't think so," Stoker said. "If there are five groves worth guarding in the southern part of the island, there must be more in the north. Why risk territorial squabbles over someone else's roots?"

"As you said about water this morning, Stoker, we can't be positive about how the island's resources are distributed. Besides, baboons are born thieves," Berg said.

"I'll be surprised - no, astounded - if the northern troop tries to get at those groves tomorrow, or any other time," Stoker answered.

The argument tapered off. Ralston suggested they make dinner. Berg left, saying he had no appetite.

"Off to report to Skinner," Stoker said.

After dinner, Ralston told Stoker he had business on Guam.

"Oh? Something urgent?"

"It might be. I was going to tell Berg, but it would only start an argument now. I may be back tonight."

"We won't wait up for you."

The helicopter followed a radar signal across the dark ocean. Ralston and Mohr had the cargo section to themselves.

"I've got another letter to mail from Skinner to Abbott," Mohr said.

"Probably telling him to clear out. Stoker's been running off at the mouth."

"Where does Abbott come into what Skinner's been doing?"

"At the beginning, I think." Before taking off, Ralston had gone back to his cabin for a book. He took it out of his jacket pocket now and handed it to Mohr. It was a thin, maroon book, and when Mohr turned its spine to the weak overhead bulbs, small gold letters read, "The Piltdown Forgery," and below that, "Weiner."

"Piltdown? As in Piltdown Man?" Mohr asked.

"As in that big skull Abbott has displayed behind his cash register. I could only read part of the name on it, and it bothered me because what I read almost rang a bell: Eoanthropus. When I tried to look it up, I couldn't find it in the standard references.

"I asked myself why they wouldn't list it, and the only answer seemed to be that the animal wasn't recognized by science, and that told me what it was, a fake. The full name is Eoanthropus dawsoni. Freely translated, that means something like 'Dawson's Dawn Man', Dawson being the man who found it. Its popular name is Piltdown Man.

"That book has a description of a shop a lot like the Albion Gift Shop. It's on pages 98 and 99."

Mohr held the book up to the light and read. After a few pages he looked at Ralston and said, "This shop in here was owned by an Abbott too?"

"Lewis Abbott, an amateur geologist early in the century. When Piltdown was discovered around 1909, Abbott was an associate of Dawson. In fact, it was Abbott who suggested that Dawson dig where Piltdown was found.

"Weiner portrays Abbott as an eccentric, a man who took his science flamboyantly. He was among the earliest apologists for Piltdown."

Ralston paused, remembering the skull in Samuel Abbott's shop. "There were two 'specimens' of Piltdown found. They're both fakes. But who did these fakes - and they were done so skillfully that it took forty years to expose them - is still unknown.

"But Piltdown was attacked many years before it was proved a fraud. And, in the early days of its discovery, an interesting process took place. Every time a critic found something wrong with Piltdown, another bit of fossil would be 'discovered' which would silence the criticism. If it was objected that the jaw lacked a canine tooth, and that without one nothing could be said for sure about the jaw's ancestry, a canine tooth popped up almost immediately."

"You're kidding."

"No. Weiner's recorded it all. And it may be that the skull we saw in the Albion was prepared to silence other criticism, and was to be 'found' at the proper time. But the proper time never came. There were other, legitimate, discoveries being made which put Piltdown in an awkward position. Dart found his first Australopithecine around 1924, and it raised questions about Piltdown's place in evolution.

"It may be that the hoaxer saw that Piltdown was doomed and gave it up. Lewis Abbott died in 1933. If he was the hoaxer, he may have revealed the hoax to someone close to him before he died, his son or grandson, maybe. Samuel Abbott says his grandfather started the collection of bones he has. He's in late middle age, born maybe around 1910. He could easily be Lewis Abbott's grandson.

"If there was another skull, Lewis Abbott may have told his heirs to keep it under wraps, hopefully until some quirk of scientific discovery would make it possible to resurrect Piltdown. That is, if the heirs were inclined to scientific hoaxes, which I'm guessing they were.

"Of course, Piltdown's time never came again. It was suspect a long time, but Oakley proved it was a fake in 1953. The jaw fragments and the cranium fragments weren't from the same animal, although they had been stained to look like they were.

"Samuel Abbott couldn't have been too happy about it, if he really was planning to keep up the hoax. He might have been unhappy enough to devise some other hoax, one not so easily detected. A hoax like the one Skinner's been cooking up, maybe."

Mohr shook his head. "That's quite a theory. I suppose hoaxes could run in a family, but - didn't Samuel Abbott wait a long time to take up where Piltdown left off?"

"Maybe. But who's to say that this is his first try at a hoax since Piltdown was discredited?"

"Not me."

"Of course, my theory is mostly guesswork. I'm not even sure that Lewis Abbott ever got married or had any children, let alone grandchildren. But, as a theory, it gives us a motive for what Skinner's been doing, unless Berg really is botching up his own experiment."

"And you think we can get Abbott to confirm your guesses?"

"We can try."

After they landed, Mohr went to check in at his office. The building was a converted barracks, quiet and empty, with only hall lights on. Mohr switched on the lights in one small compartment, and picked up the day's collection of papers on his desk.

One sheet caught his eye. He put the rest down and turned to Ralston. "Do you know who ordered the second troop of baboons from the supplier?"

"Not Abbott?"

"No." Mohr handed the paper to Ralston. "Dr. Stoker sure didn't tell you the whole story about that. Here's a photostat of the order. It came in this afternoon."

Ralston took the slick paper covered with brown-black ink. It was a standard order form, and the signature at the bottom was "Jacob Lang Wilson, Ph.D."

"Another J. L. Wilson," Ralston said.

"The real one?"

"It must be. It explains how those animals got ordered. The suppliers only sell to accredited workers, and Wilson is still a Doctor of Psychology. I wish I'd thought of that before."

"Then Wilson is responsible for Skinner?"

"No, I think Wilson is Skinner. It explains the closeness between Berg and Skinner."

"Maybe. What do we do now, just go up to Skinner and ask him who he is?"

"We could. Or we could ask Stoker - or Abbott."

Abbott's shop was closed, but there were lights in the rear of the building. Ralston knocked several times before Abbott, leaning on a cane, came to the door.

"What is it?" he asked, not recognizing them.

"My name's Ralston. I'm a member of that project you and Skinner have been fooling with. And you may remember Lieutenant Mohr from your stay in the hospital."

"Yes. And you were in my shop with him last week, weren't you? You're no longer a drama teacher?"

"It was fun while it lasted. Can we come in?"

Abbott stared at him, looked past him at Mohr, and stood back to let them pass. He turned on the shop lights, and Ralston said, "You do know Skinner, don't you?"

"I'm a friend of his, yes."

"Just a friend? What was in that frantic note he sent you last week?" Ralston asked.

"Frantic note? You're melodramatic. Skinner gets lonely and I visit him occasionally."

"To help him cook up new tricks to play on the monkeys?"

"You're talking in riddles."

"All right, riddle me this: are you related to Lewis Abbott, the man who was involved in the discovery of that `human ancestor' you've got hanging on the wall?" Ralston motioned toward the specimen of Piltdown.

"Lewis Abbott was my grandfather."

"And you got that skull from him?" Ralston asked.

"Yes, I did."

"And you go around showing it off?"

Abbott was puzzled. "Of course, why not? Oh, you think it's a real fossil, don't you? I'm afraid not. It's plaster. None of the actual skulls were that complete. My grandfather made that cast, and tried to fill in some of the missing parts. But I've never pretended it was real. If you'd asked me when you were in here before, I'd have told you it was plaster."

Ralston looked at the skull. The perverse union of human cranium and ape jaw hardly resembled plaster. "Somebody did an awful lot of work staining that thing, if it's plaster."

"So?"

"Could I have a closer look at it?"

"No. It's quite old. I don't allow it to be handled."

"All right, it's plaster. The originals were fakes too, so I guess it hardly matters."

"It's been claimed they are fakes."

"Claimed? Oakley proved it."

"Perhaps. You think my grandfather was involved in this so-called faking of Piltdown?"

"It's occurred to me."

"And you came here simply to malign my grandfather?"

"No. Like I said, there's been some tampering done to our project. Some animals were shot, and some others were smuggled in to take their places."

"And you think I'm a smuggler?"

"I think you're a man who likes hoaxes."

"Because you think my grandfather did?"

"Partly. And because of a group of baboons you accepted from a shipper for Skinner, because they couldn't be sent through the Navy base. You do remember them?"

"Yes. I did it as a favor to Skinner, that's all there was to the matter."

"And you went over to the island last week and got your leg chewed up by a monkey as a favor to him too?"

"I fell."

Mohr said, "The doctor who stitched you up said your wounds were made by an animal."

"Doctors can be wrong."

"Then maybe we're wrong, too," Ralston said. "Maybe we have things backwards. Skinner doesn't strike me as a man with the wits to plan a hoax, or the money to carry it out. Maybe he's been doing favors for you, instead of the other way around. How's that sound?"

Abbott laughed. "He hasn't the wits? That makes me guilty by process of elimination? Let me tell you something, you two aren't as clever as you think you are."

"How's that?" Mohr asked.

"You've missed one very important fact about Skinner. You don't really know who he is. If you did, you wouldn't come ragging me about this."

"We know he's J. L. Wilson. That's no great secret," Mohr said flatly. "Don't tell me he's also Judge Crater?"

Abbott glared at them. "Well? What do you want from me, then?"

"We were just wondering if Wilson would go along with your version of the hoax," Mohr said.

Angrily, Abbott said, "Lieutenant, Wilson and I have been friends a long time. I met him before he fell out of academic favor. Shortly before this project got under way he came to me with his plans for, ah, embellishing it. I thought they were good plans. You see, I have always agreed with his ideas. I felt the scientific community had done him an injustice, and I did not like to see his ideas die."

Abbott glanced around the shop. "I came out here to see his results, and of course I had to bring my things with me. I did nothing improper, unless encouraging a man to stick to his beliefs is wrong."

Mohr said, "That's nice talk. But we can bring charges against Wilson, and anyone helping him, for interfering with Navy operations. There's also a charge of mistreating a protected species floating around looking for someone to land on.

"So let's try another version of things: I think when you heard that Dr. Berg was running this project, you put Wilson up to tampering with it, hoping he could get a job on it through his friendship with Dr. Berg. You knew Wilson was embittered enough to go along with a hoax, especially one that supported his theories."

"That's a lovely fiction," Abbott said.

"Is it? It's good enough to give you plenty of trouble. Why did you go out to the island last week?"

"I told you, to visit Wilson."

"No, there was more to it than that. I think he needed something done, something he couldn't do with a bad leg. What was it?"

Abbott said nothing. Mohr went on, "As far as I can see, you and Wilson are equally responsible for this hoax. But it doesn't matter to me if only one of you gets the blame, as long as the Navy is cleared."

"You're a wolfish young man," Abbott said.

"Sure. Think it over. What were you doing out there?"

Abbott shrugged. "You know that Wilson killed some monkeys. Well, he made a mess of it. He wounded one and it got away. He tried to get close enough to the troop to finish it off, but two others he didn't want to kill protected it. When he kept after them, they turned on him. He was lucky to beat them off with his rifle.

"He hoped it had died, but when he heard last week that it was still alive, and that Berg was coming out, he had to have it killed. He asked me to kill it.

"I tried, in a half-hearted way. I'm no hunter. The monkey hunted me. You saw what he did to my leg. I never had a chance to shoot.

"So you see, I've really done no harm to your project. Does that satisfy you, Lieutenant?"

"For now. Someone from our legal office will be here in the morning to take a statement of what you've just told us. I'd advise you to give him one, and then sign it."

"My earlier estimate of you was too mild, Lieutenant."

"Sure. Good night."

Outside, Ralston said, "You're really going to prosecute Wilson? That protected species charge was a fake, you know."

"Abbott wouldn't know that, or at least I hoped he wouldn't. But I don't think we'll bother either of them any more. With Abbott's statement I can put Isaacs' complaint back through channels so fast it'll burn his fingers when it gets to him."

Driving back through Agana, Mohr mailed Wilson's letter to Abbott.

Ralston spent the night in a Navy barracks. He put himself to sleep imagining what he would say to Berg in the morning.

VI

Stoker and Berg were waiting for the helicopter. The morning was early enough to be cool. Ralston felt in command of things when he and Mohr emerged from the copter.

Stoker was smiling. He said, "The jig is up, Ralston."

"Shut up, Stoker," Berg said. "You mean Wilson's jig?" Ralston asked.

Stoker laughed. Berg said, "Wilson?"

"Wilson, Skinner, whichever you like," Ralston said. "I mean the small fact that made Stoker suspicious enough to watch shipments of monkeys. You could have told me, one of you."

Stoker's face was innocent. "In the interests of rehabilitation, I promised Berg I'd never let the dark secret out. How'd you find it out?"

"In a minute. What about jigs being up?"

Stoker said, "Wilson has taken flight to avoid whatever he has on his conscience. Like killing monkeys and doctoring experiments."

"You're lying again, Stoker," Berg said.

"What do you call it, a midnight tryst with a lady baboon?"

"What's Wilson done?" Ralston asked.

Berg said, "Following some harassment by Stoker last night, Wilson left his cabin and hasn't been back. He apparently took a rifle with him."

"Helpful, aren't you?" Ralston asked Stoker.

"I plead no contest. The bastard was too smug yesterday. I couldn't resist shaking him up."

"I guess you put a scare into him when you came out here, and he was afraid Berg would take you seriously about shooting those monkeys. But Berg wore his blinders out here. He was calming Wilson's nerves that first night when I went in and stirred things up. I told both of them you were on to Wilson, but later Berg went back and convinced the old fraud that you and I couldn't prove there were twelve inches in a foot, let alone that Wilson was up to anything unethical.

"That made Wilson too smug to stand. He was even making jokes yesterday. So after you left I told them what I knew about the second troop, and that you'd gone to Guam to get the evidence. It was a fine performance, one of my best. I'll cherish the look on Wilson's face forever."

"Damn it, haven't you lied enough, Stoker?" Berg said. "And if you've been taken in by Stoker's delusions, Ralston, I hope you're satisfied with the outcome. Wilson is in no condition to be tramping around all night."

Ralston had with him the copies of the shipping documents and the order forms that Mohr had collected. He handed them to Berg. "Stoker may have delusions, but not in this case. Here are the records of what Wilson did."

Berg looked at the papers. He inspected every word, went over everything twice. "You're certain these haven't been falsified?"

"Yes," Mohr said.

"Then who is this Abbott?"

Ralston explained what they had learned from and about Abbott.

"Then Wilson really wasn't - "

Ralston interrupted him. "Wilson and Abbott were both tampering with the project. It would be hard to say who suggested what to whom, but Wilson did most of the actual damage."

Berg stared at the papers. Ralston thought he had accepted them.

"It's the truth," Ralston said.

Berg said, "This just about destroys the project, doesn't it?"

"I hope not. There's a lot to be saved, if we're honest about the tampering. I think Stoker agrees with me."

"Sure," Stoker said. "Even Wilson couldn't cook up a fraudulent guard system. Not in just five years, anyway."

Berg was not listening. He said, "A second troop. It's bad enough that the original one didn't split, but... do you know what's worse?"

"What?" Ralston asked.

"My monkeys should have run that second troop off the island. They shouldn't have given them an inch of it, but they gave them all they wanted."

"I suppose they didn't need all of it," Ralston said.

"But it was theirs and they gave it up!"

No one had anything to say to that. Berg handed the papers back to Ralston. "I think I see why Wilson shot those monkeys. He put that second troop on the island just to see if the first would fight. When they gave them room instead ... well, if I saw them again, I might start shooting too."

Stoker gave him a look of exaggerated disbelief. Berg said to him, "I think it's the truth. There was no hoax intended."

Stoker said, laughing, "You silly son of a bitch. Did you expect that charlatan to turn honest out here?"

"Does it matter? Partly through your meddling, the project is dead. Unless Ralston really thinks he can keep it going." Berg turned to Mohr. "Don't you think you ought to find Wilson?"

"Certainly. I can start right now. Is anyone going out to watch the monkeys?"

"I don't know," Berg said. He walked away.

Mohr looked at Ralston and Stoker. Stoker said, "So, here we are; all ours, lock, stock, and quicksand. Is anyone going out to watch the monkeys? Besides me, I mean?"

"Yes, but let's find Wilson first," Ralston said.

It was a brief search. They found him lying in the middle of the trail the southern troop had worn in the savanna. He faced east, the rifle between his legs. He ignored the helicopter as it landed.

He had been resting a short time. His face was pale, his arms trembling. His bad leg was too swollen to stand on. Breathing raggedly, he did not try to speak as they carried him into the copter.

He slumped against the wall as they flew back to the cabins. His eyes stayed closed. He was simply an old man whose anger had nearly killed him. Even Stoker left him to his thoughts.

VII

The island's other cripple spent the night serenely. Chester slept with the guards in the eastern grove. The helicopter woke him, and he watched as two men got out of it. They came near the grove and sat down among some bushes. The thought of candy appealed to Chester, but the men came no nearer, and he forgot it.

The troop came through the grove and Chester went with it when it left. The troop was approaching the western grove - with Chester well behind - when the northern troop came into sight. Leroy called a halt. He and Muggs and Hamlet went out to watch their neighbors. Relations with the northern troop had been limited since the territorial settlement. Did their presence mean that they had managed to forget the terms of that settlement? If so, Leroy planned to remind them where their rights ended.

Chester had almost caught up with the troop before he noticed the reason for stopping. He looked casually at the northern troop, then looked again. Off to one side stood the leaders; the four-man elite was watching Chester.

The northerners came no closer to the border. Leroy considered hurling a few insults across at them, but he settled for a long glare at their leaders. Confident they had the message, he hurried his troop along.

Chester stood quietly and watched them leave. He looked again at the northern elite. Glancing around, he saw the two men following him and the thought of candy crossed his mind again. But the men stopped and stared back at him, and Chester's attention returned to the other side of the border.

The northern leader approached the border. He stared at Chester curiously. He, like Leroy, had not gained his position with a shortage of wits. He sensed the novelty of Chester; his look invited Chester over for a closer inspection.

For his part, Chester did not miss the promise in the leader's interest. A baboon has never been known to change troops, but in Chester that imperative wrestled with another desire, one most basic in primates. It was the yearning for the company of fellows, the need not of a merely gregarious animal, but of a truly social one.

Chester looked once more at the southern troop disappearing on its route, and then limped across the border to be received with enthusiasm by the leader. The troop moved away north at a cripple's pace.