he baby gurgled.

He was round and amiable, with plump pink cheeks that glowed like twin rosebuds. He was only three months old but he uttered soft pleasant sounds, waved his arms and even kicked out occasionally.

Dull gray electrodes were taped at the corners of his eyes. A tiny microphone rested inside an inflatable cuff wrapped around one of his fat arms. Two more electrodes nestled snugly against his chest— others were not in clear view.

Dr. Corgan typed a couple of short coded instructions that set his computer into action. It was a compact system situated at one corner of the large sunlit room. There were two tape decks, a control console, a line printer, card reader and the typewriter.

Dr. Corgan walked back to the center of the room and looked fondly at the baby.

“Lower the barbells,” he said loudly.

He was aware of the artificial quality that always crept into his voice when he was giving the baby instructions but he couldn’t help it. High above, suspended from the ceiling by an intricate complex of pulleys, a brightly colored set of barbells swayed gently. He looked at the baby and then once again at the barbells. He waited patiently and then, as though by magic, they began to descend until they passed just by his eyes. The barbells were massive but lovely, with hand-painted figures done by a dear friend, a fine oil painter.

Dr. Corgan leaned forward once again.

“Open the laboratory door,” he said.

He waited expectantly until the door opened, then sighed with pleasure. A warmed bottle of milk shifted down and forward into the baby’s open mouth and he began to suck vigorously. His arms and legs churned contentedly. Dr. Corgan nodded and left the room. In a cubicle behind the east wall of the laboratory was a two-way mirror, through which he could observe what the baby did without being seen in turn. On occasion he gave instructions from a microphone placed behind the mirror and then studied the baby’s response before returning to the lab to type new coded instructions for the computer.

Nurse Thompson sat there knitting, smartly set gray curls peeping out of the sides of her starched white cap. Dr. Corgan didn’t like Nurse Thompson. She had no feeling for what he was attempting to do and was forever calling his attention to the length of time the baby had been in the laboratory. He looked at his watch and grimaced.

“Mrs. Thompson,” he said with an edge of malice in his voice. “I think it’s time to return the baby to the nursery.”

He enjoyed the slow flush of embarrassment that spread over her rouged cheeks at the realization of her dereliction of duty. She put down her knitting and went inside to remove the electrodes from the baby. When she came out, carrying it, the baby was wrapped in a warm yellow blanket, the pink nose the only feature showing out of the wool.

“Good night,” said Dr. Corgan.

AFTER Mrs. Thompson had taken the infant back to the foundling home Dr. Corgan trudged down the hall to his office. A short bald man sat waiting for him. The visitor seemed amiable enough, although there was a hint of aggression in his probing look. Dr. Corgan hesitated before offering his hand.

“You are Mr. Tanner?”

“Of the Medical Times,” was the reply.

Dr. Corgan shuffled some papers on his desk. He had dreaded this interview and yet he welcomed it. Publicity was a vital part of research, but it had to be carefully controlled.

“Let me start from the beginning,” he said.

Tanner smiled.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “Some researchers give me a tangled web of ideas that are impossible to understand. I like to start from the beginning.”

His pencil was poised over a lined yellow pad. Dr. Corgan’s fingers trembled slightly. He sighed and began.

“There have been extensive studies of learning in children. The starting age for reading has been lowered to two years by means of programed reading machines. But two is hardly the lowest possible limit.”

“What has happened to childhood?” asked Tanner, lifting his pencil.

Dr. Corgan was startled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” said Tanner. “But if kids are busy learning to read at two—when will they have time for bikes and mud-pies? What’s the rush? Why can’t they learn at six or seven?”

Dr. Corgan sat on his anger. “That’s a fair question,” he said. “The answer is—because they can learn at an earlier age. Don’t you see? This means that an entire intellectual horizon is opened to them, including communication with their parents on a higher plane. Children play with mud only because they have nothing better to do.”

“I see,” said Tanner.

“But to get back to the thread of my thought. There have been many studies with infants at Harvard, Princeton and elsewhere. But all of these studies have focused on how infants develop and learn.”

“So I understand,” said Tanner. Dr. Corgan smiled gently.

“I’ve gone far beyond those studies,” he said. “I’ve begun to teach infants to carry out very complex, sophisticated tasks.”

“But how? They can’t speak and they certainly can’t move their limbs in a controlled way.”

“All true,” said Dr. Corgan. “Nevertheless they have brain waves, blood pressure levels, electrocardiograms, sweat gland reactions and a host of other physiological parameters at their disposal.” “But surely,” said Tanner, “these are beyond their conscious control? Blood pressure levels and heart rate are both controlled by the autonomic nervous system, not consciously.”

Dr, Corgan waved his hands.

“All the so-called autonomic factors are readily controllable by the conscious mind. I’ve already proved that point with laboratory rats and human adult patients. Do you recall the woman who learned to lower her diastolic blood pressure by twenty-five millimeters of mercury?”

“I read about her,” said Tanner. “But not everyone agreed with your explanation of how it came about.”

Dr. Corgan shrugged.

“The point is that it did work! And the same technique works even better with infants. These babies are free of all the complicated clutter of growing up and the interaction with their family and outsiders. By the use of a judicious combination of rewards and punishments, the infant can be taught to do anything.”

“Anything?”

“The statement is not as rash as you might think. For example, raising or lowering one’s blood pressure is not always an end in itself. It offers control over two possible eventualities. Add to that the option of raising or lowering the rate of heartbeat and you now have four possible independent combinations. Suppose now that we use ten physiological variables, each measurable and each with two directions to go. We end up with over one thousand possible combinations! Can you conceive of how many things an infant can accomplish with over one thousand patterns of responses available to him?”

“I’m skeptical,” said Tanner, “but I’m always willing to believe my eyes. May I see a demonstration?”

“Why not?” said Dr. Corgan, “There are sleeping facilities available here but usually the baby is returned to the foundling nursery for the night. But if you will come back tomorrow afternoon I’ll be happy to show you some of the things he can do.”

“Would two o’clock do?”

“Fine,” said Dr. Corgan.

TANNER was prompt the following afternoon, but Dr. Corgan was in bad temper.

“I’ve had some problems today,” he said. “But we’ll go on with the demonstration anyway.”

“I could come back another time.”

“Nonsense,” said Dr. Corgan.

He rose and led Tanner to the observation room adjoining his laboratory.

“Look in there,” he said. “The baby has just carried out an assigned task and the bottle of milk was lowered into his mouth as a reward. In order to get it, he had to hit the correct direction of change unerringly in ten physiological parameters which are being monitored off electrodes. These signals are fed into the computer which will accept only the proper combination. It then returns a control signal, which places the bottle in the baby’s mouth.”

“That’s incredible,” said Tanner. “I could believe that the youngster controls one of the parameters. But ten simultaneously?” “That’s my contribution,” said Dr. Corgan. “Watch the baby. Notice that he can do several things. He can raise and lower those pretty barbells up there, open and close the laboratory door, turn the lights on and off, and a host of other little tasks.”

“But how does one explain how he learns to do all this?”

“Nobody knows as yet,” said Dr. Corgan. “But I think that it involves the untold neural networks available to the conscious and unconscious parts of the nervous system. These networks are as yet undiscovered, uncharted and functionally a complete mystery. But demonstrably we can achieve a linkup through these networks if we really want to.”

“Have human beings always had this capability?”

“I think so. Perhaps it was needed during the early years of mankind’s primitive existence.”

The baby began to cry. His voice became strident and his face began to purple with frustration. His arms and legs flailed wildly.

“Damn!” cried Dr. Corgan. “That blasted nipple must be leaking again and he’s run out of milk. Ordinarily he never cries unless something goes wrong. He knows he can get his food simply by altering his parameters to the right code.”

“He’s really upset,” said Tanner. “Probably frustrated, too.”

“He wants instant gratification,” said Dr. Corgan. “Like all infants, he wants what he wants right away. I’ll wait a few minutes and then help him. He’s got to learn that patience is one of the facts of life.”

The lights began to go on and off. The barbells rose and descended. The bottle went in and out. An alarm bell rang.

“Is the baby doing all that?” asked Tanner incredulously.

“Yes,” said Dr. Corgan thoughtfully. “You see, he’s trying every possible combination he knows, an excellent effort—one that deserves recognition. Now I’ll go in and help him.”

As Tanner watched, Dr. Corgan went into the laboratory and examined the faulty bottle. As he tugged at the nipple, the barbells descended rapidly.

“Look out!” called Tanner.

Dr. Corgan jumped to the side as the barbells shot past his head. Then he refilled the bottle with fresh formula, attached a new nipple and inserted the bottle again into its holder. The bottle slid down and forward into the baby’s mouth and the crying choked into a soft gurgle of contentment.

When he returned to the observing room Dr. Corgan found Tanner in a state of agitation.

“You could have been hurt,” he said.

“I might have been if you hadn’t called out,” admitted Dr. Corgan. “I’ve got to be more alert. Our setup is quite complicated, you know.”

He answered a few more questions and then Nurse Thompson came in, a look of triumph on her face.

“It’s time for the baby to return to nursery,” she said, staring hard at Dr. Corgan. He was too distracted to notice her delight in her small victory.

“Take him,” he said.

“I’ve got to run, too,” said Tanner, stretching out his hand. “I want to thank you for all your help.”

WHEN Tanner had gone Dr. Corgan fretted over the interview. Had he talked too freely? Had the emphasis been put inappropriately? What impression would the press give the public about his work? Had Tanner been hostile? Would there be a lurid banner line like INFANTS TURNED TO AUTOMATA, or THOUGHT CONTROL REALIZED? Dr. Corgan sighed. Would anyone appreciate his true motivation, which was to enrich the intellectual pleasures of every infant?

He ate sparingly that night and slept badly in his bachelor bed. He was at the laboratory at seven the following morning, working on the bottle-nipple arrangement that had given him so much trouble during the interview. Perhaps the problem was the angle at which the bottle entered the baby’s mouth. He operated the slide by hand and saw it come down and forward. It was possible that the whole arrangement was an eighth of an inch too high, enough to make the baby pull the nipple forward under too much stress, allowing the milk to leak.

He began to laugh. It was incredible that an experiment of such complexity should founder because of a bottle and nipple. He tried several positions for the holder and when the baby arrived he thought he had it properly adjusted. But apparently he was wrong. He set and reset it, but the nipple kept sliding off the mouth of the bottle.

By five-thirty Nurse Thompson was hovering about, crying the lateness of the hour. He became fully exasperated.

“Go home,” he said angrily. “I must get this fixed tonight. The baby will sleep in the laboratory crib and I’ll stay with him.”

“But you’ll overtire him—” “Please get out of here, Mrs. Thompson. I’ll assume all responsibility for what happens.”

At last he thought he had it.

“Ring the alarm bell,” he told the baby.

The alarm rang and the bottle moved forward. The baby’s mouth seemed to leap at the bottle and the nipple flew off. A torrent of milk cascaded over the baby’s face. At first he seemed to strangle—then he coughed and finally bellowed his disappointment.

“I’m. terribly sorry,” said Dr. Corgan. “It was all an accident. I’ll set it right.”

He painstakingly reset the slide and replaced the nipple carefully on the bottle. Everything seemed perfect again. He was leaning over the apparatus, admiring his handiwork, when the barbell struck him heavily at the back of his skull and he tumbled to the floor, slowly sinking into a deep void. As he lay there, fighting the descent, he thought dimly, What a terrible accident. I must call for help . . .

From a vast distance he heard the sucking noise. How delightful to know that now everything was working perfectly. Next the door to the observing room closed and soon afterward the lights went out.

With a terrible effort he lifted his head and looked about.

What a marvelous little fellow he is. Dr. Corgan thought for a fleeting moment. He’s learned his lessons beautifully. What a pity that no one else is here to see it…

The baby had stopped sucking now and was cooing contentedly. Dr. Corgan could imagine him lying there in the darkness, round and amiable with pink plump cheeks that glowed like twin rosebuds.

The soft pleasant gurgling noises were the last he heard. *