Our grandchildren—if Man’s still on Earth by then—can perhaps taste analyze substances by touch, qualitatively determine the contents of a test tube by sticking a finger in it.
See a warm radiator in a dark room—by infrared.
Perhaps there’ll be some ultraviolet sensitization.
My rats are sensitive to it.”
Paul went to the rat cages and stared in at three gray-pelted animals that seemed larger than the others.
They retreated against the back wall and watched him warily.
They began squeaking and exchanging glances among themselves.
“Those are third-generation hypers,” Seevers told him. “They’ve developed a simple language.
Not intelligent by human standards, but crafty.
They’ve learned to use their sensory equipment.
They know when I mean to feed them, and when I mean to take one out to kill and dissect.
A slight change in my emotional odor, I imagine.
Learning’s a big hurdle, youngster.
A hyper with finger pores gets sensations from them, but it takes a long time to attach meaning to the various sensations—through learning.
A baby gets visual sensations from his untrained eyes—but the sensation is utterly without significance until he associates milk with white, mother with a face shape, and so forth.”
“What will happen to the brain?” Paul breathed.
“Not too much, I imagine.
I haven’t observed much happening.
The rats show an increase in intelligence, but not in brain size.
The intellectual boost apparently comes from an ability to perceive things in terms of more senses.
Ideas, concepts, precepts—are made of memory collections of past sensory experiences.
An apple is red, fruity-smelling, sweet-acid flavored—that’s your sensory idea of an apple.
A blind man without a tongue couldn’t form such a complete idea.
A hyper, on the other hand, could add some new adjectives that you couldn’t understand.
The fully-developed hyper—I’m not one yet—has more sensory tools with which to grasp ideas.
When he learns to use them, he’ll be mentally more efficient.
But there’s apparently a hitch.
“The parasite’s instinctive goal is to insure the host’s survival.
That’s the substance of the warning.
If Man has the capacity to work together, then the parasites will help him shape his environment.
If Man intends to keep fighting with his fellows, the parasite will help him do a better job of that, too.
Help him destroy himself more efficiently.”
“Men have worked together—”
“In small tribes,” Seevers interrupted. “Yes, we have group spirit. Ape-tribe spirit, not race spirit.”
Paul moved restlessly toward the door.
Seevers had turned to watch him with a cool smirk.
“Well, you’re illuminated, youngster.
Now what do you intend to do?”
Paul shook his head to scatter the confusion of ideas.
“What can anyone do?
Except run.
To an island, perhaps.”
Seevers hoisted a cynical eyebrow.
“Intend taking the condition with you? Or will you try to stay nonhyper?”
“Take… are you crazy?
I mean to stay healthy!”
“That’s what I thought.
If you were objective about this, you’d give yourself the condition and get it over with.
I did.
You remind me of a monkey running away from a hypodermic needle.