Chapter 14: Bab Lab

I have a standing bet that if Jane Goodall had studied baboons instead of chimps, she would have given up and gone home. The many primatologists studying baboons are unanimous in hating those fucking primates! The reason is obvious—primate society is too damned human!

The baboon laboratory was a space fifty kilometers in diameter. Yes, I know—there's no way that could have fit aboard our ship. Fifty kilometers in diameter and five kilometers high. The baboon troop had been 153 individuals living in Tanzania. Olive Baboons—the most common type. I called it Troop TJ after the surviving alpha male, Tanzania Jones. Had to call him something. The troop had raided a dump used for medical wastes and several severely nasty diseases jumped the spiecies barrier and killed off all but 37 of the baboons. They were dying until revived in medtubes. Yes, all those humans awaiting evacuation from Planet Earth and I wind up with three dozen baboons. The baboon laboratory had several purposes.

One was a genetic repository. Someone high up in the Confederacy food chain had determined that saving a sample of Earth's plants and animals was a worthwhile endeavor. I wasn't arguing. I had stated that humans and dogs and horses had unwritten contracts datingn back at least 50,000 years with the dog and at least 5000 years with the horse. Those two animals are what we humans made them. I had wound up with several other creatures as well. Baboons don't play well with others. Like I said, baboons are too damned human!

Another purpose was observation of social dynamics. Dunbar's number for both baboon and human appeared to be the same—about 150 "stable" relationships. Both human and baboon had sexual dimorphism. Males were generally the domanant gender—a fact that many humans find unacceptable is that males dominate human society. CAP testing reinforced that "patriarchy." Both species tends to create drama when bored by tormenting the nearest creature—other baboons (other humans) when no other species is around. Perhaps baboons are not "too damned human." Perhaps we humans are baboons!

The reason that Governor Lilith had me play Tarzan of the Apes with a troop of salvaged baboons was to develop me. Lilith claimed to be a goddess and over a quarter million years old. I had no good reason to argue—we warriors pick and choose our battles when we can and if we're wise we fight only those battles worth fighting. Godess Lilith was a good person, so why complain about a little dementia that wasn't hurting anybody? Besides, I never did ask what Lilith's CAP score was. She was the "colony governor" and it was official. Lilith was no Colonel Dorman. On the other hand I was involved in an activity I detested: social engineering. I couldn't really complain—I had done worse to my fellow humans as a soldier. The eyes of the Confederacy were upon me—don't think I didn't hum "The Eyes of Texas" when I though about pervasive surveillance. I guess I could rationalize that this baboon troop would be rotting corpses if not for Confederacy medical intervention.

There were 37 Olive Baboons, also known as Anubis Baboons. Eight were adult male. Adult female numbered 17. Three juvenile males and six juvenile females were no longer dependent infants nor old enough for breeding yet. Three infants (two males and a female if that matters with infants) completed the troop. The leader had been designated Tanzania Jones—TJ for short. He was a typically tyrannical baboon alpha male and he had his lieutenants. They were Biff, HD (short for Humpty Dumpty), and Fenton. Biff was a younger, more brutal, and stupider TJ—or perhaps I can say that TJ was Biff all grown up and mellowed with age. HD was accident prone and was missing a foot when we rescued him, and one eye, and an ear, and quite a few of his baboon marbles. The only reason that HD was not named "Lucky" is that one of Calgary's wolf cubs bore that name. For all out sneaky mean the three didn't hold a candle to Fenton, smallest of the four alpha males. Fenton was always stirring up trouble so that he could savagely lash out—when he wasn't manipulating the others. I never turned my back on Felton.

With all due respect to Spots and her girl Dawn, a small troop of baboons is a greater hazard than a jaguar. A troop of baboons would attack almost as one animal—no where near as coordinated as a Sa'arm gestalt, but the collective is always far more dangerous than the individual due to sheer numbers. I got an example of TJ's coordinated attacks when I fell from the sky and thumped to the ground in a Parachute Landing Fall, rolling to my feet. The sentry baboon shreiked in terror because I dropped out of nowhere—I intended the surprise.

Okay, I wasn't quite Lord Greystoke. I wasn't British, I'm not noble, and I was both unarmed and unclothed. Tarzan wore a loincloth to demonstrate his superiority to beasts. When interacting with my menagerie I was routinely nude—call it slumming if you will, but the animals appreciated it. I was also physically perfect courtesy of nanites and regular trips to the medtube. I was a trained and experienced warrior with cat-quick reflexes. Spots was basically still a wild jaguar. Svetlana had been born in captivity—several generations of captive tigers conditioned to accept humans—but she was still a tiger. Big Momma was a wild grizzley bear who chose to live the easy life as a house pet. Flash and Dash were also raised in captivity but that didn't slow down these cheetah sisters. With playmates like those I had to be quick on my feet—and I still got nicked occassionally. Big cats play rough.

TJ led the charge as a moral leader should. I disrupted his timeing by counter-charging and getting off-line of his attack, gabbing and arm and leg and spinning so that he tumbled through the air screaming like Wiley Coyote—or was that Goofy? The baboon splashed in the lake thirty meters away as I seized HD and Biff by the backs of their necks and banged their heads together, stunning them.

Fenton had time to stop—and I vaulted over his head and seized him from behind. He catapulted into the lake, barely missing collision with the sputtering TJ but splashing the alpha male. TJ attacked Fenton and the two fought for a moment as I dealt with two more males, lightly tapping them on the tops of their heads, counting coup more than anything else.

"How's the food supply holding up?" I asked. One of the females, an elderly and sterile baboon I called Fannie Mae, came forward submissively chattering something. I got the gist. Dictators, whether human or baboon, create perpetual shortages in the midst of plenty. You don't need to believe me. The United Kingdom used to have the world's best medical care—look at what happened when the entire system was turned over to a bureaucracy! "I see. Bear with me, daughter."

How much English did the baboons understand? Beats me! I spoke, and I had a large ebony monolith behind me—anybody see "2001: A Space Oddessy?" I did refrain from playing "Also sprach Zarathustra" but that was primarily due to my pretense of stealth. As I spoke, images appeared on both sides of the monolith. The monolith was a more-durable plasma screen televison monitor. Stereo sound, of course. Nothing but the best for "my" baboons ... TJ and his posse restricted access to the unlimited pile of doggie kibble, fortified to provide complete nutrition for baboons. The pile was refreshed every few hours and no matter how often baboons fed, there would always be that huge pile, nearly a quarter ton of food pellets. Water came from several streams, springs, water holes and the afore-mentioned lake.

"I apologize, but I have a dangerous mission for you, my lady," a small Easter basket floated down from the sky. Transporters and gravity control—wonderful things. The basket was filled with assorted baboon treats—worms and bugs and fruit and roots. "Distribute this, please. Like up there." I gestured at the monolith. The images showed Fannie Mae giving away the treats to the three mothers with nursing infants first, and then the juveniles, and then the other females before giving the rest to the adult males. The female took the basket and did my bidding. Despite being only 25 pounds to the males' average weight of 50 pounds, she was unmolested.