Page 8 - Fables volume 1
P. 8

How the Fish Decided to Bypass Evolution


          A general murmur of assent emanated from the lips of the students.
        The teacher took the opportunity to regain control. “So now you have
        seen another way in which we fish are pushing ahead into new arenas
        of knowledge and achievement. This concludes our field trip. We shall
        return to the school sediment now. Thank you very much for—”
          “Wait a minute!” gurgled Freddy. “I still want to know something.
        This is important to me: I want to accomplish great things!”
          Gagarin turned and transfixed Freddy with one flat unblinking eye.
        “Yes? What is it, son? Do you want to join the project team?”
          “What I want to know is, what about the other environment?”
          “Eh?” gasped the director. “You mean, beside water and land?”
          “Yes. I mean what is above them both: dry air.”
          Gagarin  scowled.  “That’s  very  distant  in  our  plans.  It  will  take
        hundreds of thousands of generations just to reach the first amphibian
        stages.  Occupation  of  airspace  cannot  even  begin  until  the  land  is
        conquered. And then the task of getting an intermediate form off the
        ground will be formidable: think of all the changes that must be made
        to evolve a terrestrial fish capable of swimming against gravity without
        water’s buoyancy! That job will make ours look simple. You shouldn’t
        be concerned about that future, young fellow. We must attend to our
        immediate responsibilities.”
          “No!” blurted Freddy. “Crawling on dry land doesn’t appeal to me
        at all. If I have to be dry, I’d rather fly!”
          “Freddy!” scolded his teacher. “Mind your manners!”
          “All right. I’m sorry. But when I grow up, I’m not going to waste
        my time trying to crawl on dry land like a sea slug. I’m going to be a
        flying fish!”
          The teacher hastily ushered the school away from the base camp of
        the New Frontier Project in a swirling blur of scales and bubbles. The
        director,  still  frowning,  swung  about  and  glared  at  the  two  salmon.
        They were grinning gill-to-gill.
          “Wipe those silly smirks off your faces, Orville and Wilbur. I’ll have
        your shoal leave canceled if you make one wisecrack.”







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