SPECIMEN BY CHARLES V. DE VET _The Zades had their sample Earthling. What would eventually happen to the whole depended on what happened to the specimen. It was as simple as that!_ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] As official reporter on the project I was in Srtes' office when they brought the alien in. He was as tall as an average Zade, of pretty much the same color, and would have been able to pass as one of us except that he had no vestigial wings. It gave his shoulders an odd, flat, appearance, and somehow added to the abrupt awkwardness of every movement of his body. He might have had wires rather than muscles beneath his soft dark skin. There were other, minor differences, of course. Hair grew not only on his head, but also on his body. Coarse, black hair. It could be seen on his hands and the exposed portions of his arms, and on his chest where his blouse was open at the neck. His eyes were brown and set wide apart, with long hairs on the lid edges. His nose had no hard upper ridge. The bone was covered only by the same flesh as the rest of his face. He was accompanied by a Commander Leik, captain of the space ship that had brought him from Earth. When they entered Srtes rose and set the scroll he had been studying to one side. "I welcome you back," he said to Leik, touching his cheek with the greeting finger of his left hand. Leik respectfully returned the gesture. "I am once more content," he replied. "Has he been instructed in our language?" Srtes asked, after the brief formalities were over. He indicated the Earth native. "He has become quite adept during the eight great tides since we left his world," the Commander answered. "It is well." Srtes turned and eyed the Earth man searchingly. The alien returned the gaze, not defiantly, yet not at all subserviently. I could tell that he was ill at ease. A fine sprinkling of perspiration dotted his forehead, and he breathed slowly and deeply, as though carefully timing each inhalation and exhalation. "Do you have a name?" Srtes asked him. He made a nodding motion with his head. "John Wilson," he said. The words were clear enough, but spoken with a slurred, soft-palate, sound. "You have two names?" The hairlines above Srtes' eyes raised slightly. "It is the custom on their world," Leik supplied. "The surname has a clan connotation." "You understand your purpose here?" Srtes asked the outworlder. "Yes." He added nothing to the reply. "You are aware that there are no restrictions on the study we may make of you?" "Yes." "Even that we may dissect you, or kill you, if we so desire?"