Planet of the Apes Omnibus 1

MICHAEL AVALLONE

BENEATH THE PLANET OF THE APES

MICHAEL AVALLONE

Adapted from the screenplay by Paul Dehn

Based upon characters created by Pierre Boulle

And a story by Paul Dehn and Mort Abrahams

For Pierre Boulle for his two very important contributions to the arts

of Literature and Film—

The Bridge On The River Kwai and Planet Of The Apes. 1

GENESIS

Wasteland. Total, glaring, absolute. Stark, terrible. Nothing growing. Nothing moving. Ageless, perpetual silence. Eternal solitude. Only the piercing whine of the dry nameless wind blowing in from a distantly heard sea. Desolation. A universe of nakedness and nil. Utter, supreme. Everlasting. Nothing of Life. Only the unrelenting deathly stillness. The infinity of zero, emptiness, nothingness. This is the planet where Man has lost his supreme position in the scheme of things. Listen to the Wind. If it could speak, it would tell you of Taylor. The man, the scientist, the space-explorer. The scorching, chilling breath of the wind’s passage would carry the terrible tale to the walls of Infinity, down the endless corridors of that vast timelessness which seems to be the core of the land itself…

Listen, the Wind…

“This is the truth eternal: whatever thinks, can speak. And whatever speaks can murder. “But what is there to murder in this dead place?”

There is no answer for the Wind. “When the astronaut, Taylor, came first among us from a voyage in outermost space, he perceived that his ship had passed through a fold in the Fourth Dimension, which is Time. And Taylor knew that he was older than when his journey had begun… by two thousand years and ten.”

The Wind whines higher and louder, scoring eerily over a dead landscape. Weird lambent lights suffuse the terrain. There is a vast unearthly brilliance invested in a panorama of Nothingness. “But in the first days he did not know the name of the planet on which he had set foot—where Apes, risen to great estate, had acquired the power of tongues, while Man, fallen from his zenith to become a beast of the earth, had lost the means of speech, and was dumb…”

The dead sands remained unmoving, the wind prowled over the monolithic expanse of desert-like desolation. And isolation. The unknown lights bathed the wasteland with a dull, inflexible glow. “Now Taylor hated war. And since Man had made war upon himself— murdered himself—over and over again, ever since the first town was built and burned and bloodied—Taylor believed that the race of Man was hopeless.”

A Dead Sea. Dead like the Dead Land. The wind stole quietly over the still, stagnant, murky waters. “Yet the great Apes were hardly better. They put Taylor in a cage as they had once been caged. When he and his woman escaped from the City of the Apes into the wilderness called the Forbidden Zone… he found a desert land of rock and stone. Barren, unfruitful, devoid of life and eternally laid waste by Man’s vilest war in Man’s history. And in this wilderness, Taylor set eyes upon the Statue…”

A statue with spikes. A stone lady, gazing out over the limitless endless acres of sand. Oblivious to the mean waves lapping at her copper-lined bosom. A Colossus, with upstretched arm, bearing aloft a torch that had lost all its meaning. All its truth. All its light. A long-dead lady of stone eyes, stone ears and stone senses—whose only companion for an eon had been—

—the Wind. “…and Taylor knew he was back on Earth… an Earth defiled and destroyed by the hand of Man. Set this down: whatever speaks, can murder.”

And Taylor, sliding down from the back of his horse, with the savage woman Nova also dismounting, staggered toward the gigantic spikes upthrusting from the cruel sand and blurted his cry of agony to the unheeding skies all around them: “Goddamn you all to hell!”

Falling to his torn knees, he buried his head in his hands. Sobs racked his tall, magnificent figure. Nova watched and listened in dumb incomprehension. The dead landscape remained mute. The Statue of Liberty could not hear Taylor weeping. Stone has no heart. Or soul. It does not even hear the wind. 2

TAYLOR

Taylor and the girl, Nova, departed wearily from the staggering spectacle before them. Behind them, the half-buried statue of Miss Liberty beckoned mutely from her sandy grave. The dead waters lapped pitifully at her stone shoulders and obsidian face. Taylor’s mind reeled. He was rendered incapable of any thought but that of the greatest wonder. The scientist in him was mocked. The space-explorer in him was confounded. The man in him was brutally stunned. The nameless planet, ruled by a hierarchy of intelligent apes was This Planet Earth!

Or rather, more bizarrely, more fittingly, what was left of it. His own imagination, his own instincts and senses, boggled before the import of what he had seen. What he now knew for an unalterable fact. The world as he had known it, when he had left Earth for outer space with his three fellow scientists, was now a madhouse. A mathematical equation of unequivocal madness and nonsense. Even as he wandered futilely across the arid desert stretches of this monumental Nowhere, with Nova limply and stickily plastered to his back astride the poor, tired horse, he tried to sort out the memories and experiences of the most recent past. How long ago had it been that he and the three others, one of them a woman, had lost their way in limitless space and come down on this alien soil in their ailing spacecraft?

Time and torture at the hands of the militant apes had robbed Taylor of his ability to think. Now he could not even remember the names of his space comrades. All he could recall was the terrible incident of landing. The woman had been dead, on first contact with the terrain. It was not the physical hardship of a crash landing but the inherent qualities of the flight itself. All four astronauts, through some intricate process aboard the spacecraft, had aged eighteen months in a time lapse of 2000 years from Earth. Being female, the woman had not survived the flight. Taylor and the two men had swum for shore, reaching a wasteland of Arizona-like proportions. All brown dry earth and long shelves of rock stretching as far as the eye could see. It was then that the men from Earth reached some form of vegetation in their aimless wanderings and encountered the horde of filthy, unkempt, savage, barbaric humans who had lost the power of speech—if they had ever had it. Nova had been one of them. A long-haired, wild-eyed beauty who could do no more than look at you with her eyes to convey her meaning. Someone you had to teach how to smile!

Then, sweeping down through the bushes and the trees, had come the cavalry of apes. Leather-jacketed, truncheon-wielding, rifle-shooting gorillas. The barbaric whites had tried to run; Taylor and his two comrades among them. Terrified, speechless with horror. With whips, nets and hooks, the militia of gorillas had rounded them all up, killing those who dared to fight back. One of Taylor’s crew died in the attack. But the worst part of the whole bloody nightmare was what followed. Taylor found himself led to a complex. An area of stone warrens, of houses and cages, where the ape was the ruler of all that was left of the civilization on this planet. It was a simian state, ruled by a kingdom of gorillas, with chimpanzees and orangutans serving as medical men. Of the remaining two astronauts, one was lobotomized and converted into an unthinking vegetable. For Taylor, the simian rulers decreed emasculation and a brainwashing which would eradicate his memory. But with the help of chimpanzee scientists, who felt the ape autocracy was far from a benevolent one, Taylor had made his escape. With Nova. A doglike, mute love had sprung up between them because the girl could not speak. Might never speak though Taylor had tried to teach her. And now that he had found his way into the Forbidden Zone, leaving his tormentors God knew how far behind, Taylor could still remember the unbelievable aura and reality of the Ape Kingdom. The signs all over the place: THE ALMIGHTY CREATED THE APE IN HIS OWN IMAGE— ONLY HUMANS KILL FOR SPORT, LUST OR GREED… HUMAN SEE, HUMAN DO… and all those incredible statues and artifacts of ape culture: the hear-no-evil-see-no-evil-speak-no-evil symbol; the mother gorilla holding a baby ape in her arms like Michelangelo’s Pieta, the whole abominable concept of Ape as Human Being!

Yes, Taylor remembered that much. The shock might never wear off. With humans in cages, people being whipped and driven, the race of mankind lorded and ruled by a panel of intellectual apes who had revised the entire scheme of the order of heredity and nature. It was something that would haunt whatever was left of his own life…

Ape had evolved from Man. Detecting menace and extinction from the twin conditions of human ignorance and bestiality, the society of apes had presumed that their own well-being depended upon the mastery and domination of the inferior being known as Man. It was a thoroughgoing example of genocide in action, as Taylor had actually seen it. Man as slave labor, Man as expendable creature, Man as Nothing. The world had come to a fitting irony after another 2000 years of Knowledge, Culture and Freedom. It had descended back to the apes, climbed back into the same tree from which it had escaped. And all it had obviously needed to upset the applecart had been one madman’s thermonuclear bomb. Some nation’s plunge into the Final Solution. Whose?

America?

France?

Red China?

Russia?

Germany?

England?

Israel…?

It didn’t matter, now. It was Man’s epitaph, no matter how you looked at it. Whether as man, scientist or space-explorer. The wheel had come full cycle. There was nothing left—but death. * * *

Their aimless, sluggish trek across the vast wasteland had been an amalgam of scorching heat, discomfort and mind-pounding weariness. Taylor could hardly feel the bones in his body. Bearded, bronzed, clothed in fragments of leather garment, he felt like some archaic Adam lost in a new world. Nova, her lithe body hugging him, was as silent as ever. The poor mare accommodating them both had almost lost the power to move. The sun beat down from a blue sky hazed with white clouds. Taylor’s eyeballs ached. The sweat ran down his strong-planed face and gauntly formidable shoulders. They saw the oasis at the same time. The girl almost frantically pummeled his back. Taylor nodded. It was there, all right. No mirage, no trickery. The country was as arid as ever but he could clearly see trees, a pool of oddly clear water. The dark scowl which had been fixed like a graven image on Taylor’s face, lifted. Slowly he led the horse to the water’s edge, staring down. Yes, it was real. He could see their reflections in the low pool. It was no more than a waterhole, flanked by low, gnarled trees which perhaps had never known foliage. “Water,” Taylor murmured. “But the trees are dead.”

He helped Nova dismount, never unaware completely of the fine animal body, the nubile beauty of her. Nova’s eyes were like two eternal question marks. As if existence itself were something for which she could never find the answer. Taylor leaned over the water, testing it tentatively. It seemed all right. It wasn’t brackish or foreign-tasting. He gestured to Nova and pulled the horse over. All three drank. Lustily, busily, as though it were the most important single act in the world. Sated, Taylor flopped back on the sand, staring up at the remorselessly hot sky. Nova came over to him, lying down dutifully, and he locked an arm around her, still staring up. His blue eyes slitted sardonically. It might be a sky anywhere in a normal universe. A mantle over New York on a summer day. Or Vermont or Kansas. Or Arizona… it was over New York, all right. A Manhattan or a Brooklyn or a Bronx buried under hundreds of feet of thermonuclear sand. What a travesty!

“Where in hell do we go from here?” he growled up at the sky. There was no answer. He twisted to look at Nova. “Or do we just stop off and found a human colony?

And the kids would learn to talk—better sense than the apes.”

Suddenly he placed a bronzed forefinger on Nova’s lips. Those full, uncosmetized labias that made of her face an appealing miracle. “Try to say the name I gave you,” he commanded softly. “No-va.”

She remained mystified and mute, as always. He pointed at her, conscious of the surge of her splendid body against its pitiful fragments of costume. Then he pointed again, each time repeating her name as if it were a litany. “No-va… No-va… No-va…”

Still she remained mute, her eyes puzzled. Then, and to his intense pleasure, she pointed her own finger at him, peering closely into his eyes. “Taylor,” Taylor said, understanding what she was after. She pointed once more. “Taylor,” he echoed his own name. She squinted in the sun. “Taylor” he said again, watching her mouth. Her lips were struggling with a sound but nothing came forth. A dumb and mute Eve. Beautiful but incommunicado. From among the rags of his body, Taylor produced his identity tag. The metallic ID from another world, another time. He looped it around his own neck and pointed to it. The disc gleamed in the sunlight. Nova followed his every move, like a child trying to learn. “Tay-lor—” he said, very slowly and carefully. Her lips barely moved in a brave attempt at mimicry. But no sound issued. Taylor sighed. Nova frowned, still trying. He reached across and kissed her tenderly on the lips, as he struggled to his feet. It would take more time than they had now…

“Let’s find a home,” Taylor said. * * *

Home. It was not to be found in the limitless mass of wasteland. They plodded on, the horse dutifully carrying their combined weight. The sun beat down, a remote circle of fire far above in the leaden skies. Taylor guided the horse up a long slope that closed off any view of the horizon and what might lay before them. Nova clung to him like a frightened child. Finally, they had cleared the crest of the slope. Taylor halted in stupefaction, checking the horse with a violent tug. It was a view from Hell. A huge burial mound of scattered rock and rubble, stretching as far as the eye could see. Like some endless cemetery in which, like small and large tombstones, jutted the recognizable artifacts of a civilization long since destroyed and—ended. The ravaged and identifiable tops of Manhattan’s major skyscrapers shone dully in the glare. The pointed spire of the Chrysler Building, the powerful snub of the Empire State, the symmetrical squared roof of the RCA Building and the glittering, glasslike —

Taylor blinked, closed his eyes and opened them again. The vision did not dissolve or shimmer or go away. Bitterly, his heart dying within him, he knew he was staring at the remnants of a long-since-buried New York. Nova murmured uneasily behind him. An animal sound. A low, hissing wind stole over the devastated landscape. “Well—” Taylor said softly, more to himself than to the girl. “Home sweet home!

Just look at this graveyard, Nova. It’s the grand climax of fifty thousand years of human culture—yes. I wonder who lives here now. Besides radioactive worms.”

No answer came. Like all dead things, ruined New York was inscrutable. “Let’s go see,” Taylor said to the girl and urged their mount down the slope toward the big graveyard before them. There was still nothing but those masses of scrub and tombstones. Nova suddenly plucked urgently at Taylor’s arm. She beckoned wildly. Taylor looked, gaping. Unbelievably, a tremendous change had swept over the panorama below. A huge, inexplicable wall of fire had sprung up directly in their path. It seemed to have started in the shrubbery, cutting amazingly across the bare rock and sand, building into a raging inferno of heat and brightness. The horse reared on its hind legs, neighing in terror. The high barrier of flame, crackling and sending out great waves of scorching heat, completely concealed buried New York from view. It had seemed to vanish in the twinkling of an eye. “What—what the hell’s feeding it?” Taylor bellowed hoarsely. “There’s nothing to burn.”

The horse had U-turned violently, almost flinging the two of them off. Taylor cursed and hung on. The crackling flames licked ever nearer, closing in on them. Now the horse took to the gallop, racing away from the unknown, plunging down the slope again, leaving New York and the incredible wall of fire hidden below the horizon. “We’ll reach it another way,” Taylor said grimly, urging the horse forward in a flanking movement. He meant to circle the city and approach from another direction. From the inland side, far removed from the mysterious blaze and its source. They passed the oasis once more, pushed on over the open, trackless dry wastes until the horse’s hooves touched a flattened plain which afforded easier going. The cloudless blue sky showed the empty horizon beyond the plain. Taylor made for it, conscious of a nagging confusion in his brain and Nova’s mutelike trust in him. “Okay, here we go again.”

He had to talk, had to say something. Whether the girl understood him or not. Hearing his own voice was a measure of reality in a universe gone mad. He turned the horse to make a second approach. But the unrealities had mounted. Scarcely had they started when a colossal clap of thunder shook the heavens and instantly, magically, black clouds roiled, the skies darkened overhead, and within seconds the world turned black. From below the far horizon, rods of forked lightning struck. The horse reared in bewilderment and terror. Like glittering stakes in an electrified fence, each lightning rod struck down to the earth. What was worse, they seemed to advance toward Taylor, the girl and the horse. Advance relentlessly to the accompaniment of vicious thunderclaps. And then rain, fiercely falling, hissing rain, sluiced down in blinding sheets. The sky, so recently blue, had opened up into a sea of dark fury. The horse kept on rearing, whinnying, bellowing its terror. Taylor fought the beast, keeping it from bolting altogether in the face of nature’s onslaught. “Nature seems bent—” Taylor panted, “on wiping out our mistake. Hold it!” He struck at the horse, holding its head while Nova huddled behind him. Their drenched bodies fused in limp, liquid union. At a gallop, they retreated from the sonic, sodden storm. The horse kept on racing until the thunder and the rain diminished. Until they had found a blue sky again and the miracle of a nature gone berserk was behind them. Taylor reined the flagging horse to a standstill. Then he turned it around again for still a third approach to the New York that lay buried in the distance. He was determined—it was mad of him, he suspected—to go back to that dead land. He couldn’t have said why it was important to him. But the world was truly mad. The elements had run amuck. Nature was still awry. Rising directly in his path—his, the girl’s and their horse—was a wall of ice. A thick, glassy, solid, unmelting barrier of ice. A paradox of eye and mind, giving the lie to the bright ball of sun blazing down from the blue sky above. Taylor’s mind stopped. He was frightened now, really frightened. The awesome mass of crystal towering down dwarfed all his logic, all his strength. “That wasn’t here,” he murmured. “A minute ago, that wasn’t here!” He turned to Nova; the girl was cowering behind him, hiding her eyes from the terrible apparition. “And it isn’t just me who’s seeing things,” Taylor breathed scratchily. He steadied the horse’s restive head. “Can two people have the same nightmare?”

Shocked, he led the horse away from the precipice of ice. The girl hugged him, her nails digging into his weary body. Taylor shook himself dumbly. Before he could make another move, a tremendous, seismic crescendo of sound rumbled behind him. The girl blurted a scream. Taylor caught himself in time. A gigantic fissure, as palpable as death and fear itself, had yawned in the earth and Taylor desperately managed to careen the horse so that it avoided the mammoth canyon of nothingness that had suddenly loomed before its hooves. Thank God the poor beast was sufficiently exhausted for him to control it. If it had bolted suddenly…

Taylor turned to Nova. Urgency made him mime the words he spoke to her now. It was imperative that she understand him. “Nova!

If you—” he pointed to her, “lose—me—” he pointed to himself, “go to Ape City.” She recoiled in horror at the words. He shook his head. “Not to the gorillas. Go to the chimpanzee quarter. There’s no other way.” He fought against the incomprehension in her terrified eyes. “Find Zira. Zi-ra…”

She nodded now, less fearfully, recognizing the name of the sympathetic female chimpanzee doctor who had helped them escape to the Forbidden Zone. But she clung to his hand, not letting go until she knew he wished it. Taylor dismounted from the horse, purposefully unslinging the rifle from the bolster on the saddle. There was now a ten-yard ledge between the crevice and the precipice of ice. Taylor shook himself once again, feeling his brains boiling over. “Impossible!

But it’s there—I’m not dreaming. Or else I—or maybe the whole universe—has gone mad!”

He advanced furiously on the ice face. Nova, on the horse, watched him, fright fixing her face. Taylor used the butt of the rifle, attempting to chop out a foothold. The gun cut a swath through the air. Taylor followed through hard. Yet the phenomena, the amazements, the unrealities, were a long way from done. The rifle struck. With a flick of sound. And passed clean through the wall of ice, vanishing. Taylor, unbalanced by the unexpected lack of resistance, followed the vicious swath of the rifle. And also vanished. It was as if he had stepped through a bead curtain. There was nothing on the ice face of the precipice to indicate where he had been. Or had gone. And then the wall of ice was gone too. It was nowhere to be seen. There wasn’t anything anywhere for miles around but the flat, ordinary, cruel wasteland. The landscape was completely deserted. The girl Nova screamed. And kept on screaming. Until her screams were lost in the vast wilderness of silence. Until there was Nothing. 3

BRENT

He clambered through the open escape hatch, carrying the vital medical equipment and oxygen apparatus. The crumpled steel sides of the small reconnaissance spacecraft had never seemed so vulnerable to him. Now, set down in a crash landing on some unknown, perhaps alien planet, it was twice as toylike and futile. Being lost in space was one thing, but this was the penultimate in Nowhere. Never had he seen so much limitless desert waste, so much unending distance between things. He felt like a small boy wandering amidst the vast trackless expanses of Time itself. There was no telling where Life began—or ended. The skipper was still lying where he had left him. Head propped on a mound of sand, his rugged body spent and looking for all the world like a battered rag doll. The impact of the crash had banged the skipper up plenty. There was no immediate telling the extent of the personal damage. As he bent over the skipper, the equipment clattered metallically. The skipper stirred, eyes open, face haggard in the fierce blaze of an unseen sun. “Who’s that?” The question was a feeble attempt at authority. “Me again, Skipper.”

He passed his hand twice over his superior’s eyes. He saw that they did not flicker at all. “Brent?”

“Sir?”

Skipper was breathing with great difficulty now. Brent busied himself quickly. First he gave Skipper a pill, then an efficient injection by hypodermic in the left arm, and then settled down to a rhythmic, powerful chest massage with his bare hands. Skipper almost smiled at that but the look in the dulled brown eyes was remote, distant, as though fixed on some faraway place that only he could see. The emblem swatches of the United States flag sewn into the left sleeve of the tunics both men wore, shone like blood in the tropical blaze of daylight. Brent resisted the mental image. “Did you contact Earth?” Skipper rasped, his voice getting weaker with each breath he drew. “Tried to, sir. Not a crackle.”

“Isn’t the set operational?”

Brent frowned. “I don’t know, sir. I ran a crosscheck of the Operations Manual. As suggested, I took an Earth-Time reading just before re-entry.”

“Well?”

“Three—nine—five—five.” Brent spaced the numbers very very slowly, as if he still couldn’t believe them himself. “Hours?” Skipper stirred again, almost trying to rise. Brent steadied him with a firm restraining hand. “There are only twenty-four…”

“Not hours,” Brent said. “Years.”

Skipper breathed hoarsely. The unseeing eyes seemed to freeze. “Three thousand—nine hundred—and fifty-five?”

“A. D.” Brent agreed, drily. “Almighty God.”

In the brief silence, both men might have been listening to the hissing, scorching wind sweeping over the baking landscape. “We were following Taylor’s trajectory,” Brent continued, trying to hang onto his calm. “So whatever happened to us, must have happened to Taylor —” he continued to massage his superior’s chest. “What about us?

Where are we?”

Skipper sounded like a desperate blind man, trying to see what he never might again. “In my opinion, sir, we’ve come through a Hasslein Curve, a bend in Time.”

Skipper groaned feebly, falling back in greater pain than before. The damning facts had only augmented his poor condition. Brent tried to rally him, knowing how hopeless that was on the face of it. His superior, by all the signs, was a dying man. “Look,” Brent spoke rapidly. “I don’t know what planet we’re on. I know it’s fantastic but the fact is, we’re both of us here, wherever that is. Breathing. Conscious. There’s oxygen on this planet—and water. You’ll be okay, Skipper. We’ll run a navigational estimate…”

The unseeing man at his side stared mightily up into the alien sky. His face was bleached, almost lifeless. “God, if I could only see the sun!”

“You can feel it on your hand, Skipper,” Brent said very quietly. But his brain wasn’t quiet at all. It was rioting. “Yes—but which sun?”

“I don’t know. Our computer is shot. We’re lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky—?” Skipper echoed with sudden fury and strength. “No!

If it’s A. D. 3955—oh, God!

My wife—” His breathing was obviously becoming more difficult. “My two daughters. Dead, Their sons. Daughters. Dead. Everyone I ever knew. Everyone!”

“Yes, sir,” Brent agreed, more quiet than ever. “But I’m trying not to believe it.” He was too, with every fibre and atom of his being and reasoning power. “It’s quiet here, sir. God, it’s quiet.”

It was. There was no sound, no movement, save for the almost furtive whisper of that phantom wind hurrying over the limitless expanses of sandy soil. This unknown planet was a wasteland. Skipper suddenly pressed both deadening hands against his own chest and choked violently, desperately. “Oxygen—” he gasped. “More…”

Brent leaped to obey, his heart hammering, his pulses pounding. Not even all of the intense, highly technological education instilled in him by the Space Program had ever prepared him for this. Sudden Death is forever a blow, a shock to the nervous system, no matter where, when or how it strikes. Within the next torrid hour, he was burying Skipper. Shoveling sand over a rough grave just beyond the dune where the spacecraft had crashed to earth. A melancholy assignment, endured with aching muscles and ragged nerve ends, with tears poised on the lids of each eye. Brent was a young, athletic, handsome astronaut; clear-eyed, level-headed, with the look of eagles in his eyes. But Skipper’s dying reduced him to a terribly lonely and frightened young scientist. He felt like a small boy lost in a maze. It was only when he had patted the last shovel of loose sand over Skipper’s grave that the man in him returned. The one who had wanted to explore outer space and learn the secrets of the skies. For it was then that he heard the first sound of life on this planet since the spacecraft had come down; the initial indication that other forms of animal life existed on this unknown, blazing chunk of terra firma beyond the stars. He heard the clopping sounds of the horse’s hooves long before he saw the beast and the savage-looking female riding it. Nova, forlorn and aimlessly wandering since the strange disappearance of Taylor, had blundered across the path of the wrecked reconnaissance spacecraft. Another lost child. Brent watched her from the concealment of the sand dune overshadowing Skipper’s grave. He didn’t make a move until it looked as if Nova would continue on her way. The horse was balky, frightened. Then he sprang erect, looming before her path, waving his arms, calling out “Hi!” like a maniac, blocking the way. Nova stared down at him, her gaze torn between him and the shining wreckage of the spacecraft. Brent came closer, cautiously, quietly now, not wanting to frighten her off. “Who are you?”

Nova did not answer. “Can you understand me?”

Nova continued to stare, eyes uncomprehending. Brent came still closer. As bewildered as he was, he decided he had never seen a more beautiful, primeval-looking female in all his life. She might have stepped out of one of those old Tarzan movies of the twentieth century. “Don’t be frightened,” he said easily, smiling to make it more palatable. “Just tell me where I am.”

Still she did not answer. “My name is Brent.” He reached out to touch the horse’s nose in a gesture of friendliness. “Brent—!” With the same fervor which had characterized Taylor’s attempts, Brent mimed his own name, pointing to himself with grand gestures. Nova gazed down at him, unblinking. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, what her attitude might be. Brent felt defeat rise in his chest but he shook it off. “I’m not going to hurt you—I just want to know where I am. Where are you from?

Where are your people?

How do I get to them?

Which way?

Can you talk?” He paused, watching her closely. He had his answer in her mute, unspoken demeanor. “You can’t talk.”

Bitterly, he shook the rage out of his brain. The defeat. Then his eye caught sight of the identification tag looped about her dusky throat where its bright disc caught the rays of the fierce sunlight. “You have a name—?” She didn’t flinch as he reached up to turn the tag toward his own eyes so that he could read it. In that single instant, Brent felt all the miracle of rebirth. And a hope for Tomorrow. The name TAYLOR, clearly imprinted on the disc, set off rockets in his heart, soul and mind. “TAYLOR!

Is he alive?

Is he hurt?”

Now, for the very first time, Nova came to life. Her eyes lit up, showing emotional response. She nodded excitedly. Once, twice, three times. Her whole body seemed to take on new vitality. The horse shifted its weight with her movements. Brent, now more desperate than ever to make himself understood, literally seized on all the play-acting ability at his command. He was using sign language, gestures, vocal emphasis to get through to this strange young woman, who had wandered from nowhere to find him. “Look… is there anyone… any other… someone who can talk…?”

Nova smiled at that, dismounting from the horse. Brent took heart. “You—” he pointed to her, “take me—to Taylor.”

Her smile widened. A dazzling, marvelous smile that rivaled the sun overhead. She relooped the ID tag about her throat. Without asking her permission, Brent quickly mounted the horse directly behind her back. She started at that, staring at him, uttering a tiny cry of dismay. Brent grinned, urged the horse forward and motioned her to mount behind him. With a glad cry, she did so, huddling against his shoulders. Brent looked at her, just once more. Their eyes met. Held. “Taylor,” he said. “Now.”

The dazzling smile once more washed over him. “Where?” he asked. She held onto him, even more closely than before. He could see that her gaze was focused intently toward the right. Whatever direction of the compass that might be. “All right,” he said. “We’ll just ride on—till we run out of gas.”

With that, he broke the horse into a slow trot over the scorched, baked dunes. Leaving the spacecraft, Skipper’s grave, and the greatest mystery of his life behind him. Temporarily, at least. There was only one thing left in the universe, A. D. 3955 or not. Find Taylor. * * *

The search became a trek. A wearying, parching, searing exodus across a land which might have sprung whole from the pages of the Old Testament. Never had Brent known so much desert, so much sun, so much dry, sandy, barren nothingness. There was nothing to be seen of a horizon, for the mantle of blazing heat and, cloudless skies seemed to blend in waves of infernal, dancing heat which made vision valueless and pointless beyond more than five hundred yards. It was as if this strange planet lay like a skeleton bleaching beneath the ferocity of a never-extinguished sunlight. Night seemed an impossibility. It was difficult to assess anything. Neither place, Time nor direction. Brent could only let the horse plod along in a forward direction and hope for the best. The girl clinging to his dampened body was like some lovely homunculus growing out of his very back. Brent could barely see straight. His eyeballs ached, he had difficulty keeping his lids open. Great weights pressed down on his eyelids. And all about him, and the girl, beat down a heat so furnace-like and unrelenting that he felt as if the blood within his flesh was boiling. Time crawled, droned on. Not even the random furtive breeze which intermittently made its presence known by hissing across this blasted panorama of a Death Valley could relieve the depressing sensation of parboiled desolation and extinct living matter. Nothing could live in this inferno. Nothing. Brent was forcibly reminded of the many sites of atomic bomb testings on Earth where he had experienced this selfsame feeling of utter loss and obliteration. This vast, barren wasteland was exactly like that. He had not seen so much as an ant crawling across the ground. Not even the indestructible ant could have survived in this mass of deadness. Not even Taylor…

He pushed the dismal conclusion from what was left of his thinking mind and pushed the poor horse on. Behind him, Nova made small, almost mewing sounds from time to time. Dimly, he wondered who she was, who she might be and where in God’s name she had come from. Surely she hadn’t grown to such lush womanhood, no matter how savagely formed, in a desert horrorland like this!

It was inconceivable. Even a rudimentary knowledge of biology and ethnics told him that. Ecologically, the girl could never have bloomed in a Hades like this desert. Which had to mean that she came from somewhere else. Somewhere—where there was a normal sun, fresh air and green grass and…

Brent’s head toyed with mirages. With vistas of cool, rippling water and waving palm trees and fresh offshore winds. He caught hold of himself and steadied the horse on a plodding path over the wretched, fruitless terrain. Before them, many more endless stretches of rock and dune glistened cruelly in the sunlight. The mirage moved from the boundaries of his mind and set itself down before him. Twinkling. Iridescent, like a pearl. He blinked in the scorching sunlight. His tongue licked greedily at his parched lips. His pulses quickened. He saw the greenness, the lushness, the beckoning beauty of fertility off in the distance. The good green earth!

A long, low-lying swatch of terrain, bordered with trees, mounted with tall grass of so brilliant and verdant a hue that it seemed to vie with the sunlight for sheer radiance. And luminosity. His heart soared. Behind him, Nova clawed at his back in confirmation of what his eyes had seen. Yes. This was where she had wanted to bring him. This was where Taylor might be. Or so he thought. The horse now spurted forward, at a fast gallop, as if it too had been miraculously revivified by the change in the scenery ahead. Taking great strides, the beast plummeted forward, bouncing Brent and the girl indiscriminately. Brent didn’t care. He couldn’t quit the empty wasteland soon enough. He was leaving Hell behind. The greener, richer country magnified in size, looming large, larger, largest. Until it seemed to fill the whole new world. It was a fresh universe set down in the seeming middle of Nothingness. Brent rejoiced in his heart. He could tell the girl felt much better, too, by the manner in which her arms tightened around him as they drew even closer. He was unable to distinguish between fear and joy. Now, there were trees. A forest of them. Green and abiding. And thick copses of shrubbery. Hedges, measured landscaping. Like terraced gardens. The evident hand of a civilization of people. A land of green-thumbers who knew how to make things grow!

Brent gave the horse its head but navigated it toward a trail cut directly into the heart of the pleasantly leafy outskirts of this oasis of beauty in a barren planet. There was hope yet…

The horse slowed, avoided overhanging boughs encroaching on the path and gingerly worked a passage among the verdant environs. Brent gave it free rein, but when Nova suddenly pulled at his uniform, he turned in bewilderment. She was indicating that they should both dismount and look first to see what they were getting into. It seemed a sensible idea. Brent slid off the horse and assisted the girl to the soft earth. Now, faintly, he could hear a mammoth roar. Like a distant thunder of waves beating against a shoreline. Puzzled, he allowed Nova to lead him where the bush was thickest. Here she tethered the horse so the animal could not run away. Then she joined the new white man and motioned for him to peer through the foliage in the direction of the strange cataract of sound. To Brent, unless the infernal heat he had suffered most of the day was making him hear things, the strange murmur of noise was like that of a large and vociferous crowd of people. At a stadium, say, or a political rally; like a convention. Together, Brent and Nova crawled through the green shrubbery, found a vantage point and parted some overhead branches. Brent was the first to look. To goggle. As he stared down toward the source of the waterfall of sound, his eyes bugged out, his mouth fell open and the scientific mind inside his skull did a pirouette of insanity. “My God—” he blurted. “A city of apes—!”

It was true. He was seeing what Taylor had seen way back at the beginning. Seeing what Taylor had refused to believe until he had felt the first sting of a gorilla’s whip and the first guttural commands of his ape jailers. Until he had lost all his comrades-in-space. Seeing and daring not to believe, for it would mean that he was truly mad and had lost his mind when the spacecraft had come down in the desert in a crash landing. He saw the complex of Ape City. The stone warrens, the dome-shaped houses, the granite walks and paths, the immense gorilla-house aspect of the kingdom which had sprung into being after Man had lost his way in the hierarchy of power. Below him he saw the circular stone arena in the heart of the city. Unbelievably, hundreds of apes were thronged there, standing together like any mass of humans who have come to hear someone speak. He could see squads of gorillas, uniformed like some kind of military personnel, brutally herding half-naked humans into wagon cages. The air was filled with the sounds of barked commands, cries of fright and pain. And something else Brent couldn’t quite fathom. Not in his frenzy of fear and bewilderment. “What are they doing to those people down there?” he almost begged the question of Nova. Behind him, crouching and remembering all too well, the girl did not answer. She couldn’t. At the arena’s main gate, a picket-like arched entranceway, Brent could now see a small gathering of chimpanzees. Chimpanzees, armed with banners, walking around in circles, gesturing defiantly toward the center of the arena. The banners read: FREE THE HUMANS!

UNITE IN PEACE!

Nobody of the gorilla stamp was paying any attention to the dissenting chimpanzees. Brent shook himself, blinking. He was seeing things. He had to be—uniformed gorillas, chimps in civvies…

“This is a nightmare,” he said huskily, mutely, his tongue thick in his mouth. His frantic eyes searched the arena dumbly. He could feel Nova’s hands trembling on his back. Nova, who still remembered the ordeal of Ape City. Brent was stupefied. Nova was only—afraid. 4

URSUS

Down below on the perimeter of the stone arena, too far away for him to have spotted Brent and Nova in the concealment of thicket above, stood General Ursus. General Ursus had eyes only for the crowd. His audience. He stood on a dais, surrounded by the populace of Ape City, all eager to hear what he had to say—to offer. General Ursus was a very large, very imposing gorilla whose military costume of braid, epaulettes and medals merely enhanced the ferocity and brute strength of his appearance. Behind him on the dais, Nova would have recognized the elderly Dr. Zaius, the stern but kindly orangutan who had at least attempted to understand the freedom that Taylor had wanted and needed. Other members of the ape hierarchy filled the chairs ringed around the platform. But for the moment, the center of all eyes and ears was the mighty General Ursus. Ursus the Powerful. Ursus the Great One. Even as he now spoke, holding out his long arms, his full-chested voice sweeping over the throngs, the great white statue of the Lawgiver behind him seemed to wrinkle in a smile of simian approval. Ursus was a man of the people. “Greetings, members of the Citizens’ Council,” Ursus boomed. “I am a simple soldier—” Deafening applause and a wildly cheering multitude greeted this pronouncement. From the cover of the shrubbery above, Brent almost broke down in total astonishment. His eyes glittered insanely in his bronzed face. “God, this is not real. It can’t be—!” Nova, terrified, pulled him back to cover. “As a soldier,” Ursus resumed, placidly, in control of his audience, “I see things simply—” His listeners had stilled, ready to absorb the rest of what he had to say. Brent was talking to himself now, in a shattered whisper. “I see an ape. He talks…!

I know what happened… Re-entry: twenty thousand miles an hour. A force of 15G. It made Skipper blind, and muddled my brains. So everything here is delusion—” he turned to Nova almost helplessly. “Even you—which is too bad…”

Nova, somehow understanding the horror of what had come to him, quickly placed her hand over his mouth. The next words of Ursus came up to them, sonorous and clear. Like shining rocks aimed at what was left of Brent’s sanity. “What I saw, when I became your Army Commander, broke my heart. I saw our country imprisoned on one side by the sea, and by north and south and west—by naked desert. And inside our country, we found ourselves infected by those enormous parasites which we call Humans. By parasites who devoured the fruits that we had planted in a land rightly ours; who fattened on the fertility of fields that we had made green with wheat; who polluted the pure and precious water of our lakes and rivers with their animal excrement; and who continued to breed in our very midst like maggots in a once healthy body. What should we do?

How should we act?

I know what every soldier knows: the only thing that counts in the end is Power!

Naked, merciless Force!” A low growl of applause filtered up from the crowd but no one was anxious to break the flow of Ursus’ rhetoric. “Today, the bestial Human herds have at last been systematically flushed from their feeding grounds!

No single Human Being has escaped our net. They are dead. Or if not dead, they are in our cages condemned to die.”

The thick murmur flittering among his listeners began to swell into a low rumble, building to a full roar. Ursus smiled all too benignly. His deep-set eyes were as cold and cruel as leeches. “I do not say that all Humans are evil,” he declared, “simply because their skin is hairless. But our Lawgiver tells us that never will they have the Ape’s divine faculty for distinguishing between Evil and Good. Their eyes are animal, their smell the smell of the dead flesh they eat. Had they been allowed to live and breed among us unchecked, they would have overwhelmed us. And the concept of Ape Power would have become meaningless; and our high and splendid culture would have wasted away and our civilization would have been ravaged and destroyed.”

Now there was no holding the audience of apes, gorillas and camp followers. The stone arena thundered with noise. Ursus beamed down on a sea of simian faces. He raised his arms in gratitude and acknowledgment. From the hillside, Brent had listened with mounting horror and cold fury. Flat on their stomachs, he and the girl had worked themselves further away from the hideous tableau. Nova was shuddering as if she had palsy. Brent tried to steady her by holding her wrist firmly. “I’ve got to get out,” he told himself, trying to remain clearheaded. “And the only way out—is to take to the sky. I don’t know how or what with—all I know is I can’t stay here. If this place has a name, it’s the Planet Nightmare…”

Backtracking furiously, slithering along the green earth like snakes, Brent and the shaking girl disappeared into the foliage. Ursus had almost reached the end of his peroration. “…and those lucky enough to remain alive will have the privilege of being—used—” Here he half turned to bow slightly toward Dr. Zaius whose powerful face had remained inscrutable throughout the highly inflammatory speech, “by our revered Minister of Science, Dr. Zaius.”

This last statement was uttered in a flat, unemphatic tone, but nevertheless a small but spirited outbreak of minority clapping sounded from the crowd below the dais, filling the arena. Dr. Zaius still did not smile, but Ursus frowned, flinging a furious glance toward an outer section of his audience. He might have guessed. Zaius’ advocates seemed to be the chimpanzee section of the crowd. The usual, typical kindly intellectuals who still used such expressions as the “milk of human kindness.” What rot!

Damn Zaius and all his intellectual weaklings!

Ursus gestured peremptorily and a military policeman advanced on the section, brandishing his club. The clapping subsided. Except for one very energetic female chimpanzee who kept on clapping. Her companion, a male chimp, plucked at her sleeve nervously. “Zira!” Cornelius whispered savagely. “Stop!

You’re in danger.”

“So is the future of science with that rabble-rouser fomenting a senseless military adventure,” his wife snorted angrily. On the left flank of the crowd, in the concealment of the hillside, Nova had halted Brent. Pointing down toward the chimpanzee section, she gesticulated wildly toward Zira and Cornelius. Brent did not understand until Nova touched the ID disc around her throat and pointed back toward the arena. She had recognized Zira and Cornelius; two of the gentlest souls in this Ape City, who had helped her and Taylor effect their escape. The intelligent chimpanzees who in their long jackets and skirts and trousers had been like saints in a universe gone mad. Ursus was winding up his oration. “We will never lose our sense of purpose. We will never degenerate. We will never become weak and hairless—” Growls filtered up from his audience once more. “Because we know how to purify our own people— with Blood!”

His gimlet eyes swept over the dais, finding Dr. Zaius. Their glances locked. The conflict between the two of them hung like unexploded dynamite in the charged atmosphere. “The Forbidden City,” Ursus intoned heavily, “has been closed for centuries. And rightly so. But we now have evidence that that vast, barren area is now inhabited. By whom or by what, we do not know. But if they live—and live they do—then they must eat. We must replenish the land that was ravaged by the Humans with new, productive feeding grounds. And these we can obtain in the once Forbidden Zone. So now it is our holy duty to enter it, put the mark of our feet and wheels and guns and flags upon it!

To expand the boundaries of our ineluctable power!”

A mammoth a-a-a-ahhhhh!

erupted from the crowd. “To kill our enemies—” Ursus thundered, shaggy arms outflung, “known and unknown—like so many lice!”

A growl, a gathering crescendo of fury and might, swelled up from anthropoid throats. Ursus brought his arms down in a mighty sweep of finality, his voice climaxing the speech with one last fierce exhortation of brute force. “And to invade—invade—INVADE, INVADE!”

The ranked gorillas, standing before the platform, blistered the air with applause. Hoarse shouts of exaltation rumbled wildly from the throng. With waves of acclaim cascading upon him, Ursus took a seat once more, his gorilla smile as wide as humility allowed. Dr. Zaius did not smile. Seated and silent amid the uproar, the chimpanzee section of the audience sat in stunned despair. One Ursus, feeding flames to trigger-happy civilians, could fan a blaze that could wreck Ape City. Gorilla policemen, quick to put down troublemakers among the intellectuals, were circulating rapidly, wielding truncheons. And bayonets. The chimps who had refused to stand to honor Ursus and his speech were bullied into upright positions. All but Zira, who remained seated, her chimp muzzle screwed into an expression of defiance. Cornelius, standing to avoid a fight, was exceedingly perturbed by her foolhardiness. “Zira!”

She wouldn’t budge. Cornelius whispered to her in a fierce undertone. “Zira, as your husband, I beg you to stand up.”

“Only for my principles,” she said clearly and coolly. “All right,” Cornelius smiled, in spite of himself. “For your principles then. And mine. Only stand!”

Zira dutifully got to her feet, a split second before a glowering gorilla policeman could reach her to force her to do so. From the center of the arena, Ursus smiled a triumphant smile. No matter what the brainy fools might think—force was the only answer for all problems. Power. The Big Fist. Ineluctable Power!

Even his most vocal opposition, the chimpanzee claque, were all on their feet now, paying homage to what he had said. His words. His platform. His promises. Dr. Zaius would learn that someday, the scientific idiot!

Or he too would have to feel a leather truncheon crashing down on his orangutan skull. Ursus knew that in his own scheme of things it could be no other way. * * *

Nova led the confused Brent through the thick underbrush bordering Ape City. In her dimly lit mind she had realized that perhaps Zira and Cornelius could provide the new man with the answers she was incapable of giving. She had seen that Brent was the same stamp of man as Taylor. There was the clean, bold look of the eyes, the firm carriage of the body, the walk of giants. Even if Brent was confused and obviously dazed, to Nova he represented a species several thousand cuts above the half-savage, brutal race she had grown and lived among. Anything was better than that. Anything was better than the rule of apes. The habitations were as she had remembered them. Domelike huts and houses scaled on different levels of the ground, terracing down like so many beehives. She spotted Zira’s home almost immediately. Brent tethered the horse once again in the leafy undergrowth and they proceeded on foot when she pointed out the way. Between the houses and huts, the brush was dense and almost impenetrable. But it made concealment easier. Brent stumbled along behind her, his mind still reeling from the spectacle of the arena. Behind them, the hoarse ovation for Ursus’ speech still lingered in the air. Nova suddenly halted as Brent came down too heavily on a twig beneath his heel. The noise cracked out clearly in the stillness of the brush. Nova pulled Brent to the soft earth. A uniformed patrolman, his gorilla face savage beneath a visored cap, paused for a routine check. Through the density of foliage, Brent saw that they were only yards away from the guard. He held his breath, oddly terrified and bewildered. An ape in uniform walking around like any security policeman!

With a weapon, too. The gorilla cop was scanning the landscape with great care, trying to pin down the strange noise on his patrol. Crouching in the bushes, Nova and Brent lay very still. Suddenly there was an abrupt whirring noise. A bird, strangely multicolored, shot from a nearby thicket and whirled overhead. The patrolman quickly drew a heavy revolver from his belted holster and snapped off a shot. The bird was out of sight almost immediately, but Brent had to hold his teeth together to keep from screaming out loud. Nova’s quick hand once more closed over his mouth as she saw the widening red stain on his shoulder. Brent closed his eyes against the sudden agony. The random shot had caught him as surely as if it had been aimed at him. The patrolman, satisfied that the bird had been the source of the strange sound, holstered his pistol and continued on his way through the brush. His boots made clumping noises along the path. Brent sagged against the earth, his face drawn with pain, as Nova bent over him helplessly. From the distant arena, heavy shouts again filled the air. * * *

The steam room, banked benches of stone nearly obscured by the rising clouds of vapor, was the scene of an important conference. A little gorilla boy, busily ladling cold water over the hissing hot stones, might have been a statue devoid of life. Dr. Zaius and General Ursus had repaired here to discuss the important issues evoked by the open forum in the arena of Ape City. Lolling in loincloths, ministered to by the gorilla boy, Zaius and Ursus were airing their views (and their differences) in a more intimate and unguarded atmosphere. Sometimes, disparate minds may meet in private where they cannot come together in public. Zaius fervently hoped so. His reddish-blond orangutan coloring was in marked contrast to Ursus’ jet black, shaggier gorilla proportions. Both apes liked the steam room. It was a good place to sweat out differences and divergences of opinion. “General Ursus,” Zaius suggested, “I can only pray that you know what you are doing.”

Ursus shrugged his mammoth shoulders, sweat trickling down off his snout of a nose. “How can you doubt it, Dr. Zaius, after the reports we have been receiving of strange manifestations in the Forbidden Zone?

Manifestations which you, as Minister of Science, have been unable to fathom. Twelve of my scouts have vanished into thin air.”

“Eleven,” Zaius reminded him, with his fetish for exactitude. “Eleven. And the twelfth came back with incredible reports of huge walls of fire and strange earthquakes. His mind was shattered— undoubtedly by some un-Simian torture.”

“Inflicted by whom?”

“Who knows?

But they live. Therefore they eat.”

“I still think you are being—hasty.”

“No,” Ursus snorted mightily. “Decisive!”

Dr. Zaius shook his head. “Decisions come from weighing evidence. It is through evidence that a scientist arrives at the truth.”

“And a politician?”

“At expediency.”

For a long, crucial second, both apes regarded each other eye to eye. The steaming vapors swirled and eddied about them. General Ursus chuckled almost softly. “Then let us discuss what is evident and what is expedient. What is evident is that by this overpopulation, we face famine. What is expedient is…”

“…that we should control it,” Dr. Zaius interjected quickly. Ursus glared. His nostrils quivered. “And be outnumbered by our enemies?

I look to the day when not thousands but millions will march under the Ape banner.”

“Should we not wait until then, if we must invade?”

“And let our enemies invade us first?” Ursus wagged his mighty head. “I would sooner attack at my convenience than be forced to defend at theirs. We invade or we starve. It’s as simple as that.”

“And as dangerous,” Zaius said slowly. Ursus frowned at his gentle foe, barely concealing the wrathful scorn he felt for all thinkers such as the eminent doctor. “What is more dangerous than famine?” he demanded, almost shouting. The little gorilla boy paused dumbly in his labors. “The unknown,” Dr. Zaius said. Steam rose and hissed over the hot rocks as the cold water hit them, seeming to fan the atmosphere with the import of Dr. Zaius’ warning. General Ursus could only glare anew. Words of wisdom. Intellectual thin-skinnedness. Psychological hogwash. Cowardice. Anything to avoid direct action or confrontation!

It was no more than he expected from the likes of Dr. Zaius. 5

ZIRA AND CORNELIUS

En route from the dissatisfying public display of sentiment at the arena, Zira paused on the threshold of her home to give further vent to her chagrin. Cornelius, dutifully following behind her, allowed her to continue. He had learned a long time ago that in dealing with a female, a male has no recourse but to give her tongue free rein. Cornelius was a very intelligent young chimpanzee, as well as a scientist. He also set great store by Zira’s intellect—and heart. Zira was still fuming in an undertone as they reached the front door of their habitat. “If I had any sense of scientific purpose, Cornelius, I shouldn’t be cutting up the healthy heads of humans. I should be dissecting the diseased brains of gorillas to find out what went wrong.”

Cornelius smiled. “And how would you put it right?” He opened the door for her but she paused, striking herself on the breast. Her cute little face was puckered up in a scowl. “Wet-nurse their babies on the milk of chimpanzees. The milk of kindness. At least when our child is born, it won’t be breast-fed on bile.”

Cornelius chuckled and pushed her gently into their house. Zira flounced in, still angry, heading for the kitchen. Cornelius took off his shoes, settled himself in an easy chair and groped for his pipe. The interior of their home never failed to fill him with a sense of comfort and well-being. They had wooden table and chairs, framed pictures included the gilt portrait of the two of them on their wedding day. An open archway in the living room led into Zira’s kitchen where she cooked and baked so many fine things. All in all a very domestic hideout for a pair of chimpanzee scientists. Cornelius sighed, thinking about that and what Zira had said, as he sat back in his worn old chair. “The trouble with us intellectuals, my dear,” he said as he filled his clay pipe, “is that we have responsibility but no power.”

Zira didn’t answer him. She had already put on her white apron, taken out a China bowl and a box of ready-mix, and with a fork was stirring up some sort of batter. He could already smell the ingredients of something. “I think I’ll make chocolate icing. Do you like chocolate?

No—you don’t. Well, I do.”

Cornelius frowned. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him. He tried again. “And if we did take power into our hands, we’d be as bad, or worse, than Them.”

She’d heard him, all right. Mixing furiously, her next words had absolutely nothing to do with chocolate icing. “I don’t agree. They’re a genetic accident. A mistake of nature. The gorillas are cruel because they’re stupid. All bone and little brain…”

“Ssshh!” Cornelius begged. “My dear. I wish you wouldn’t talk like that. Somebody may hear you.”

Zira snorted and Cornelius sighed in despair. It was at this precise moment that Nova emerged from the tiny curtained alcove to the left of the living room. Behind her, Brent swayed, tall and shadowy in the dimness of the aperture. Nova stood stock-still, her eyes fastened on Zira, hoping for the best. “Nova!” Zira blurted, as if she had seen a ghost. Cornelius came up out of his chair, as startled as his wife. “What are you doing here?”

Knowing the girl could not speak, Zira’s eyes went to the figure of Brent whose face she could not yet identify in the shadows. “Taylor—” she began, a sound of hope in her voice. “My name isn’t Taylor,” Brent spoke up. “It’s Brent.” He stepped into the light of the room. But Zira and Cornelius had recoiled, almost as if he had struck them. They were doing a double take of wonder. “You talked!” Zira gasped, looking around the room as if she expected some sort of trick. “Impossible,” Cornelius agreed. Zira stared at Brent. Her tiny eyes marveled. She shook her head, Nova almost forgotten in this fresh miracle. “In a whole lifetime devoted to the scientific study of humans, I’ve found only one other like you who could talk.”

Brent nodded. “Taylor,” he said. His eyes roved the room, fearful. “Taylor!” Cornelius echoed. “Is he alive?

Have you seen him?”

“Where?” Zira pleaded. “Where?

Tell us!”

Brent stared at them, still everlastingly confounded by the image of apes who could speak English as plain as he could. But he was adjusting. If this was lunacy, then so be it. They were all at least on the same wave length. Talking about Taylor—there was something reassuring about that, mad as it was. “I don’t know where,” he faltered. “I’m trying to find him and the longer I’m here, the less I’m beginning to care.” He held his hand against his damaged shoulder, wincing. Nova hung back, staring at the people who could talk, but somehow looking happy that things were being accomplished. Brent smiled at her, faintly. “We loved Taylor,” Cornelius said proudly. “He was a fine, a unique specimen.”

Brent reacted to that almost violently. His face flew from Cornelius to Zira and then to Cornelius again. “And if it had not been for Zira,” Cornelius continued passionately, “he’d be here still—a stuffed specimen, with glass eyes, in the Great Hall of the Zaius Museum. Like his two friends.”

“Like his two friends,” Brent echoed slowly, suddenly realizing the monstrous truth of what had happened to Taylor and the others if all that he had seen and heard was true. “I don’t plan to stay quite that long. Look, can you give us some food, water, and a map, so I know where I’m going.”

Zira nodded, looking at his red-stained shoulder. “Your arm also needs some care.” Without another word, she went out through the curtained doorway. “I’ll get the map.” Cornelius walked to a cabinet in one corner, plucked a rolled scroll of paper from it and brought it back to the table where he spread it out for Brent’s examination. Nova hovered at Brent’s shoulder, silent, wide-eyed. Cornelius, his brows beetled in concentration, began to explain the curious red and blue markings on the map. Brent was fascinated. “Here is our city. And here, to the north, is where Zira and I…”

His wife had come back, laden down with a cloth, water pitcher, a bowl, forceps and sticking plaster. As Cornelius continued, Zira deftly began to treat Brent’s shoulder. When she sprinkled the wound with some sort of powder, Brent gasped. The powder stung. “What’s that damn stuff you’re using?” he barked. “You wouldn’t know if I told you,” she said placidly. “Just relax. Among other things, I’m a trained vet.”

“Thanks,” Brent apologized. “Go on, go on…”

Cornelius indicated the map. “We last saw Taylor with Nova going through the gap between this lake and the sea.” He pointed. Brent saw the spot and nodded. A dot in that hellish wasteland…

Zira said, “They were heading deep into the territory we call…”

“Yes, yes—I know,” Brent said. “The Forbidden Zone.”

For a moment, there was a pindrop of silence. Then Zira finished dressing Brent’s wound, putting the bandage into place. Her face was expressionless. Only her eyes held a glow. “Who told you that?” she asked. “Your glorious leader back there.” Brent jerked his good shoulder in the direction of the arena. Before Zira could respond, there was a knock on the front door of the house. Everybody stiffened, right where they stood. Then, as the knocking became louder, there was sudden activity. Cornelius jumped for the map on the table, Brent moved back to the curtained alcove, Zira hustled the petrified Nova in the same direction. She drew the curtains and shut them both in, out of sight. Cornelius rolled up the map quickly, taking it back to the cabinet. Zira calmly straightened out her skirt. “Open the door, Cornelius,” she said. “But—” he indicated the medical apparatus, frightened. “Open it.”

Cornelius spread his hands and did as she told him. Dr. Zaius came bounding into the room, walking springily for an ape of his great years. His shrewd old face was furrowed with sternness. There was an air of great urgency about him. “Dr. Zaius!” Cornelius stammered. “We were just going to cat…”

Zaius brushed by him, wagging a cane. “Not before I’ve talked some sense into that headstrong wife of yours. Where is she?”

“Well—she’s…”

Desperately, Cornelius turned. He was shocked to find Zira lying down on the divan, which was located near all the medical apparatus. He blinked. Zaius blustered by him, going toward Zira on the couch. The cane clumped along the floor. “Good day, Dr. Zaius,” Zira said wanly. Zaius stopped fuming, concern immediately etching his face. “What happened?

Has there been an accident?”

Zira sat up. Suddenly it was clear that a large patch of sticking plaster was affixed to her right cheek. A fresh one. “Cornelius hit me,” Zira said. Her husband gaped down at her, openmouthed. “For my bad behavior at the meeting,” Zira explained to the good doctor. She seemed almost contrite. Zaius grunted. “I don’t blame him.”

Zira nodded. “I don’t resent it.” She touched the plaster gingerly. “But his nails need clipping.”

Cornelius stifled his outrage but Dr. Zaius had already put the family quarrel behind him. He waved his cane angrily. “Enough of this nonsense!

Are you so blind, you two psychologists, that you are unaware that we are on the brink of a grave crisis?

You heard the Ursus speech…”

“Militaristic tripe!” growled Zira, her old self again. “Sh-h-h!” Cornelius begged, agonized. “Perhaps,” Zaius said evenly, studying Zira. “But eleven of his gorilla scouts, on reconnaissance in the Forbidden Zone, have vanished.”

“Well, it serves him right,” Zira said huffily. “Zira,” Cornelius pleaded, once again, for reason, not feminine contrariness; it was an old song to Dr. Zaius. “And Ursus,” he continued, “is determined to have his revenge. All-out war if need be.” Turning, he walked to the table. His reddish-haired body shone in the light of the room. “Ursus now has the ‘incident’ he needs to go on a rampage of conquest.” He looked at the tip of his heavy wooden cane. Cornelius started. “But that is appalling!

When Zira and I first unlocked the secrets of the Forbidden Zone, you intervened at our trial for heresy.”

“I know.”

“The price we paid for our freedom was the vow to you never to disclose our discovery that Man evolved from the Ape…”

“But to remain silent,” Zira interrupted, “while this bully, Ursus, is permitted to destroy everything in his path, is no longer possible.”

Dr. Zaius’ face looked suddenly older as he fixed his gaze on his younger colleagues. “You want to stand trial once more for heresy?

No, my children, this time I may not be here to plead for clemency.”

Zira looked worried. “Where are you going?”

“Into the Forbidden Zone with Ursus.”

Zira’s expression changed to one of scorn, unhidden. “Another manhunt, Doctor?”

Zaius was not unaware of her feelings. Or her convictions. “The disappearance of these scouts is more than the work of a mere man. Someone or something has outwitted the intelligence of the gorillas.”

Zira snorted. “That shouldn’t be difficult.”

“Zira,” Cornelius groaned. “Please…”

Zaius ignored her. “As Minister of Science, it is my duty to find out whether some other form of life exists. Some new threat to our ape civilization. Before Ursus barges in and destroys the evidence.”

Zira shook Cornelius off. “But if these creatures, or whatever they are, are so intelligent, why shouldn’t they be able to live with us in peace and harmony?”

“For the same reasons,” Zaius said, wearily almost, for he had argued the very point with Zira so many times, “that man could not live in harmony, even with his own kind. He abused his own intelligence and destroyed his own world. We apes have learned to live in innocence. Let no one, be he man or some other creature, attempt to corrupt that innocence.” When he saw the smirk on Zira’s face, he bridled. “Why?

Is innocence so evil?”

“Ignorance is,” Zira said firmly. “There is a time for truth,” Dr. Zaius said sternly. “And the time is always now,” Zira reminded him Dr. Zaius stared at her. “Bah!” he exploded, thumping his cane on the wooden floor; Cornelius shuddered, closing his eyes. Zira shook her head. “Are you asking me to surrender my principles?”

Dr. Zaius frowned. But his eyes were kindly, glittering. “I am asking you to be the guardians of the higher principles of science in my absence. I am asking for a truce with your personal convictions in an hour of public danger.”

“And you shall have it,” Cornelius interposed strongly, brooking no protest from Zira. “Or I—shall hit her again, Dr. Zaius.”

“Let’s have no violence, Cornelius,” Zaius muttered as he moved toward the door. “Now, I’m relying on you both.”

“And we’re relying on you, too,” Zira reminded him, getting the last shot in. Dr. Zaius paused on the threshold of their house. “If I should fail to return from the Unknown, the whole future of our civilization will be yours to preserve—or destroy. So think well before you act.”

“Goodbye, Doctor,” Zira said, warmly enough, “and good luck.”

From their wide window they watched him patter down the walk until his familiar figure was out of sight, cane and all. Cornelius heaved a sigh of gratitude and then went to the alcove to summon the girl and Brent out of hiding. Zira was contemplative, thinking over what Dr. Zaius had said. He had looked and sounded so tired…

Brent was white-faced and weak. Nova held on to him, close at his side. Zira stirred herself. “Come on, let me finish this and get you out of here.”

“Yes,” Brent growled. “Get me out of here—please. I’ve seen the delicate, ‘humane’ way they treat humans around here. I don’t much care for it.” He took Nova’s hand and squeezed it. “Have you a horse?” Zira asked. “Up in the scrub,” Brent admitted. “I’ll have to get you another set of clothes—the kind fit for humans like yourself. You’ll pass. And get rid of this.”

She pointed to his ID tags. She went to Nova and removed Taylor’s tags from her throat. “And get rid of this too—” But Nova grabbed the tags back, belligerently almost. Zira shrugged. “If you are caught by the gorillas,” Cornelius offered, “remember one thing.”

“What’s that?” Brent demanded. “Never to speak.”

“What the hell would I have to say to a gorilla?”

“But you don’t understand,” Cornelius protested. “Only apes can speak. If they catch you speaking, they will dissect you. And they will kill you. In that order.”

The irony of such a proposition did not escape Brent, tired and confused as he was. He grinned wearily. Zira had returned with the human clothing which she passed on to Brent. He was not surprised to find it no more than rags; a pitiful loincloth and smocklike thing. But he took them all the same. He wasn’t so stupefied that he couldn’t recognize kindness when he found it. These two chimps were Okay Joes. “Cornelius is right,” Zira agreed. “Be very careful and get out of those things you are wearing as soon as you can.”

Brent nodded, arms full, took Nova by the hand and led heir to the door of the house. There he stopped and turned. “Thanks,” he said, simply. It was all he could think of to say. He had never had hospitality from an ape before. “Thank us by finding Taylor,” Zira said softly, a light shining from deep within her gimlet eyes. “If he’s alive,” Brent said. There was no more to be said. He left, taking Nova with him. Leaving behind Zira and Cornelius to ponder again the remarkable peculiarity of humans who could speak. The Lawgiver would have revolved on his stone base if word of that had ever come to him. The figure of a Great Ape reading a book would not have understood— or believed—such a phenomenon. He who was supposed to know all things. 6

NOVA

Brent and Nova did not get very far. As soon as he had changed from his astronaut’s white into the ragged remnants of what passed for human clothing, both he and the girl struck out through the scrub in the direction of the Forbidden Zone. The brush was quiet, almost tropical, with nothing but the occasional twitter of winged creatures indicating any form of activity. The sun still held the heavens, raining down an unremitting liquid sunshine. The glare was almost unbearably bright. Brent had to keep his eyes continually slitted. Nova seemed not to mind. Together, very cautiously, she and Brent worked a route through the trees and bushes. Once they had retrieved the horse, Brent hurriedly mounted up, swinging Nova on behind him. They moved as fast as the terrain would allow. Brent kept the horse at a careful trot, eyes peeled for trouble. The girl clung to him, her lithe body almost a part of his own. Any other time, any other place, it would have been an extraordinarily pleasant sensation, but not now. Brent’s mind was far too filled with the horror of Ape City to heed it. His consciousness, his mentality, was too busy fighting off an assault of total unreality. The crash landing, the Time jump, Skipper’s death, the remarkable news about Taylor—all of it had made his sanity teeter precariously toward complete incoherence. His brain was filled with pictures and images of apes talking, apes acting like doctors, apes rolling up and reading maps…

But he pushed the horse on, the soldier in him still on duty. The habits of a lifetime are hard to break. When the single rifle shot cracked out and the horse beneath him suddenly reeled in a headlong plunge to the earth, he responded almost like to automaton. The air blazed with more gunfire and then he was vaguely aware of himself and the girl, up and running; breaking like startled rabbits for the nearest cover. He heard Nova cry out in fear. His mind was perforated with frenzy. He ran madly, pulling the girl, trying to see from which point the danger came. And then time and place overwhelmed him. And doom. Gorillas were charging them from all points of the compass. Armed gorillas, brandishing truncheons, pointing rifles. Leather-jacketed troops of some insane sort of militia. They bounded in closer and Brent whirled to fight. His eyes bulged in terror. He could now smell the zoolike aura of their bodies, could almost see the fierce intelligence in their beady black eyes. Nova screamed again. Brent struck out wildly, burying his fist on a simian snout. But they closed in on him and the girl. A swarm of brute force. Helmeted, uniformed, and oddly silent and efficient. Brent went down under a weight of bodies. Coarse, leathery hands raked him. Gorilla claws plucked at his flesh. He tried to lash out, kick away, but he was borne to the soft earth, his nostrils filled with the singular stink of defeat. His mind clouded over. They were spread-eagling him on the ground, as helpless as any chicken with a wolf pack. A rough leather collar with a long, trailing leash was slung around his neck. Nova was being similarly manhandled. Gorilla-handled?

Brent strove to laugh at the bitter irony of the whole situation. But he couldn’t. His throat was like ashes. The gorilla smell and the gorilla might boxed in his senses like an awesome reversal of all the norms in any man’s universe. Low growls and snorts emanated from his captors. But no words. Which somehow only made it worse. The militia of gorillas led Brent and Nova away, dragging them by the long leashes off through the scrub toward—what?

Brent did not even want to speculate. All he could remember and think of until it burned like a hot poker in his skull was Cornelius’ warning: Never speak. If they catch you speaking, they will dissect you. And then they will kill you. In that order. There was no danger of Nova speaking. Brent only fully realized the extent of his predicament when he and Nova were literally hurled through the gates of a human pen and the barred doors swung shut. It took only one look to understand to what incredible degree Man had fallen and the Ape had risen. For here, locked up in wooden cages, were dozens of humans. Emaciated to the point of starvation, filthy, festered with sores, some of them howling like wild dogs, some of them dying, some of them possibly already dead. All in all, a thoroughly hopeless and helpless amalgam of savagery, stupidity and total ignorance of man’s basic superiority to his ape jailers. Nova shrank against Brent in one corner of the horrible cage, trembling. Brent tried to hang on to his nerve. It wasn’t easy. The awful stench of the place, the terrible sight of the gorilla guards on duty beyond the barred walls, was enough to drive a sane man right out of his mind. What was left of it. But Brent kept his lips closed, trying not to cry out, in the name of God and science, for help. He remembered what Cornelius had told him. He would have to wait. * * *

The horrors mounted. No more than an hour later, two horse-drawn cage wagons, each driven by a gorilla teamster, clattered up outside their filthy pen. Brent felt a ray of hope. For standing outside their cage was Cornelius!

Cornelius in his long coat and trousers, busy with pad and pencil. With him was an armed gorilla guard. And unless he was hearing things, Cornelius was in the process of selecting humans for research!

The regular guards were manhandling at least six of the wretched human tide into one of the carts, acting obviously on Cornelius’ instructions. There was a great howling and resistance put up by the humans, but effective slashes of rubber truncheons and leather whips were making the fight pitifully inadequate. Cornelius displayed no emotion at this. Brent grit his teeth, hanging onto Nova. There was so much he couldn’t understand. A sergeant rode up, his three stripes glowing in the glare of sunlight. The gorilla face was a mockery beneath billed cap. The sergeant barked at the guard with Cornelius: “Twenty required on Number Two Range for C Company target practice. Jump to it!”

Now more humans were thrust into the two cage-carts. Brent and Nova were manhandled out of the pen, pushed toward the first waiting cart. But suddenly Cornelius seemed to spot them and came forward, holding up a delaying paw. The guards holding Brent and the girl waited for his instructions. “Stop a minute,” Cornelius said coolly. He approached Brent, his face without expression, and appraised the face before him. He jabbed his fingers into Brent’s jawbone, explored his cranium. Brent strove to maintain a calm he didn’t feel. Then Cornelius lifted Nova’s eyelid, all the while murmuring some impressive medical gibberish. As if musing half aloud to himself. “Brachycocephalic—and prognathous… incipient glaucoma… hmmm.” He raised his voice, for the guards’ benefit. “We could do with these two.” He signaled for Brent and Nova to be put aside for further examination and study. The mounted sergeant spurred closer, his tone surly and insolent. And impatient. His right hand bore a menacing truncheon. “Required for human target practice on Number Two Range,” he repeated. “Captain Odo’s orders.”

Cornelius stared up at him icily. “Required for cranial research by order of Dr. Zaius, Minister of Science.” With that, he turned to the guards and indicated the second wagon. “Load them up.”

The sergeant snarled, but whipped his horse around angrily and trotted off. Brent and Nova now found themselves hustled into the second cage-cart. The door clanged shut behind them. Up front, the gorilla driver cracked his whip. The wagon rolled forward. Brent stared through the bars of the cage at Cornelius. But Cornelius had returned to his study and examination of the rest of the filthy pack remaining in the big human pen. Business as usual!

Once more, Brent could only muffle his astonishment and anger. He was perplexed. Nor did the wagon journey through the streets of Ape City lessen his aggravation. Through the bars, with the silent Nova ever just behind him, he witnessed even more of the spectacle of a world gone topsy-turvy. A universe insane. As they made for the outskirts of the complex, he could see many signs of some kind of military preparations: apes in close-order drill, apes taking courses in the use of the bayonet, apes stabbing dummies made up to resemble humans, apes going through the paces of rifle instruction. Ape City—if all the evidence was to be trusted—seemed to be making ready for some invasion or sortie. Was the city under siege?

Had the humans somehow gotten back to their former level and threatened the apes with total extinction?

It was too much to hope for. Brent sank wearily to the floor of the cart. His shoulder hurt again, his eyes were like two blazing balls of fried meat, his mind was coming apart. Nova huddled against him, her eyes wide open and oddly tranquil, despite their plight. Perhaps it was an old story to her, the only thing she had ever known—being pushed around by gorillas. For Brent, it would never be easy to take. Still, what was there he could do about it?

Now, at least. Yet there was something hopeful, something to think about, as his eyes watched the gorillas mounting artillery field pieces and grooming horses for combat. The view did not change one iota on all the long, harrowing trip toward the outskirts of Ape City. Something was up. * * *

At the Research Complex, Dr. Zaius’ own special kingdom, there was also much activity, if of a different kind. Zaius himself had invited General Ursus down to see what was going on. The Gorilla, massive and impressive as always in his uniform and medals, was walking around the compound inspecting the experimental cages and devices which formed the nucleus of Zaius’ work. Zira was also on the scene. With a chimpanzee assistant at her elbow, she was accepting the newest delivery of cage-wagon humans sent from the city proper by her husband Cornelius. Zaius and Ursus, strolling the compound now for a chat, had just come into view when the gorilla driver delivered his wagonload of specimens which included Brent and Nova. The human cargo was as wretched as ever. Zira, withholding her shock, approached Brent and Nova very casually. She had not expected to see them again so soon. Brent held his ground. There was nothing else he could do. Zira stared up at him. “Male. Type E cranium. Very unusual!” The chimpanzee at her elbow rapidly made some notes on her pad. Zira reached up, tweaked Brent’s ear and gave him a deliberately deadpan wink that only he could see. “Weak occipital development. Substandard lobes—” She turned her attention to Nova who was staring at her dumbly. “Female. Type—” She broke off, for now she could see Dr. Zaius and General Ursus walking toward her. The sight disturbed her. Zaius was saying, “…so be it. You know that my scruples were dictated by caution—not by cowardice. When the day comes, I shall ride with you.” Ursus was grunting a reply, but his piggish eyes were roving over Brent and Nova with undue interest. Zira quickened her routine survey, anxious to be gone. The guards were impatient too. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to study specimens of such extraordinary clinical interest,” Zira said too loudly. “Take them inside…”

“You can’t have them,” General Ursus suddenly spoke up behind her. Zira whirled. General Ursus’ ugly face was wreathed in what passed for a smile. A horsewhip was coiled in his huge right paw. “They’ve been marked,” he explained quietly, “for target practice.” As he said this, he flicked the whip and it cut cruelly across Nova’s lithe body. Brent flinched but held his silence. General Ursus had already turned away, leading Dr. Zaius off with him. Zira raged inwardly. The gorilla driver, now that his leader had spoken, needed no second urging; he was already pushing Brent and the girl toward his cage-wagon. The vehicle was empty now, its desperate occupants removed for further research. The door at the rear hung open. Zira helped the driver to force Brent and Nova into the van. Brent moved like a dead man. This last had been too much for him. All the fight had gone out of him. He was dead-tired and dead-hopeless. As the driver went about his paces, Zira locked the cage door. Brent sat down on the floor of the wagon, his head in his hands. Nova began to weep. Softly and terribly. Brent was suddenly galvanized. He jumped to his feet, shaking the bars of the cage, his face furious. The cords in his neck stood out with the effort. Nova, with uncomprehending obedience, stopped crying and followed suit. Together they made a pitiful sight. Humans rattling the bars of their cage. Brent wildly pointed to the lock of the cage door. Zira nodded as the driver returned to the front seat of his wagon. Her cute chimpanzee face was almost kindly. “These poor animals,” she said so that the driver could hear her. “They think blind force is the answer to everything.”

The driver grunted, and reached for his whip. “Wait—I’ll double-lock the door,” Zira said. Under cover of the clatter of the wagon rolling once more into motion, Zira took out her key and unlocked the door of the cage, but without opening it. Brent stared at her. “Good luck,” she whispered. He kept on staring at her, dumbly, long after the driver’s whip had spurred the horses into a steady trot, long after her simian figure in its outlandish skirt and jacket was a solitary speck in the dust of the roadway. The motionless figure of Zira was a sight that Brent would always remember. For whatever was left of his life. He could not account for the lump of something in his throat, nor for the fact that his eyes had filled with tears. Zira’s milk of kindness had engulfed him. The wagon rumbled along at a good clip, heading back to the city, and Brent waited for the proper time to make his move. He had to pick a convenient moment. The terrain was still alive with ape preparations for war. They passed a cavalry of gorillas maneuvering in an intricate pattern that brooked no good for any foe ever caught by it. So Brent waited, biding his time, comforting Nova, who in her eternal speechlessness was never more than a senseless receptacle for all the ill that came her way. Brent’s heart had gone out to her almost from the beginning. Her appeal was enormous. Apart from her physical attributes, she was like some lost and forlorn child you wanted to hold in your arms to make her stop crying, stop being afraid. God knew he was terrified himself. Scared virtually spitless, to put it baldly, truthfully. But a man had to fight to survive. Something the apes should always have realized. Their own loss if they hadn’t. So Brent waited until the proper moment should come. It did. The driver had led the wagon through a stretch of deserted terrain, asprinkle with trees and shrubs, and it was here that Brent found his spot for an escape plan. With Nova silently waiting, he opened the cage door, swung out over the roadway and clambered atop the wagon’s roof. The gorilla head of the driver, hunched over his reins, was visible just above the forward lip of the cage. Brent edged forward on his hands and knees, mindful of the jarring passage of the wagon along the bumpy roadway. His hands tightened about the long leather leash trailing from his dog collar. His eyes were not quite sane as he reached the driver. Then he jumped. Like a savage who knows that it is the victim’s death or his own. The gorilla head jerked violently. Great paws came up, fighting the hands from behind that were garroting with the leather leash. Brent was remorseless. He put all his mad weight into his arms and twisted savagely until the gorilla slumped lifelessly against his body. Brent stepped down and kicked the driver’s inert form out of the seat. When the body hit the roadway, disappearing in the wagon dust, Brent could have screamed in exaltation. Even killing felt fine and good in this godawful place!

Like getting some of your own back. With the fever singing in his veins, he drew the horses to a halt. There was no time to lose. They couldn’t run around this infernal country in an open wagon. Not one of their wagons, at any rate. Brent cut the two horses loose with a knife he found on a rack in the driver’s seat. Then he went back to see about Nova, but she had already jumped out of the cage to join him. Her eyes were excited but still frightened. He patted her hand, motioned to the horses, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings for any signs of the gorilla cavalry. They weren’t out of the woods yet. It was far too early to send up any skyrockets or do victory jigs. This land still belonged to the Almighty Ape. Quickly they mounted the horses and galloped away. It might have been Brent’s imagination but he would have sworn he could hear a great hullaballoo starting up behind them. As if their escape on horseback had been spotted, as if it was already known that two humans had outwitted their gorilla captor. Brent didn’t dare turn around and look. He had had enough of horror and fear in one day to last him a lifetime. Two lifetimes, in or out of the Hasslein Curve in the bend of Time. Now he only wanted out —the sooner the better. He kept galloping his horse until the terrain became extremely rocky, stacked with gigantic boulders that towered as tall as buildings. Nova remained as close behind him as possible. He was ever conscious of her long-haired figure just out of reach. Whatever she was, the girl was a skillful rider, having no difficulty at all keeping up with him. Brent was grateful for that, too. He needed somebody to hold his own hand, never mind his being the only shoulder to lean on. The high rocks loomed before them. The sun was going down, hiding behind a shelf of ledge that seemed to fill the world. Blood-red rays tinged the landscape. Brent rode on. So did the girl. Turning and twisting their mounts, they sought to find a passage between the mighty rock upheaval spread before them. A forest of stone. They were blocked now by what must have been a recent landslide of earth and rock. The horses shied, whinnying, fighting for a level flooring for their hooves. Dismayed, Brent ordered the girl to dismount, for they could navigate now only on foot. That was obvious. No horse could have found a path through this obstacle of rock and stone and earth. There was no definable trail. Brent and Nova found an opening between the boulders and the rocky obstacles. Stumbling and staggering, the horses behind them, they found their thorny path leading them to a shallow stream of running water. Around them on all sides the great rocks sprung like monolithic giants in a wilderness of stone. Not too far behind them, peering from the crest of the high rock shelf, a ring of silhouetted apes watched the man and the woman work their way along the stream between the boulders. The gorilla militia looked down, their helmeted heads and hunched shoulders menacing and unreal in the half light now darkening the planet of the apes. Their rifles and bayonets gleamed. Brent and Nova had reached the Forbidden Zone. A part of it, at least, where no gorilla dared tread. Or could. Without risking the disasters of the Unknown. 7

BRENT AND NOVA

They had emerged from the maze of rocks. To Brent it was like walking into two thousand years of time. He had to blink against the unreality of what he now saw. What Nova must be seeing, though the girl couldn’t possibly have understood any of it. For Brent it was the single act of entering a long tunnel. He strained his eyes to see, to comprehend. But he couldn’t. He had stepped into a tableau from which there was no withdrawing. He had stepped into Yesterday—and what was worse, he had also stepped into Tomorrow. The Tomorrow he had never known. He and Nova were in an underground subway station. There was no mistake. Slivers of gray daylight filtered feebly through dark upper gratings, dimly illuminating the long, corroded tracks stretching ahead between damp, glistening platforms. The stone and wood of the platforms were cracked and fissured with age. Brent was too stunned to speak. Nova trailed along behind the barrier of his body. Brent could only stare all about him, trying to adjust to the shock of some indubitable truth struggling to make itself known to his intelligence. He began to walk, like a somnambulist, conscious only of a drip, drip, dripping sound somewhere. Like water falling eternally on stone. The walls above the platforms, ancient, rotting, now revealed a pitiful sign of some kind. Brent ran his fingers along the wet, scummy wall, walking hypnotically, following the steady rhythm of drip, drip, drip. Nova followed him. Brent paused. The texture of the wall had subtly changed. Brent stared up the wall, at the sign. It mocked his sanity and his reason:

QUEENSBOROUGH PLAZA

The drip, drip, drip sounded very near now. Brent craned his neck higher. A glittering stalactite, dangling from the vaulted roof of the subway cavern, looked as sharp as any sword. Brent shuddered, his eyes falling away. Until he saw another rust-eaten sign: NEW YORK IS A SUMMER FESTIVAL. And further on, another: KEEP YOUR SUBWAY CLEAN. Until, at floor level, he saw row upon row of menacing, cold stalagmites. Brent stared from the signs to the stalagmites, his courage dissolving. This wasn’t a subway, it was a cave—a hall of a mountain king where you’d expect to find trolls and witches and warlocks—!

His senses reeled. “God Almighty!” his voice crackled hollowly in the empty, dead tunnel. “This was my home!

I lived and worked here once!

What happened?

Did we finally do it?

Did we finally really do it?”

His voice rang off the barren lifeless walls. There was no answer for him. Just as there hadn’t been for Taylor. “What does a man do when he comes home—and there is no home?” He shook his head in disbelief as his own question echoed foolishly in his own ears. Then quietly, trying to absorb this incredible unreality, he turned to Nova, who could only stare back at him in confusion, not knowing what he was thinking or feeling. “It’s a damn nightmare!” Brent shouted at her, letting go. “A damn nightmare—a damn nightmare!”

Nova, seeing his misery, timidly touched his face. The long subterranean labyrinth echoed and re-echoed with his cries of frustration. * * *

The temple was small and austere. It was exactly in the center of Ape City. There was no altar. Against a plain backdrop of stone stood the revered statue of the Lawgiver. The Great Ape was still holding his book for all Time itself. Below the idol stood an orangutan minister, clad in scarlet. Before him, listening to his invocation, knelt Dr. Zaius, General Ursus and the balance of the ape hierarchy. Like man who had come after them, the apes appealed sometimes to a Higher Divinity for success in projects about to be undertaken. Superstition, Religion and Faith was the theological end for all living creatures. Or so it would seem. “O God,” the minister intoned unctuously, “we pray you, bless our Great Army and its Supreme Commander on the eve of a Holy War undertaken for Your sake…”

Zaius’ face was implacable. Ursus’ was smugly superior. “…and grant,” the minister droned on, “in the name of Your Prophet, our great Lawgiver—” here he genuflected before the statue, his scarlet robes flashing, “that we, Your chosen servants, created and born in Your divine image, may aspire the more perfectly to that spiritual godliness and bodily beauty which You, in Your infinite mercy, have thought fit to deny to our brutal enemies.” The impressive words soared. His bow deepened, his arms described a wide parabola of intense exhortation. The kneeling hierarchy amened in low voices. “So be it,” General Ursus murmured mockingly, loud enough for Dr. Zaius to hear. The statue of the Lawgiver smiled down on everybody. * * *

Brent lay on the nightmarish subway platform, Nova curled up on a broken bench nearby like some immense kitten at sleep. Brent was waking up, after having fallen into a pitifully disturbed slumber alive with ghosts, demons and weird apparitions of his fancy. Blinking his eyes open, he almost groaned aloud at the eerie spectacle that was still before him, surrounding his reason; the mad vision of which he was still an integral part. The subway station, incrusted with its silent armies of stalactites and stalagmites, continued its drip, drip, drip. A haunting, maddening refrain. Wearily, Brent stood up and stretched his stiff, aching limbs. Dazed, he staggered to the sleek wet wall and cupped his hands to catch some of the falling water which ran down steadily from the enormous stalactite overhead. He drank. The water was fresh and cold. It felt good against his parched, sun-baked mouth. He let it dribble down his chin. He watched the sleeping Nova, his mind tumbling again with imponderables, impossibilities and wild suppositions. He really didn’t know what to think. It was all so—so—incredible. “Are you,” he asked the sleeping girl, “what we were before we learned to talk and made fools of ourselves?

Did any good ever come of talking— round all those tables?

Did apes make war when they were still dumb?

Did men?”

Defeatedly, with of course no answer from the girl, he went over to a rocky vent in the station wall, through which some daylight feebly filtered, to look at the outside world from which he and Nova had escaped. He craned his neck to peer through. He caught his breath, almost jumping back in terror. About ten yards beyond the vent, he could see a veritable squad of gorilla guards, helmeted, armed, scouring the rocky maze, still obviously searching for him and the girl. He could make out the muttered concert of their ape voices. They didn’t sound very happy about something…

“I guess we lost them,” one of the fiercest-looking gorillas was growling to the others. “The sergeant says, keep looking. We’ve been here all night. The sergeant says we’d better not come back unless we’ve found them. Keep looking!”

Brent retreated from the vent, not wanting to see or hear any more. It was still unnerving seeing and hearing animals act like men. The same inflections, the same gestures…

He returned to Nova, bent over her, and gently roused her from sleep. She stirred fitfully, her long, curved body tensing. “Nova, wake up!” he begged. Instantly she opened her eyes and swung erect. He could see the rapid rise and fall of her semi-bared breasts within the ragged confines of her burlap-like garments. Her eyes searched his face. He forced a smile. “We’ve got to keep moving,” he suggested. She nodded, her lips moistening nervously. He took her hand and swung her to her feet. He held onto her hand as he led her carefully down the long, dim, glistening subway platform with its mocking signs and depressing interior that spoke so eloquently of what had happened here many centuries before. Suddenly he was aware of a faint humming sound. Hummmmmmmmmmnmmmmm…

He reacted. The girl did too. He hadn’t been quite sure he hadn’t been hearing things but the awareness on Nova’s face was unmistakable. “That hum. You hear it too!” He exulted, not knowing why. “We’re going to follow it…”

They did. All along the platform, using the labyrinth of decayed track and seemingly endless tunnel as a guide. The hum grew gradually louder, with variations of volume and power so subtle that its tone didn’t increase abruptly. It merely increased, amplified as it were, to become a steady focus of attention. Excited, Brent clung to the girl, bringing her along behind him. The rhythmic hum and purr of the sound drew him on like a magnet. The tunnel seemed to lengthen, widen, and soon there was no more sign of the platform, the stalactites and stalagmites. None of the rotting, eroded fissures and cracks. The mouth of the cave ahead had rounded out, smoothened. Brent felt as if the way now led upward, that they would eventually surface somewhere in broad daylight in the outer world. But it was only illusion. The underground humming throbbed eerily, built symphonically, and now there was even a faint suggestion of a pleasant wind at their backs, wafting them onward, as if they were two vagrant feathers. It was totally unreal. With his ears filled with the vibrant hum of the unidentifiable noise, with all his senses riveted to an unknown force, Brent walked steadily forward, conscious only of movement and sound. A long, slightly uphill passage loomed ahead of them. Glimmering there, somewhere, was a high sliver of very dim light. Indirect light. The hum and the wind had both increased in velocity. They seemed to be hurled forward. Upward. The sliver of light was widening and even as they plummeted toward it, Brent could make out a rock-lined egress of some kind. The exit was just broad enough to accommodate both of them. Brent’s hair floated like a thatch on his head. Nova’s long tresses blew like pennants in the breeze. The hum had increased to dynamo intensity. It seemed to fill what was left of this world. The world of the desolate subway station had disappeared entirely. Before them lay a high-vaulted, natural rock tunnel. With sleek, scaled, impossibly sheer sides. The light source proved to be another vent, set in the rock barrier across the uphill road’s dead end ten feet above the ground. Into it seemed to blow—or was it sucked, Brent thought wildly—the wind. From this issued the light. Too white to be the sky’s and yet…

“Whoever—or whatever—is guiding us to this place—” Brent muttered to the girl, “they breathe air, anyway.”

They drifted closer to the vent. Two black silhouettes starkly outlined against the bright, white light. The hum, like ten dynamos now, pulsated deafeningly. Brent and Nova swept closer to the opening, to the weird vent with the weirder light. He could see it was an octagonal frame, wrought in a white metal of some kind. He stared up at it speculatively, watching the wind rush through the opening. Grimly he got hold of himself. He began to climb toward the vent, putting his hand on the lowest bar of the metallic octagon to do so. Then a frightening thing happened. The electrical hum stopped, as quickly as if he had pushed a contact button. The sudden silence was terrifying. Brent and the girl stood stock-still, stunned by the new quiet, the strange calm. Nova began to retreat, panicking. “No,” Brent caught her. “It’s too late.” He drew her back again. “We’ve got to go on.”

But she pulled her hand free of his, shocked by the unknown. Rendered horrified by things she couldn’t understand. Brent tried to appeal to her, ignoring that she couldn’t follow his words. “There’s a high intelligence at work in this place. Good or bad. That sound we heard is either a warning, or some kind of directional device. I don’t know which. But it doesn’t matter. The truth is—they know we’re here!”

She didn’t understand a word of it, of course, but his tone was so positive and reassuring that she almost smiled. But she continued to retreat, backing away slowly. “All right,” Brent said. “I’ll go up first.”

And Brent continued his climb, while Nova watched anxiously. He hauled himself high enough up to grip the octagonal frame. He swung himself in, lost from view for a full second. Nova whimpered aloud. But his head reappeared, silhouetted against the vent. He beckoned. “Don’t be afraid. It’s empty. Come on.”

She reached up to him, climbing. He caught her hand and lifted her. He was very strong. Within seconds, he had swept her up from the strange world of the white tunnel, into the vent, and then they were both suddenly standing in yet another maze of unreality. On the white floor of a white-walled, down-sloping tunnel, also octagonal in contour. The released air was funneling out of this down toward another white dot of far-off illumination. Another light of some kind. Brent did not hesitate. Pulling Nova, he led her toward the next outlet. The last exit to…

Where?

They emerged from the tunnel. The glaring world of a new daylight invaded their aching eyes. A cold, unreal sunlight. And Brent stared. And Nova shuddered against him. Helpless and afraid again. For Brent, the universe had once more turned over. His intellect dissolved into a thousand more little pieces. They were on the outskirts of a city. City. If he could have imagined a place that a conceivable nuclear war in the year, say, 1990 might have devastated and then become a refuge of survivors trying to evade fallout, this would be that place. How else to account for the parts of a 2000-year-old original structure that now greeted his eyes?

His and the girl’s. He saw twentieth-century brick, stone and concrete, corroded sewer signs, showing through the basic foundations of a metropolis of predominantly white architecture, and the interior decor of a twenty-second-century catacomb complex scooped out of ancient foundations. Narrow streets, more like white corridors, twisted and turned between buildings with windowless walls. There was an unearthly emptiness and nakedness, a lack of ornamentation and color. It was as if a world of impersonal stone greeted them. “Are we in a city?” Brent whispered. “Or a cemetery?”

Nova stared at him, taking her eyes away from the dead metropolis. She still couldn’t understand his words but she had become very sensitive to his moods and emotions. Fear had made them companions. Wordlessly she slipped her hand into his. Brent couldn’t take his eyes away from the dead city. It was a stone monster out of his wildest nightmares. * * *

At the Research Complex in Ape City, the scarlet-clad minister had lingered to listen to a heated discussion between Minister of Science Dr. Zaius and General of the Armies Ursus. Though the minister was also an orangutan, it was very clear where his sentiments lay. Zaius felt as though he was boxed in by enemies. “Supposing they turn out to be our superiors?” Zaius was reinforcing his point. General Ursus unrolled a map, his expression pugnacious. “Their territory is no larger than ours. We shall not be outnumbered.”

“I was not referring to their numbers,” Zaius said patiently. “My supposition concerned their intelligence.”

Ursus stared at him, his gimlet eyes cold. “Then your supposition was blasphemous, Dr. Zaius.”

The minister nodded grandly, solemnly agreeing. “The Lawgiver has written in the Sacred Scrolls that God created Apes in His own image to be Masters of the Earth. We are His Chosen,” he reminded Dr. Zaius. Ursus glowered at the doctor. “Do you doubt that?” Ursus snapped. “What I doubt,” Zaius said softly, deftly parrying, “is your interpretation of God’s intention. Has He ordained that we should make war?”

Ursus rose, pointing with the partly unrolled map. “Has He ordained that we should die of starvation?”

The minister chimed in again. “Has He ordained that we should make peace with the Human race?”

Zaius brushed that aside. “They are mere animals.” It is Zaius who says this. Ursus snorted, stabbing at the map with a black forefinger. “And these?”

“They are unknown,” Zaius said. “A godly Ape,” the minister said unctuously, “is not afraid of the unknown.”

“I,” said Zaius icily, “am not afraid. I am circumspect.”

Ursus jeered slightly, assuming an air of politic joviality, but Zaius was not fooled; there were still those gimlet eyes. “Still not too circumspect to ride with me on the Day?”

Dr. Zaius seemed to consider that very carefully. “No.” He too rose to his feet. “As a scientist I am also curious.”

* * *

Zira and Cornelius had worked far into the night on their human guinea pigs. Cornelius took copious notes while his wife ambitiously strove to make one of the caged subhumans learn the power of speech. Zira had worked long and hard on one particularly clever human, making lip gestures and sounds through the bar of the cage. The male human had mimicked her lip movements, heroically. “Ma-ma-ma-ma—” Zira tried and tried again. The human had tried—but no sounds came forth. In frustrated fury, Zira had finally given up, turning away in disappointment. “Oh, Cornelius,” she whimpered. “If I could teach one of them to talk…”

Cornelius nodded sympathetically. She had set herself an impossible task to perform. Teaching a human anything was never easy. 8

SPECTERS

There was a stone fountain in the center of the incredible graveyard-city. Brent did not notice it until, magically, it began to spout water. A steady, spurring stream which suddenly and gracefully began to spiral before his eyes. The tiny rippling sounds it made drew him and the girl like a magnet. In the harsh glare of the white stone city with its atmosphere of total antiseptic reality, they both began to drink. Nova lapped at the fluid greedily, like a thirsty dog. Brent drank more slowly, finally straightening when he was sated. Nova continued to drink. Brent watched her. And then…

Abruptly, methodically, with no conscious thought of the movement, he reached down, placed both hands around Nova’s neck and forced her head beneath the surface of the pool surrounding the stone fountain. Nova jerked spasmodically, her entire length stiffening. Brent tightened the grip of his hands, digging into the soft flesh of the girl’s neck. He pressed down, mercilessly. The water rippled, coalesced, shimmered, shattered and rippled into a million extensions of unreality. Brent increased his hold. Nova spluttered, fighting. Trying to fight back. Drowning…

Through a dim haze, Brent saw his own reflection in the agitated waters. Two reflections, really. The one reflected in the waters of the fountain was an insane parody of his own face. A mask, depicting some intense struggle of mental combat between some outer and inner force over which he had no conscious control. He continued to hold the girl’s head below the surface of the fountain pool. His other face mocked back at him. Full of pity, horror and astonishment. The reflected other face was distorted into the visage of some strange monster. A demented, rabid animal with bared teeth and glaring eyes. Brent’s mentality rocked into chaos. The outer force was saying: Put my hands around her throat. Hold her head down in the water till she dies. The inner force was fighting back with: Take my hands off her throat. Get out of my head!

Brent groaned, mingling a gasp and a grunt, as both forces locked for possession of his soul. With his hands still clasped about the girl’s neck, Brent’s voice tore savagely from his throat. “Take… put my hands off… round her throat… hold her… throat… get out of my head… down in the water… till she…” his voice rose in a roar of sound, “DIES!” And then, “No…!

NO!”

He wrenched his hands from her throat with a Herculean effort, reeling away from her. For a terrible moment he swayed on his feet, dumbly staring. He felt an appalled sense of horror. Nova came up from the pool, splashing, choking, gagging. She sagged against the stone circular side of the fountain, goggling at him with mingled terror and amazement. Brent fought himself not to approach her. The war in his mind was still raging. Kill her. Don’t kill her. He shook his head like a confused dog, fighting the outer pressures that wanted to push him toward her, destruction-bound. But Nova remained motionless, mutely staring at him. Brent’s lips barely moved. “Nova, keep away from her throat… her bare throat in the water until you get out…” His hand came up in a wild wave. As if pushing something away from himself. He stopped up his ears with both hands. “Get out!” he raged at the silence all around them. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

He backed away from the girl frantically. She stared up at him, her mouth hanging open. He pushed out with both hands again. The fountain—and Nova—receded…

Suddenly, his shoulders had touched something. Huge double doors, abruptly behind him, loomed large and mysterious. Oddly unlocked. Brent’s athletic figure swung the doors open. He forced himself back, over a dim threshold, glad of anything that would keep him from harming the girl. Nova grew smaller in his erratic vision. He stopped, only for a second, to call back to her. For she was taking a hesitant step toward him, slender arms outspread. “Wait for me—” Brent whispered, still fighting the forces engulfing him. “Nova—!” His brain was on fire. Her figure wavered in his sight. Shouting hysterically, Brent crossed the dark threshold and slammed the double doors behind him to close out the horror in his head. To block off Nova from his violence. She disappeared from view. Brent hung exhausted against the curved metal door grips on the inside and fought to catch his breath. For a long moment he wrestled with his inner and outer wills. Then he quietened. The strange fit had momentarily passed. He sucked air into his lungs and shuddered. Then he pulled himself erect once more. Turning, he surveyed the interior of this building he had fled into as a sanctuary from insanity. The unrealities again ruled. Even here. He was in a cathedral. In direct contrast to the bright white glare without, here was only blessed gloom. Brent’s eyes roved quickly. He saw a row of wooden pews flanking a great arched nave. There was a threshold up front, past the choir stalls, beyond the pews. He saw a prie-dieu directly below a high altar of some kind. Brent blinked in the occult semidarkness. There was a man standing on the sacred threshold up front. A white-robed, white-hooded apparition kneeling in homage or religious fealty of some kind. A figure as still as any statue. The figure had not moved when the great doors had slammed shut. Brent, for all his dazed condition, recognized in that tiny unimportant fact a universal truth and oddity: why shouldn’t a cathedral door always be open to devotees?

Brent watched the hooded figure, not daring to breathe. Or even speak. The hush of the place was emotionally demoralizing. The hood lifted upward, the robed arms spread out like bat wings and a sonorous voice suddenly intoned: “I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God!” The voice rang with the clarity and persuasion of unshakable faith and belief. Brent found his eyes ranging upward, following the direction of the stentorian declaration. Slowly, from the space of darkness above the high altar, an eerie light appeared. Growing, expanding, as if on a rheostat; the gloom transformed from dim illumination to a full, blazing intensity. The outflung arms of the hooded figure held in a posture of crucifixion. And utter adoration. Brent saw what the new light held. Not a statue of Christ. Not even some strange unknown pagan god. The hooded figure’s exhortations were for something else. The ultimate blasphemy. Something mounted and enthroned and positioned with all the care and reverence of any highly esteemed religious curio. A Twentieth-Century Atom Bomb. Perfectly preserved and slung, like some great inverted cross, between two supporting brackets of hammered gold, it hung from the arched nave in all its illuminated wonder. On one of its impressive steel fins there were stenciled the two Greek letters: ALPHA and OMEGA. The Beginning and the End. Brent stared in mounting horror from the depths of the double doors. “In a church—?” His racked whisper was alien to his own ears. It was as if someone else had spoken. A tiny scratch of sound came on the door behind him. Back to the barrier, Brent suddenly drew taut. The scratching continued. He closed his eyes. “Nova?” The scratching burbled into a flurry of sounds. Brent slid both hands into the door grips, blocking the portals with his body, his muscles congealing into lead. He didn’t budge. “Keep away, Nova,” he whispered urgently to the door. “Keep away from me—and from here…”

But the tapping had become almost a crescendo, punctuated with fist-pounding and low moans of appeal. Brent tightened his resolve; perspiration broke out on his forehead. He couldn’t let the girl in here, no matter what happened…

The hooded figure on the dais had turned. An ornate panel at his side, with three jeweled buttons of emerald, topaz and ruby set into the top of the prie-dieu, was pressed. Brent saw the gesture, realizing that the figure had heard Nova’s attempts to get in. The figure rose to its full height and made another gesture. Brent started. He knew somehow, with some weird sense of comprehension, that what he was seeing was the Sign of the Bomb. An inverted Sign of the Cross. With the figure making a vertical downward gesture to depict the body of the Bomb and then two lateral gestures to indicate the fins at its base. The supreme sacrilege!

A sign from Hell. The whole cathedral suddenly flooded with new light. Even as Nova continued to pound away, the hooded figure came down from the dais and stalked toward Brent huddled at the doors of the strange place of worship. And when the pounding stopped, with Brent blinking in the sudden fresh glare of illumination, the hooded figure advanced like a specter. Brent wondered at the silence beyond the door. He started to open it, then, checked himself and turned to confront the advancing figure. Nova was forgotten. The hood framed a face of startling purity. The man drew closer and halted, staring at Brent. Brent stared back. He assumed that the man was the verger of this strange cathedral. But beyond that, the appearance of the face before him was astounding. The man was tall, of an indecipherable age, but his face was one of great beauty. Unwrinkled skin, as smooth as marble, deep-set luminous eyes in shadowed sockets, with the barest accentuation of lip line, which somehow makes a man or a woman look sexy. The man’s mouth seemed to speak. To say something. But Brent heard nothing, orally. “What did you say?” Brent asked fiercely, frightened again. The verger had said nothing. He merely stood there, regarding Brent. “What do you mean, there’s no point?” Brent answered the unspoken words he heard in his own brain. “Will they hurt her?”

Again the verger’s lips did not move. “Maybe not physically,” Brent agreed. “But you can hurt here.” He tapped his own head. “I know.”

The verger spoke his unheard words. “Yes, it’s gone now,” Brent answered. “But outside—” Suddenly he twitched. A great spasm took hold of him. His eyes leaped. “Your lips don’t move. Your lips don’t move… but I can hear… no, not hear—I mean I know what you are thinking.”

The fixed grin left the verger’s face. Brent nodded. “I saw nothing. You were in darkness.”

The verger spoke again, silently. Brent looked quickly over his shoulder. His mind raced to remain calm, to keep pace with this new-found unreality. Two men had appeared at the double doors behind him. Unarmed, but strangely alien and enigmatically marble-faced; two more denizens of this strange and terrible city. They touched Brent’s elbows briefly with the fingertips of velvet-textured hands. “All right, all right,” he muttered, not resisting. Unable to understand, incapable of assessing anything, he allowed himself to be led out of the cathedral. The verger remained where he was. Shadowy, inscrutable. But now there was a worried gleam in the deep-set luminous eyes. There was no sign of Nova beyond the big doors. But around the stone fountain, capering in the awful white glare of the city’s atmosphere, were a dozen or more children of many races and ages. Their squeals of pleasure sounded grotesque in the daylight. Brent restrained a shudder. The children had ringed the fountain, romping in a dancing circle, their voices gaily blending in a terrible refrain:

Ring-a-ring o’neutrons

A pocketful of positrons

A fission!

A fission!

We all fall down!

On the last word, they spilled backward, forming a star shape, and lay deathly still. Like some dreadful parody of an old Busby Berkeley musical dance routine from one of the old Warner Brothers movies of the thirties. Brent shuddered again, remembering—it was only a game, wasn’t it?

But…

The silent guards egged him on, courteously almost, gently prodding his elbows again. Brent kept on moving. The playing children were soon lost somewhere behind him. The ghastly white complex of the metropolis engaged all of his attention. The tomblike buildings jutting sheer from the barren earth. The all-encompassing glare, of white and cold daylight. Dimly he could hear the echoing words of the playing children as they picked up yet another chorus of the deadly song. It sounded like something they had learned by rote. A Child’s Garden of Verses set to the meaning and reality of a terrible code of destruction and doom. Armageddon set to Mother Goose!

It was terrifying. And he had no idea where Nova was. Or what they might have done to her. Whoever They were. They!

In his torn-apart and beleaguered intellect, he was no longer able to make any judgments or solve any mental problems. His entire universe of consciousness and stable thinking was awry; he had lost all sense of rhythm, balance and common sense. He was only hurtingly aware of one great truth. He had fled from the mockery of the Great Apes into something perhaps twice as alien, a dozen times more hazardous. A hopeless morass of terror, horror and who knew what else?

Meaning—he had jumped from the frying pan directly into the fire. As perhaps—Taylor had?

It was too early to tell. Too early to tell anything. He didn’t know. He might never know. Blindly, obediently, he suffered himself to be led by the marble-faced guards to another part of this Crazy House forest. All he did wish, and hope for, with every fiber of whatever of his being still belonged to him by right of his own individuality, was that the girl was all right. Safe. Unharmed. Untouched by the madness that seemed to surround him on all sides. The sheer glare of lunacy that had become a part of all his waking reflexes and responses. And reactions. Not even H. G. Wells at his wildest, not even Jules Verne, had dared conceive of a civilization dedicated to the Bomb. This, indeed, was a journey into the Absurd. And the terribly frightening—

For he knew that he was somewhere on Fifth Avenue and the vaulted building he had just left was St. Patrick’s Cathedral!

9

MENDEZ

Another white corridor. Another trip into isolation and weird world-within-worlds. Brent, flanked by his grim guards, found himself being ushered down a long bare corridor, a narrow passageway which was lined all along the route with uniform busts, honoring some form of dynastic succession. It wasn’t until the last bleak, awesome stone head and shoulders that Brent got any inkling of what he was seeing. This last impressively mounted face had a plaque at its base which proclaimed in etched lettering: MENDEZ XXVI. Mendez the Twenty-Sixth!

Brent wagged his head, to clear it of cobwebs. At last the guards led him through another door. Into another room. And another nightmare. In broad daylight. It was a room shaped like an amphitheater, with curved white walls, the hallway forming a well below. This was where Brent and the two guards stood, waiting for some kind of audience. At the head of the room, Brent could see the living replica of that last bust in the narrow passageway. The same smooth marble face, the luminous eyes, the glasslike rigidity. All of it enveloped in brilliant purple robes, lying like a shroud about the imposing figure of Mendez the Twenty-Sixth, as he sat like a judge presiding in some Supreme Court conclave of this incredible city. Brent stared up at the paradox of five robed inquisitor-rulers, sitting in carved chairs, regarding him with an impassivity of gaze that was bloodcurdling in its lack of human emotion. Brent held his ground, staring back. His eyes, which fed been the most important part of his physical tools these last terrible hours, were now fully strung to the maximal pitch of their efficiency. Seeing was believing— but here, in this awful new world, it was also disbelieving. The senses, all five of them, could assimilate only so much. His eyes swept over Mendez and his court. He saw a magnificent Negro, robed all in white, his onyx face startling in contrast with his garments. He saw a mountainous fat man, serene and cool, garbed in red robes. To Mendez’s left, there was a woman—a strikingly beautiful woman, whose ivory face rose like an orchid from a gown of sheer blue. To Mendez’s right, a green-robed elder-statesman type —very much like the mysterious verger—squatted prominently. But unlike his companions, this one was almost charming and cheerful in demeanor. Brent was reminded of a Puck, grown to ancient years. All five of these phantasmagorical figures struck Brent like some odd concatenation of Rembrandt’s famous Syndics of the Cloth Guild. With the terrible difference of an imposed horror. And the fantasy of the Unknown. He waited, wondering, trying to control the fear moving like a snake in his stomach. He didn’t realize that the five seated figures, looking down, could see him directly. Or that if they looked straight ahead, they could see, projected on the opposite wall, the visual impress of their own thought projections. Brent had no way of knowing into what technological wonderworld he had stumbled, though his encounter with the verger had given him some advance notice of the miracles to be found in this strange city. Each “wall image” was projected in color to identify the sender. Thus, white for the Negro, blue for the beautiful girl, red for the fat man, green for the puckish statesman type. And purple for Mendez himself. This Brent was yet to learn, for he could not see the wall behind him. Nor could he yet fully understand the traumatic hypnosis that the people of this civilization could inflict upon him. As they had done with him at the water fountain in that episode with Nova. Brent’s own stubbornness would bring on such an attack. The practitioner merely had to close his eyes, project to the wall in his own color scheme, and Brent would remain in pain and agony until the particular inquisitor opened his eyes. This was the mad world into which Brent had all unknowingly stumbled; The phenomenon of A. D. 3955!

Brent felt himself the target of Mendez, the Negro, the woman, the fat man and the elder statesman. He knew they were talking to him; he felt it even though he could hear no words, see no lips move, and knew nothing about the wall behind him with its color-scheme code of interrogation. Mendez said nothing. The fat man jerked his head ever so slightly. The far wall lit up in red colors. “Brent,” Brent answered. The fat man jerked his head again. “John Christopher,” Brent said politely. “And who are you?”

Another jerk. “I see—” Brent found himself understanding, in spite of the impossibility of it all. And the improbability. “You—are the only reality in the universe. Everything else is illusion. Well, that’s nice to know.”

The red colors flared on the opposite wall. The others said nothing. “I got here by accident,” Brent explained to the fat man. “How did you get here?”

There was no answer from the fat man. As the interview progressed, a pattern began to become very clear. The fat man probed for facts, the woman for emotional feelings, the elder statesman for beliefs and opinions. The Negro would ask no questions at all!

He was there merely to induce pain; the catalyst for the workings of man’s conscience. Brent only sensed all this. He could not have said where the knowledge came from. Mendez sat through it all, implacable as a Buddha. The elder statesman now jerked his head, his genial smile almost benevolent. But only almost. It was like being caught in a cross-fire of four machine guns. Only you could not hear the whine and twang of bullets. Only the ferocity of the assault hit you like some withering invisible hail of terror. Openmouthed, Brent once more answered. “You’re way off. Why should I want to spy on you?

Personally, I’m not even sure you exist.” It was true. Was it all a bad dream?

Would he awaken on the reconnaissance spacecraft to find Skipper poking him to get up?

The puckish inquisitor jerked his head. “Certainly I know who I am,” Brent rasped impatiently. “I’m an astronaut. I’m here because I’m lost.” No surprise showed on the five faces up above him. Only a sudden interest. Mendez’s eyes glistened like a cat’s. The fat man again jerked his head. “From this planet,” Brent answered him. “But from another time. Two thousand years ago.”

There was still no surprise evident. Only that deepening of interest in the marble faces above him. “I know, it sounds insane. But if so, it’s my insanity, not yours. So I can abolish you—all of you—anytime I choose.”

They all smiled at that. Benevolently. Matching the elder statesman’s habitual facade. Brent bit his lip. He could not see the opposite wall. The inquisitors had projected, in their various color schemes, a montage of all that had happened. An image of Taylor, looking like some prehistoric Tarzan, with a bedraggled Nova-Eve in tow, was shown approaching buried New York. The last shot left him striking the wall of ice and vanishing into its wilderness, with Nova screaming behind him. “No, I don’t know how to get back,” Brent almost mumbled, still oblivious of the story on the wall. “We came through a defect—a kind of slipping in Time itself.”

He caught himself, feeling a wave of self-pity swamping him. “My skipper died. I’m alone.”

Instantly, the images of Taylor and the girl on the wall vanished. They were supplanted by five images of Nova all by herself, wandering in the desert wilderness. And then—

She was projected in all of the inquisitorial colors. The fat man saw her pulling herself through the octagonal vent. A burst of flaming red. The beautiful woman saw her asleep in Brent’s arms on the bench in the public square. A shimmering blue ocean of color. Mendez saw her hammering on the outside of the cathedral’s double door. A purple flash of violence. The elder statesman envisioned her being seized and removed by the guards on duty in the strange city. A twisting garland of green. Only the Negro’s wall remained colorless. Bare, blank and white. The beautiful woman in blue jerked her lovely face. Brent was instantly on the defensive. “Who?” he hesitated. The woman jerked again. “Nova?” Brent lied. “What’s that?

A star?

A galaxy?” His heart pounded with sudden alarm for the girl. At that, the Negro shut his eyes. Brent cried out. A poker-hot inferno ignited his skull. His brain revolved in stunning flashes of agony. He went down to his knees, tears coming to his eyes. The Negro opened his eyes. Slowly. Gradually, painfully, Brent straightened. The agony had left as suddenly as it had come. “I know her—yes…”

Silence greeted that. Brent lost his temper, shouting, “She’s harmless!

Let her alone!”

The Negro closed his eyes again. Rivets of white-hot pain hit Brent from every direction. He went down again, writhing as his entire body was stitched and needled with agonizing pinpricks. He clutched his stomach as if he had been poisoned. His vitals were on fire. His face twisted, his tongue lolled. “All right—” the breath forced itself from his lungs. I’ll tell you!”

Smiling, the Negro opened his beautiful eyes. The woman jerked her head again. “I didn’t find her,” Brent gasped. “She found me.”

Again, a jerk. “Two days ago.”

Another jerk. “Don’t be crude,” Brent groaned. “I’m fond of her. And grateful…”

The beautiful woman arched her head once more. “Because she helped me!”

Another tilt of that lovely face. “To break out of Ape City.”

All five of the faces looming over him leaned forward. Now all of the heads twitched in unison. Brent’s hands shot to his ears. They were engulfing him from all sides, attacking on every front of his personality and intelligence. “Stop!” he begged. “I can’t understand—can’t separate—you’re all screaming at me—at the same time!

Please…”

He groveled, still blocking his ears in order to hear nothing more. Suddenly, incredibly, the face of Mendez softened. His rubbery lips parted and a deep, mellifluous voice sounded in the chamber of new horrors. Brent stared up at him in amazement. “He’s right,” Mendez said. “He has only limited intelligence. We should, speak aloud. And one at a time. Albina.” He looked at the strikingly beautiful woman in blue. The woman stared down at Brent, her impeccable face almost kind and sympathetic. But it was the illusion of her beauty and her rich, deep tones. “Are we to apprehend,” she said, soothingly, “that you—were in the City of the Apes…?”

Brent, tremendously gratified though nothing had changed, nodded eagerly. The chamber didn’t seem so terrifying any more. “Yes. Two days ago.”

The fat man intervened. “What did you see?”

Brent dodged that, side-stepping the question. “You’re talking…”

The elder statesman nodded cheerfully. “Certainly, we can all talk. A rather primitive accomplishment. We use it when we have to. I, Caspay, consider it a vulgar thing.”

“When we pray,” the fat man interjected again. “When we sing to God,” the Negro said fervently. Then all of them, all five on the dais, made the hateful Sign of the Bomb. Brent winced, in memory of that sleek monster atop the high altar of the cathedral. St. Patrick’s—my God!

“Your God—what a joke!

You worship something we made two thousand years ago. An atom bomb!”

The fat man heaved a long and ponderous sigh. The folds of his fat stomach wriggled beneath his red robes. “Ah. You’ve seen the Bomb, Mr. Brent.”

“Above the altar in your cathedral. An obscenity…”

All the inquisitors rose as one in response to his heated indignation. Their faces were ominous. Even Caspay was no longer smiling. Regal Mendez rose like a lean colossus, his eyes flashing. “Mr. Brent, you have beheld God’s instrument on Earth!” he intoned majestically. He motioned his fellow inquisitors to be seated. He alone remained standing. He looked down at Brent. “For it is written that, in the First Year of the Bomb—the blessing of the Holy Fallout descended from above…”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Brent interrupted harshly. Mendez ignored him. “…and my people built a new city in the blackened bowels of the old…”

“Nonsense!” Brent roared, trembling, angry. “Blessed be the Bomb Everlasting—” Mendez droned on. “Utter nonsense…”

“…to whom alone we may reveal our inmost truth, and whom we shall serve all our days in peace.”

“Until you fire it at the apes,” Brent concluded sarcastically. There was fresh silence at that. Mendez then stirred. His deep eyes held strange lights in them. “You don’t understand.” With a rustle of his purple robes, he sat down again. “The Bomb is a Holy Weapon of Peace.”

Brent began to laugh. He couldn’t help it. Amusement shook him. A terrible humor that put aside all concern for his own safety. The Negro shut his eyes. Quickly. Sadly almost. More pain, more mental injections of torture, made Brent a writhing, twisting, burlesque of a human being on the floor of the chamber. Animal sounds tore from his throat. He sounded half bestial. The Negro waited a full minute and then reopened his eyes. “We’re a patient people, Mr. Brent,” he said softly, his voice nevertheless filling the chamber. “We can repeat this little lesson as often as we want. Because we are determined to know what the apes want. War, or peace.”

Brent waited for the waves of agony and nausea to recede. He recovered more slowly this time. He propped himself up on his hands and knees, fighting off hysteria. Caspay’s puckish voice came down to him, reprovingly. “Try to understand—the only weapons we have are purely illusion.”

Albina’s soothing contralto filtered down too. “You imagined he was hurting you.”

Brent smiled at her crookedly, shaking his head. “Because I imagined I was hurting you,” the Negro explained without malice. “Are you in pain now?”

“No,” Brent admitted. “No imaginary bones broken?

Or blood flowing?” The Negro’s voice took on echoes of sadism; he was enjoying his thoughts. “Or eyeballs bursting?

Or guts spilling?”

“No,” Brent said, louder than before. “Then I have hurt but not harmed you,” the Negro affirmed. Albina smiled triumphantly. “Traumatic Hypnosis is a weapon of peace.”

Caspay’s eyes twinkled mysteriously. “Like the Visual Deterrent.”

Before Brent had time to ask what that was, there was a mammoth whooosh of sound and within a yard of where he stood, a pillar of flame shot up. Brent reeled back. A vertical geyser jet of steam behind him licked at his rear so that he had to stumble forward again. Only to be cut off by the wall of fire. Between two horrors. “Or the Sonic Deterrent,” Caspay chuckled delightedly. Abruptly there was a rat-tat-tat, a gobbling medley of rapid-fire noises to the right of where Brent stood imprisoned. As if an invisible machine gun had cut loose. Then to his left, an ear-skewering electronic scream of sound rose in such deafening volume that soon the entire chamber and the outside world seemed to reverberate with the caterwauling. The sounds rose to a deafening tumult, then just when Brent was sure his eardrums would explode, vanished with terrifying, miraculous abruptness. His body swayed with the assault from all sides. “Weapons,” Caspay continued blandly, “of peace, Mr. Brent.”

“Like all our weapons,” the beautiful Albina agreed from her sea of blue robes. The Negro nodded firmly. “Mere illusion.”

Brent lost his temper and what was left of his discretion. He had been a toy for too long; a mere mortal buffeted and battered about by what was seemingly an impossible manifest destiny. “Damn your hypocrisy!” he bellowed. The Negro turned to look at Caspay. Then he looked at his white wall. There, projected, was an image of Brent set afire, clothes and flesh blazing, screaming soundlessly in a void of death. Caspay returned his gaze down to Brent. His expression was gentle. “We very much need your help, Mr. Brent.”

“Why?” It was a helpless groan from Brent. “We are the Keepers of the Divine Bomb. That is our only reason for survival. And yet—as you see—we are defenseless.”

Brent sneered. Bitterly. “Yes, I can see that.”

“Defenseless,” Caspay continued, “against the monstrous, slobbering, materialistic apes.”

“I’ll help nobody!” Brent rallied, with deep but slow confusion. “I hope you annihilate one another.”

Caspay smiled. “Mr. Brent, I apologize for your language. There are times, I know, when your sanity—is about to give way. I hope that doesn’t happen. I hope you can tell us…”

“Exactly,” the fat man interrupted again, as seemed to be his conversational forte, “what the apes are planning!”

Brent didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Albina stirred anew. Silky, sinister, maddeningly lovely. “We’ve caught some of their scouts. Hideous creatures. We had them here—precisely where you’re standing. But either their skulls are too thick. Or they actually know nothing…”

“And neither do I,” Brent cut her off violently. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

The Negro laughed. It was a very unpleasant sound. He gazed at his white wall again. On it, Nova materialized. Caspay said gently, “You make me very sad, Mr. Brent.”

Brent looked from the Negro to Caspay, frowning. His mind tried to find an answer. And then, amazingly, he saw Nova being brought into the chamber, struggling between another set of implacable guards. The girl was clawing, scratching, but the guards might have been zombies. Nova, despite her torn garments, or perhaps because of them, looked more paganly desirable than ever. Brent bunched his fists, trembling. “She can’t help you,” he blurted. “She can’t even talk. Don’t harm her…”

Albina made a low, feline sound in her silky throat and motioned regally to the guards who now released Nova. The girl, crying, ran headlong into Brent’s arms. He clasped her to him, reveling in the feel of her once more. He had ached to hold her again, without knowing it. Or realizing why. “Of course not, Mr. Brent,” Albina purred. “We never harm anyone. You are going to harm her.” Her ivory face pulsed sensually. Her exquisite bosom rose and fell as she breathed deeply. Smiling sadistically, his great black face wreathed in onyx power, the Negro closed his eyes. A grim Golem created for torment, dedicated to the art of cruelty. Brent went into action like an automaton. Mendez the Twenty-Sixth, royally purple and majestic, watched with great attention from his central position on the dais. He and his four inquisitors, red, blue, green and white. The weird magic of the wall shattered all that was left of Brent’s power, to fight back. The chamber looked down on madness. 10

MASKS

Brent closed in on Nova. He took her in his arms and unexpectedly kissed her on the trembling mouth. The Negro kept his eyes tightly closed. Mendez and the others watched, waiting. Their faces were a study in expectancy. Brent was oblivious of them. All of his being, his soul and his mind and body, was centralized on Nova. The girl in his arms. The chamber held the odd tableau, like a pin point in the march of time, freezing the moment for all eternity itself. Brent’s kiss was tender at first. Then some raging passion consumed him. Nova, bewildered, rode along with the first wave of bodily hunger embroiling her and Brent in this fantastic embrace. The Negro’s eyes remained shut. The kiss went from the loving to the lustful. And then from the lustful to the lethal. For all her unschooled, uncivilized, unsophisticated naivete, Nova sensed the difference. Brent caught her fast in a viselike hold that was all cruelty and mad desire. Nova recoiled in his arms, trying to shake him off, to run, to hide. Brent was remorseless. Now he had her trapped. He was pinching her nostrils, suffocating her mouth with his own. His other hand was digging into her flesh, tearing at her full breasts. He kept on hammering at her, cruelly hurting her until her weak struggles grew even weaker. And the Negro did not open his eyes. “Tell us about the apes, Mr. Brent,” the fat man said in a loud, clear voice. The Negro’s eyes blinked open. Brent released Nova, suddenly. She slipped from his grasp to the stone floor, sprawling in a lifeless spill of arms and legs. Brent stared down at her dumbly, appalled. “Tell us about the apes,” the fat man repeated his request. Brent fought to regain his mind; a compound of bewildered horror and returning intelligence. He knew he had to talk but somehow he also knew he must lie. Anything to save Nova from a possible death and the Bomb from potential activation. These people, whatever they were, no matter how intelligent and advanced, were all mad!

Mad!

Shrilly, he found his voice. Anything to keep the Negro from closing his eyes again. “The apes are a primitive, semiarticulate and underdeveloped race whose weapons have not progressed beyond the club and the sling!”

“You’re lying,” the fat man interposed, “and we know it!”

Caspay spoke up. “The ape scouts had rifles, Mr. Brent.”

Brent said nothing to that. Wearily, the Negro closed his eyes. Brent raised a brutal foot above Nova’s insensate body. Within him rockets exploded, pain flashed, terrible ideas and thoughts took tangible shapes and forms. His chest was on fire. Still he struggled against bringing his foot down to smash that lovely, defenseless figure. “They should fall… an easy prey…” he gasped, “to stamp on the many peaceful weapons at your dispose… of her with your foot on her belly and stamp… GET OUT OF MY HEAD!” he snarled at the eyes-shut Negro who loomed above him. The fat man spoke again when the Negro reopened his eyes. “Tell us again about the apes, Mr. Brent. The first time—was not quite true, was it?”

“How do you know?” Brent raged at him. “How do you know?”

Quickly he knelt beside Nova, cradling her head in his hand, his senses all whirling, convoluting, pinwheeling riotously. From behind the inquisitors, the wall threw up more projections. Taylor again. Taylor stumbling. Taylor heroically lost…

Nova, coming to in Brent’s arms, saw the wall from her position on the floor. Five images of Taylor, in red, white, blue, green and purple, sliding into identifiable focus. Her eyes widened, her lush mouth tried to form the name, “Tay-lor.” Brent could not see or understand her. He was too concerned with the terrible thought that he might have harmed her. Suddenly she lifted a feeble hand, trying to point at the far wall. Simultaneously, the inquisitors lowered their eyes. The wall images vanished. Brent saw only the bright white-nothingness when his own eyes sought what Nova was seeing. Caspay smiled ingratiatingly. “Now—what may we hope for in the way of help?”

“Nothing,” Brent muttered. “Unless you set us free. Me—and her.”

Caspay’s smile hardened subtly. “You are free, Mr. Brent. Free to do what we will.”

Mendez the Twenty-Sixth made a motion with his hand. “Now,” he commanded. The fat man said, “Tell us about the apes, Mr. Brent.”

Brent took a long pause. He looked at Nova, looked at the council, and then shrugged helplessly. “The apes are marching on your city,” he said quietly. A great silence descended on the Chamber of Interrogation. The five robed figures digested the information, each to his own intensity. The opposite wall came alive again with varying degrees of color. Brent hugged Nova to him, glad only of the fact that she was still alive. That they both were. He could feel her heart beating like a bird’s against his chest. * * *

Ape City was aquiver with the sounds of an army in motion. Riding together at the head of long columns of mounted horsemen and rolling gun carriages, were General Ursus and Dr. Zaius. Behind them, the tramp of feet, the pound of horses’ hooves and the clatter of arms sounded through the streets and roadways of the settlement. The Grand Army of the Apes was on the march at last. Trooping past the house of Zira and Cornelius, taking the same uphill country route to the Forbidden Zone as had Brent and Nova. Ursus was in his glory. Bemedaled, befitting a military monarch, Ursus was in the full panoply of his being. Zaius, thoughtful and a trifle sardonic, rode at his side, musing to himself on the pomposity and pitfalls of self-imposed delusions of grandeur. He was sure Ursus was riding for a fall. But one, unfortunately, that might take Ape City with it!

And all the important work that Zaius and his colleagues had labored for years to bring about. As they rode by the house of Cornelius and Zira, Zaius dared not hazard a look at their intelligent faces. He knew what the expression on those faces would be. Rueful and scowling!

The Grand Army moved along, clattering, jubilant, eager for an engagement, a test of its skills. General Ursus’ horse fairly pranced. The general was all smiles and superiority. Sure of Gorilla Might and Gorilla Power. The pompous idiot!

From the window of their domestic castle, Cornelius and Zira were indeed witnessing the spectacle of Might on the Move. Zira was disgusted, as always. “Dr. Zaius is with him. Some people’s convictions are about as deep as a mild case of mange.”

“They have to show unity,” Cornelius argued. Not too strongly. “So should the chimpanzees.”

“But, Zira,” Cornelius protested. “We’re too few. We’d be cutting our own throats. How can we take any initiative, while—” he gestured toward the rolling gorilla army trooping past their home, “they’re here.”

They watched as the rear columns of Ursus’ forces passed the house and receded up the hill, going away, disappearing into the horizon. Zira snorted, her cute face puckered. “Has it occurred to you that tomorrow—they won’t be here?”

Cornelius looked at her. Their eyes locked. A patient, knowing smile curled Zira’s mouth. Cornelius swallowed nervously. It was pretty obvious what his adorable, firm-minded little wife meant. What she had always meant, since the very beginning of unrest. Revolt!

* * *

Miles up the road, moving briskly in broad sunny daylight, the Grand Army was making good time. Ursus, Zaius, a bugler, the vanguard and vanguard commander, had rounded a corner on the outskirts of Ape City, to be confronted by a sight not to Ursus’ liking. Or Zaius’ for that matter. Being the only non-gorilla in the group, Zaius was keenly affected by the spectacle of a chimpanzee student demonstration. Half a dozen earnest, outspoken young chimpanzees were squatting directly across the line of march, sitting in the roadway, blocking the advance of the Grand Army of Apes. Ursus growled menacingly in his deep chest. The two demonstrators in the center of the pathetically valiant little group were holding aloft a banner on which the paint-scrawled plea GIVE US PEACE was clearly visible and advisory. Ursus’ brow darkened. Zaius feared the worst. “Halt,” Ursus commanded in an undertone to the bugler. The primitive horn blared a tinny signal which was picked up and relayed by successive buglers all down the column of gorillas and guns. The column came to a full stop some twenty yards from the little knot of demonstrators barring the roadway. Ursus, almost chidingly, smiled down at the chimpanzees. “Get off the road, young people.”

The “young people” continued to sit, ignoring him and his army, obstinately and sincerely contemptuous of Ursus and all he might do in retaliation. Zaius’ eyes narrowed. Ursus wheeled to the vanguard commander, braking his mount. “Get them out of the way!” he bellowed. The commander leered and drew a heavy pistol from his uniformed middle, but Zaius, quickly reaching across, took the ugly muzzle in both his paws. “Wait,” he urged. He turned on General Ursus. Their eyes dueled again. “We don’t want martyrs, do we?”

General Ursus said to the commander, “And do it quietly.”

The demonstrators had gone limp in the roadway, the usual weapon of advocates of non-violence. The commander rapped out some orders and soon, and swiftly, gorilla hands had lifted the demonstrators, carrying them by the arms and legs and piling them into the cage-wagons at the army’s disposal, closing out the incident. The army was able to advance again. Wheels rolled over the abandoned peace signs. Ursus smiled smugly at Dr. Zaius. The good doctor stared pointedly ahead, his eyes on some unseen calamity on the horizon. In the future. With the inscrutability that General Ursus was never able to connect with the seething anger that boiled inside Dr. Zaius’ intellectual breast. Something his ape mentality would never have understood. Or liked. Dr. Zaius knew how to wait. To bide his time. Without giving up his ideals or his ethics to the code of Brute Force. To the ethos of Ape Logic and Ape Stupidity. Gorilla, that is. General Ursus did not care. So long as he had things his own way. He would show the good doctor the efficacy of Power in due time. All in due time. Briskly, blindly, unknowingly, Ursus led his marching legions toward the horrors of the Forbidden Zone. Where he thought the Fist would solve everything. Where Dr. Zaius knew it would not. * * *

In the great cathedral where the Bomb was lord and master of all it surveyed, a mass was in progress. The vaulted reaches of the dimly lit nave echoed with the chorus of voices raised in adoring harmony to the words of the hymn known as Psalm to Mendez II. To Brent, forced to attend the weird ritual, the entire schema was a frightening mutation of the ancient Christian observance. All the singing and chanting seemed to have its origins in sacred songs of the twentieth century, now all cannibalized to match the coldness and cruel barrenness of this strange new cosmos into which he had blundered. He wondered how it all must sound to the mute Nova, at his side in the front pew, flanked by the fat man, Caspay, the beauteous Albina and the Negro, with four armed guards directly behind them. At the high altar, now dark, Mendez stood facing a congregation of white-robed listeners. Brent was struck by the demeanor of the entire gathering. An inward spiritual serenity hovered about every face and figure. An outward gracefulness and gentility in mocking contrast with the reason for the radiance and exaltation of those faces and singing voices. The Bomb hung suspended above the altar, still invisible in the gloom of the ceiling. Mendez was chanting sonorously, his purple robes dazzling as his arms and his voice rose in unison:

“The heavens declare the glory of the Bomb. And the firmament showeth his handiwork.”

To a man, woman and child, the congregation answered him. A full-throated, deep, reverent response. The gloomy cathedral echoed with the words:

“His sound is gone out unto all lands. And His light unto the ends of the world.”

Now the hidden choir joined with Mendez in an invocation that soared up to the nave. The sound was spectral, ghostly:

“He descended from the outermost part of heaven. And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. There is neither speech nor language. But His voice is heard among them.”

The congregation responded:

“Praise him. My strength arid my redeemer.”

Mendez knelt at the prie-dieu; his white-gloved hand pressed a button on the bejeweled panel. The floodlight control was released and dramatically, illuminatingly, the Great Bomb, with its inscribed fins, filled the eye. ALPHA and OMEGA glowed like constellations in a sky of gun-metal silver. Mendez and the choir sung aloud:

“Glory be to the Bomb and to the Holy Fallout—As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be; world without end Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation spoke as one. Brent had a bad taste in his mouth. His ears ached with the awful, ridiculous, puling blasphemy of it all. Behind him, the four guards, their faces radiant and inspired, were singing with brilliant sincerity. The fat man, Caspay, Albina and the Negro were showing nothing of the revulsion that beat through Brent’s brain like a prairie fire. Only he and Nova, of all the souls in that damned cathedral, were remote and out of place and out of time. Their rags may have been covered at last with decent robes, but nothing had changed. Brent was still frightened and repulsed by all that he saw and heard. The multitude of Amens fell away to a whisper. And still the Bomb gleamed down from its religious base. The main lights of the cathedral had all dimmed, leaving only the Bomb spotlit above the altar where no eye could miss it. Brent pulled his eyes away; the dread in his stomach was as tangible as a cancer in its most advanced stage. Somewhere, the unseen organist struck a note. From the prie-dieu, the kneeling Mendez’s voice rose once more:

“Almighty and everlasting Bomb, who came down among us to make Heaven under Earth, lighten our darkness. O instrument of God—Grant us Thy peace.”

The organ bleated a series of low, muted chords. All of them climactic, beseeching, uplifting, followed by a final hosannah. Mendez stood up, back to the congregation, his purple robes a blazing field of color. He raised adoring arms to the Bomb suspended above him. His voice reached up, as if to touch it. To caress it with syllables, words. The choir’s multiple voice rose in song:

“Almighty Bomb—who destroyed Devils—to create Angels!

Behold His glory!”

Mendez chimed in with the choir:

“Behold the truth that abides in us, His handicraft!”

The choir stilled and Mendez’s chant rose on a single note of prayer and supplication:

“Reveal that truth unto that Maker!”

And now, incredibly, exaltedly, Albina, the fat man, Caspay and the Negro and all the leaders of this ghastly mass stood up as a body and chanted in a synchronized blend of many voices: “I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God!”

Brent blinked. As if he had been struck between the eyes. Nova shrank against him, mewing like a terrified kitten. The topmost totem of unreality in this world of unrealities had been reached. Once more the universe had reeled and the mind boggled at what the eyes saw—had to believe—had to accept as Truth. All about them, the leaders were unveiling. Albina, the Negro, Caspay, the fat man—everyone. Unmasking, as it were. Pulling and tugging at their heads and faces—taking off rubberized, plasticized masks which had concealed their inmost selves, their true appearance. Now Brent and the girl could see in all its blasphemous, unmatchable horror the true depths that their nightmare had bought for them when it set them down in this terrible city of lost souls. Under each mask, each face now revealed to the awful light of the cathedral was a mockery of nature. A countenance repeated endlessly like some hideous joke at a costume party. A face devoid of all hair, all skin, all color and warmth. Centuries of postnuclear mutation had evolved all these faces into skinless horrors. Repulsively red and blue and pink, exposing all the ganglia of facial veins, arteries, tendons and muscles. As stripped and visible as any anatomical specimens in a medical class. The leaders, including the mighty Mendez, were totally horrible, totally and unbelievably hideous. Brent and Nova held onto each other, shuddering. Mendez exhorted:

“Reveal that truth unto that Maker!”

The choir and the congregation sung back their song of homage:

“I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God.”

The congregation now unveiled. The rubbery masks made slithering, uncanny sounds in the stillness of the dark cathedral. The parody of Life and Nature gleamed from a hundred bodies. Brent dared not look too long. His brain was splitting apart again. And then all the voices raised around him and the girl as the hidden organ swelled into a final exaltation to the devotees of the Bomb Everlasting. Proud and happy voices rose in a tremendous paean of glory: “All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small…”

Caspay smiled in a brotherly fashion at the Negro and then favored Brent with an extension of that smile. But Brent could not in all conscience smile back at that hideous travesty of a human face. He averted his eyes, holding onto Nova’s shaking hand. “All things wise and wonderful,” the congregation sang with deep, fervent voices. The hooded purple head of Mendez turned up to the Bomb again, the spotlit Bomb which looked down on everything. “The good Bomb made us all,” the congregation chanted. Some three hundred mutant singers blended into an intermezzo between stanzas of the song:

“He gave us eyes to see with, and lips that we might tell How great the Bomb Almighty, who has made all things well. Amen.”

During this last Amen, Brent saw Albina jerk her weird face at him. The great beauty was a thing of the past. Brent read her message without hearing any words. Unspoken words. “We can’t,” he said. “We aren’t wearing masks.”

She scowled. But Mendez was speaking the Benediction now:

“May the blessing of the Bomb Almighty and the fellowship of the Holy Fallout descend on us all, this night, and for evermore.”

Once again he pressed a button on the bejeweled panel board. The emerald one. Even as the congregation’s Amen died away to a whisper, the spotlight slowly dimmed. The Bomb disappeared into darkness. Fins and all. It was as if it didn’t even exist. Had never existed. Brent kept his arms around Nova. Poor, mute Nova. A waif for all time. About them, the horrible mutants they had known as the fat man, Caspay, Albina and the Negro, leered hideously. Colors rippled, eddied. The cathedral throbbed with horror. And the great Unknown. And Mendez’s chants hung in the dim nave, swirling about the high, vaulted reaches of the cathedral. Echoes of Hell and the Pit on all sides. Brent hung onto the little courage left in him. He had to. Or there would be no way out. None at all. Whatever God’s Hell and Damnation was, this had to be it. For the first time in his life, he had been able to pinpoint the spot. Give it a location. The Forbidden Zone was Hades, Incorporated. And this great cathedral was its Limbo. 11

“TAY—LOR!”

The Corridor of Busts, gleaming with its stone gallery honoring the Mendez Dynasty, glimmered like a museum in Brent’s eyes. He had been disrobed following the incredible scene in the cathedral so that now he was once more in his familiar rags. Caspay and the Negro were escorting him to some unknown destination. Or fate. Mercifully they had replaced their masks so that their marble faces of beauty were once again intact. Brent wasn’t sure he could have borne gazing too long into those skinless, horrendous travesties of the human face. Caspay was smiling, as usual; knowing the man as he now did, Brent knew it meant nothing very good. “I trust our simple ceremony convinced you of our peaceable intentions,” Caspay murmured in his bland way. “I found it informative,” Brent said guardedly. “Then your cooperation has had its reward.”

“Its only reward?” Brent turned away from his contemplative study of the busts along the corridor. “When may I hope to be set free?”

Caspay’s mouth was still smiling, but not his eyes. “You may hope whenever you please, Mr. Brent. Have pleasant dreams.” With that, he waved his hand and continued along the corridor, his green robes rustling. “I doubt it,” Brent answered drily, watching him until he disappeared. The Negro now placed an unwelcome hand on Brent’s elbow and guided him to a passage turning left off the corridor’s far side. Here, low ceilings and closely distanced walls suggested a catacomb complex. The area was as labyrinthine as a grotto but white-walled and sourcelessly white-lighted. There was no telling where the illumination came from. Brent squinted against the glare. “How can we let you loose on the eve of a war, Mr. Brent?” the Negro suddenly asked, mildly almost. Another twist in the labyrinth. Another turn. Brent said nothing. “You know too many of our secrets,” the Negro reminded him. He halted Brent, for the corridor or passageway had suddenly come to a dead end. A cul-de-sac terminating at a closed door that bore no lettering, no identification of any kind. The Negro prodded Brent as he touched a wall button. “Like your friend,” he muttered. The door, hinged, opened inward and Brent gaped. It was a bare white cell, no larger than a storage closet. But within it stood a tall giant of a man. Bearded, bronzed, his great shaggy head oddly in keeping with his garments of loincloth and tatters. The Negro lolled in the doorway, grinning like an ebony idol. Brent staggered forward, his pulse racing, his heart trip-hammering. The bronzed captive in the room blinked back at the open door. At Brent. And then an enormous smile split the almost graven face into a thousand lines of joy and incredible delight. “Brent!” the giant roared, coming forward. “TAYLOR!”

Brent fell into his arms, pounding, clapping, babbling excitedly. Taylor clasped him in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. The reunion was euphoric. At first—

* * *

The Corridor of Busts echoed with the sound of the guard’s heels. Before him, Nova had been moving like a dead woman, her eyes listless and her muscles flaccid. But now, somehow, the shout of Brent’s voice echoing the only name she had ever understood, came to her, like the call of a bugle. The effect was electrifying. With a wheeling speed more animal than human, she slipped out of the guard’s grasp, biting down on his bared hand, like a tigress. The guard screamed and let go. Nova broke away from him, running like a gazelle toward the echoes of Brent’s cry. And the sound of the name, Tay-lor!

Before the guard could rally in lumbering pursuit, his damaged hand already bleeding, the girl had sprinted down the corridor, turned into the passage leading to the catacomb complex and vanished from sight. Nova ran like the wind. The guard pounded along behind her. Her bared feet made slapping noises along the passageway floor. * * *

“How the hell did you get here?” Taylor demanded. They had both simmered down from the unbounded joy of meeting again and were now both of them well aware of the tall Negro still positioned in the doorway. Brent forced a smile. The white of the cell was a glare. “I came by subway, naturally.”

“You’re two thousand years late,” Taylor replied through cracked lips. His heroic face, which would have looked so proper on a coin or medallion, had always pleased the younger man. “Service never was much good,” Brent agreed. “Is your commander with you?”

“He’s dead. Went blind—and blew a lung on re-entry.”

Taylor sighed. “Then how…?”

“Nova found me.”

“She’s here?” Taylor started forward, his big shoulders flexing. “Where is she?”

“They separated us—thank God.”

“Why thank God?”

“They were trying to make me kill her—” Suddenly, he stared at Taylor. “Come to that, why haven’t they killed you?”

From the doorway, the Negro’s voice lilted pleasantly in reply. “You know why, Mr. Brent. We’re a peaceful people. We don’t kill our enemies.” Taylor and Brent, saw his beatific smile. “We get our enemies to kill each other.” The Negro paused, then directed his next remark to Taylor. “It takes two to make a quarrel. With whom could you quarrel, Mr. Taylor, while you were alone?”

Brent shuddered, knowing what that could mean. Taylor didn’t. He advanced belligerently on the Negro, hands bunching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he snarled, showing the erosion that imprisonment had worked on him and his will power. “But I do,” Brent said. “Unfortunately.”

The Negro closed his eyes. Brent braced himself, steeling his will against the mental assault he knew was underway. Taylor gawked at him, puzzled. The gawk widened as he saw Brent’s hands come up, fashion themselves into fists. Brent had assumed an aggressive, fighting position. He could see the perspiration breaking out on Brent’s face. But, incredibly—impossibly—his own hands were coming up, knotting into fists, and he felt his brain grow cold with hate and the desire to crush, hurt, maim. Taylor confronted Brent. Brent confronted Taylor. The Negro, eyes still closed, remained in the doorway. The glare of the cell was white, stark, ugly. The smiles had drained from the two astronauts. Both faces began to twitch under the hammer blows of hypnosis. Vainly resisting, Brent gasped, “I am fighting an order!

I… am… fighting… a FRIEND!”

With that, he lashed out with a terrible left to the jutting promontory of Taylor’s chin. The fight was vicious, savage. Both men, friends, in the grip of a power willing them not merely to hurt, but to murder each other—with no lethal holds barred and no dirty killer’s tricks left untried—collided in the center of the room. Taylor gouged at Brent’s eyes. Brent swung a violent foot into Taylor’s groin. The sound of the encounter was prodigious. They locked in the death grip of brutal close combat. Kicking, gouging, biting, clawing, tearing at each other like two wild animals. Grunts, groans and curses filled the cell. The Negro, eyes screwed tightly shut, stood unmoving in the doorway. His face might have been carved out of marble. Taylor caught Brent in a powerful viselike hold, swung him like a rag doll and then battered him with his head, butting like a ram. Brent kicked out with his legs. He caught Taylor in the pit of the stomach. Taylor let go and Brent broke loose. For a long second both men were free of each other, circling warily, waiting for the next opening. Their faces were bloody masks, their teeth exposed in brutal animal snarls. They were all but spitting at one another. The savage code of the jungle. Survival of the fittest, the law of fang and claw. They were slavering, gasping and grunting. Two mockeries of intelligent life. The Negro, eyes still shut, dug into his white robes and produced two weapons. Two shining short knives with hafts of ebony. These he threw unseeing into the center of the room. The knives clattered onto the floor. As if they had been thrown a bone, Taylor and Brent instantly swept up the weapons. Now the fight assumed a deadlier overtone. An aura of the slaughter house hung about the cell, a charnel atmosphere which had eons and eras of brutality, prehistoric violence and unthinking savagery as its questionable guide. Brent and Taylor went at each other still more viciously. There was the sharp, ringing strike of metal against metal, the fierce muted thunder of men breathing like animals, gulping oxygen with bestial rapidity. Snarling, snapping, biting, digging at one another as if the universe depended on this one single encounter to give anything of life meaning, sense. The Negro stood through it all, back against the door, holding it open, silently waiting for the outcome that had to be the death of one or both men. The stunning waves of traumatic hypnosis held Brent and Taylor in a dazzling, relentless hold which would not loosen until the Negro opened his eyes. The barren little cell permitted no escape. No headway. No room in which to maneuver to advantage. Like the suicidal duels of ancient times, both combatants were committed to a battle from which neither could possibly emerge unscathed or unmarked. Blood would tell. It was falling now, spurting from cuts and slices and minor wounds which only served to make Brent and Taylor go at each other all the stronger with their lunging, stabbing thrusts. The Negro maintained his position. And the outcome drew nearer. Inevitable, like something preordained. The fight was now at its sharpest pitch. There was about it that ferocity that lent it an animal quality. Except that it was easier to kill with a knife than to rend and tear a man to bloody fragments. Brent moved like a ferret, hacking out at the bigger man. He made a score. Blood spurted from Taylor’s side as the knife bit in and pulled out again. Taylor roared from deep in his chest, bounded forward, and Brent found himself face to face with finality. Now the death dance began, with the two of them reeling around the narrow white cell, knives going for each other’s bared throats; then hand to hand, each holding onto the enemy knife aimed now at his own heart. And then there was an interruption. Nova materialized in the door behind the Negro. She saw Taylor, saw the fight. The shock and the joy combined in one mammoth surge of emotion that needed some outlet, some vent through which to escape. Some avenue along which to meet the world. The miracle occurred. Nova’s neck muscles arched, her lips parted and she spoke. The name. The magic word. “Tay-lor…”

The word was tinny, faint, a faraway sound but as crystal-clear in quality as the first word spoken by a schooled deaf child. As can happen with a mute who is not necessarily deaf, the girl had managed the very first word of her life. And Taylor heard her. And Brent heard her. And, fatally for him, the Negro also heard her. He made the mistake of opening his eyes. Brent sobbed, the magical change sweeping over his brain. “His eyes are open.”

Taylor staggered back, equally freed of the mental lock. Brent jumped forward, knife upraised, and plunged the point of the blade into the Negro’s heart. The white-robed figure threshed against the door, then lurched forward into the cell. Brent watched, panting. The knife protruded from the reddening folds of the white robe. The Negro plucked at it ineffectually, his hands pawing feebly. Away from the door, his weight free of it, the barrier swung shut with a slam. There was no handle on the inner side of the cell. Brent was too late to catch the door before it closed. There was the click of an automatic lock. Eyes glazed, the Negro blurted, “Unto God… I reveal…” His bloodstained hands tore at the rubberized mask of his features, “my Inmost S-s-s-se…”

He fell flat on his face before he could complete the gesture. Taylor, bathed in sweat, crouched over his prostrate body, his eyes almost insane. Brent suddenly retched; a ratchety cough of pain. Taylor went to him, seeing the widening stain of blood from a place in Brent’s shoulder where his own knife had drawn blood. Nova had come forward to assist him, both of them trying to stanch the flow of red from Brent’s wound. It was an awesome slice across the deltoid. Taylor quickly cut strips from the dead Negro’s white robe to fashion a crude but serviceable bandage. Brent winced painfully. Taylor worked fast, conscious of Nova hovering at his side. The girl was smiling despite everything. “You talked,” Taylor said simply, kissing her gently. “And we’re alive.”

She looked up at him, pleased at his evident pleasure. Then he kissed her again. A prolonged kiss. Brent smiled, but in the sudden silence he could hear a soft but steady rush of sound. Like—air!

Coming from—Brent’s eyes searched the room rapidly—there was a six-inch impenetrably grilled vent in the wall behind Taylor, just above his head. Taylor broke from the kiss. “It’s no use,” he told Brent, quick to the direction of his gaze. “I’ve tried. We’re near a main air-conditioning vent.”

“It’s cold,” Brent said. Taylor eyed the inert body of the Negro with distaste. “Just as well.,” His nose wrinkled. “We may have to wait, and I’m allergic to the stink of death. Now, talk some more, Brent. And make it quick.”

Brent fingered his bandage, fighting the pain. “They have an atom bomb.”

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Operational?”

“Yes. And they intend to use it.”

“What type is it?”

“That’s just it—I don’t know. It belongs to a series I’ve never seen before. Maybe because I don’t have top clearance as yet.” This last was almost rueful. “I do,” Taylor said grimly. “Or did,” Brent tried a small joke. Gallows humor. “Two thousand years ago.”

Taylor wasn’t listening. “Did you see a series number?”

“Yes—on one of the fins. Except there were no numbers. Just two Greek letters. Alpha, omega.”

Taylor’s face tightened into a mask of inner pain. “May God help us,” he said in a low voice. Brent started. “What is it?

What does it mean?”

“Doomsday Bomb,” Taylor said. “Cobalt casing. The last we ever made. Only one. One was enough. The idea was to threaten the enemy by the very fact that it existed. A bomb so powerful it could destroy—not just a city— not just a nation—no, not just every living cell on earth, every insect, every blade of grass—but set nuclear fire to the wind, to the air itself. Scorch the whole planet into a cinder!

Like the end of a burnt match. The ultimate bomb—” His voice trailed off into a whisper. Nova, always responsive to his moods, huddled closer to him. Brent had forgotten all about the throbbing discomfort of his damaged shoulder. * * *

The baffled guard who had allowed Nova to elude him was still searching for her. Without any success. He had not entered the catacomb complex but had returned to the Corridor of Busts to make a fresh start on his hunt. He was startled to see someone in the renowned corridor. Somebody wise and all-powerful. Mendez in his purple robes was kneeling before the stoic bust of MENDEZ I. He was silent and immobile. As if his entire being was as one with his legendary ancestor. Mendez seemed to commune with the inanimate bust. The guard withdrew very carefully, anxious not to make a whisper of sound. He stole up the long corridor like a wraith. The posture of the leader disturbed the guard. Was something wrong that Mendez had to take this time to pray on the eve of a great conflict?

But the guard removed the thought from his already worried mind. There was still the girl to find…

Angrily, impatiently, the guard moved down the corridor past the closed door of the Inquisition Room. Nothing stirred. Not even the kneeling figure of Mendez behind him, beyond the turn of the passageway. 12

DR. ZAIUS

The Grand Army of the Apes had achieved the frontier zone of the designated area. Now, as the hot sun beat down in a cobalt-blue sky, General Ursus initiated the opening steps of the invasion. Beyond the burning rim of the horizon, the skyline of buried New York steepled eerily. Silhouetted and somber. From his horse, with Zaius at his side, Ursus’ medals shone in the sunlight. He raised a glittering sword. His army moved. Quickly, in full military pomp and precision. Orders were shouted, marching feet thundered, equipment rolled into position. Squadrons formed. Gorilla infantry, about fifty apes to each group, with a commissioned officer and a noncommissioned officer leading every command, flanked into attacking formation. The gun carriages wheeled up, clanking noisily. Bayonets gleamed from rifle tips. The assembled apes were ready to attack. To fight. To obey the Ursus dictum of Invade, Invade, Invade!

Dr. Zaius looked on almost sorrowfully at the spectacle of force of arms triumphing over sober reflection and discourse with the enemy. Ursus, eyes shaded against the sun, peering toward New York in the distance, summoned a bugler to his side. His gimlet eyes were twin pools of ecstasy. His black gorilla face was exalted. The morning heat set a shimmering haze over the scene. It was a lovely day for the Invasion. “Sound the advance,” Ursus commanded the bugler in the sudden total hush that preceded the strike of lightning forces from the kingdom of Ape City. The horn brayed, a pealing blast of sound wafting over the formation. The army, in extended order, advanced. Uphill. Toward the visible reaches of the Forbidden Zone. Ursus’ mount pranced in the vanguard. Zaius trotted along behind him. The hill was steep, sloping upward at a hazardous angle. The ape army swarmed upward a vast body of moving gorillas, horses and ordnance. With skilled coordination of all units and a minimum of stumbling blocks, the advance platoons of Ursus’ forces gained the crest of the mountain which overlooked the buried grandeur of New York. Ursus reached the pinnacle first. Then Zaius, then the troops directly behind them. Ursus lifted a paw to signal a halt. The army came to a stop. Waiting legions, motionless in the sun. Zaius’ breath caught in his chest. Ursus groaned mightily. The spectacle before them defied belief. Where before there had been nothing but limitless expanses of arid desert in the vast sun-bleached acreage leading to buried New York, there was now nothing but horror. Row upon row of naked gorillas, hanging from inverted crosses staked to the ground, glowed wickedly in the sunlight. A mass crucifixion, awesome in all its implications, to match the Roman massacre of Christians along the Appian Way in another equally terrible time. Zaius’ scholarly blood ran cold. Ursus’ face darkened. Fire and smoke, both sourceless and spread out like a blaze encompassing the world, had also appeared, seemingly from nowhere. And still the mutilated gorillas hung crucified from their upside-down crosses. The ape army, particularly the infantry, closest to the sight, aghast and quivering in horror at the devastation below them, began to panic. A great tumult of shouting and anguished cries went up. Ursus, livid with rage, found himself being berated by Dr. Zaius. “Ursus, I warned you!

Look what we are faced with!

I told you we should wait!”

“Whoever did this,” Ursus growled, “will pay heavily.”

The groans of the crucified gorillas were clamorous, rising from the bloody desert plain like a universal wail of misery, sorrow and agony. Dr. Zaius shuddered, reining in his horse. “If you have any pity, order your soldiers to shoot our people.”

“I cannot order what the Lawgiver has forbidden. Ape shall not kill Ape,” Ursus snarled, wheeling his mount to shout an order to one of his nearest commanders. “Prepare to attack!”

“Attack what and whom?” Zaius demanded softly, his orangutan face constricted in lines of bewilderment and compassion. The ape army suddenly rallied. Gorillas, horses and guns moved up over the ridge, pounding over the crest, swarming down the other side. Ursus led the way. The infantry rushed forward, racing across the desert to the grim spectacle of their slaughtered comrades. Shouts and gunfire filled the air. Gorillas yelled and screamed, summoning up a banzai-like courage to grope with the situation. Or cope. The hot sun blazed down, as if trying to pierce the gathering smoke and fire filling the landscape. The infantry rushed. Ursus spurred his mount. Zaius galloped alongside. And then…

A colossal effigy of the Lawgiver, the Great Ape reading a book, materialized in view, his stone feet among the scorching flames, his head seeming to touch the sky. The apes in the oncoming infantry group braked to a halt. Utter consternation and dread took over where before nothing but fear had ruled. These emotions—and a great joy!

“The Lawgiver!” a gorilla soldier squealed in delight. He dropped his rifle and kneeled. The soldier beside him, humbled by the vision of ape greatness, cried out, “He will avenge our crucified brothers!”

“Vengeance!” shouted the next soldier. And the cry was taken up by the rest of the ape infantry. A mighty chorus of adulation, happiness and sheer exaltation echoed over the scene. Baffled by what he saw, General Ursus roared at all of his commanders, “Hold your positions!”

The gigantic figure of the Lawgiver now seemed to show the many holes and perforations in his great body. From these openings, red blood flowed in a scarlet spiderweb of color. Pumping, welling, spurting terribly. Ursus, in fear and horror, had to cling to his mount for support, his eyes two black marbles of disbelief. The Lawgiver, the Almighty, the Great One, the Nonpareil, the Master of all Apes, was bleeding to death before his very eyes!

“He bleeds!” General Ursus boomed. “The Lawgiver bleeds!”

An atavistic growl thundered from his chest; a trumpeting blast of animal sound that must have echoed in the days when his ancestors swung from trees and loped along the ground for their food. As for the ape infantry, it was completely demoralized by the spectacle. They threw down their rifles, pointing and gibbering with dismay at the Thing In The Sky. Simian cries of alarm and dismay rose in a blended medley of vocal terror that sounded exactly like the monkey house in a twentieth-century zoo. Above the blasted, cursed desert, the effigy of the Lawgiver, flung there by the hypnotic powers of the leaders of the Forbidden Zone, continued to bleed to death. Only Dr. Zaius was able to retain his wits, to keep his head. The fulfillment of all his hopes for a compromise of the minds hung on the action he was now steeling himself to take. Turning, he faced the paralyzed, screaming infantry of gorillas and raised his cultured voice to an unfamiliar authoritative shout. “The spirit of the Lawgiver lives!

We are still God’s chosen!

And this is a vision and it is a lie!”

Before they could digest his words, he charged. Alone. On horseback. Out toward the bleeding image of the Lawgiver. The astounded gorillas quietened, stunned by the sight of the old scientist, the Minister of Science, galloping out toward his inevitable doom. Dr. Zaius rode into the Vision. Rode out between the row upon row of crucified apes. Past the inverted crosses, through the veritable forest of slaughter—toward the Effigy of the Lawgiver. His horse shied and whinnied but Zaius kept a tight rein. Soon the clattering hooves had led him up to the vision. The smoke and the flame. The scorching fingers of the blaze eating away at the very feet of the Lawgiver. Behind him, General Ursus and the Grand Army of the Apes looked on in mounting wonder. Zaius’ horse reared, kicking at the smoke and the flame. The Vision. And slowly, inexorably, the Vision toppled, falling down, hitting the sandy earth. It exploded with great violence, creating a huge sheet of flame and roaring black smoke. The entire tableau vanished in an instant. And then—suddenly—the smoke was gone. The flame was gone. So was the image of the Lawgiver. And the forest of crucified apes. There was nothing on the vast, empty, rocky and sandy landscape but the figures of Dr. Zaius and his horse. Everything had faded away, leaving only what was really true and the reality that was really there. General Ursus, staggered, and insanely jealous of Zaius for doing what he should have done, could only gaze on the scene with utter wonder and regret for a marvelous opportunity lost. One that he would never have again. Dr. Zaius had passed through the Vision, triumphed over it. In the name of his science. He turned and waved to the Army of Ursus. There was nothing interposed between him and his people on the slope of the hill. The stage of desert and landscape was desolate. General Ursus reformed his army. He coldly acknowledged the signals of his revitalized commanders and troops. Dr. Zaius remained where he was, waiting for the Grand Army to rejoin him. Ursus’ color was malignant. He was furious. It was Zaius, and not he, whose gallant action had turned the tide of battle. Mottled, Ursus summoned the bugler again. “Sound the advance,” he said dully. Once more the braying notes of the horn filtered out over the baked panorama of landscape. In the visible distance the steeples and tombstone tops of New York lay illuminated in the sun. The tips of the Empire State, the Chrysler Building—and the face of Miss Liberty poking from the earth like a milestone—stood like markers along the route. General Ursus dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and raced out to join Dr. Zaius where he still waited. A solitary figure on the desert plain. Damn the good doctor!

There would be no living with the orangutan now…

The Grand Army of the Apes moved out toward the city on the horizon. * * *

In the Inquisition Room, Mendez and his surviving inquisitors, seated on their curved chairs, had their eyes focused on the opposite wall level with their heads. Caspay, the fat man and Mendez, projecting purple, green and red, were throwing mental images to keep themselves abreast of the military situation. Albina’s blue was negative. Which was critical now. They saw General Ursus and Dr. Zaius, at the head of the Grand Army of the Apes, defeat the specter of the desert, move into the city and press onward. Zaius’ face appeared on the wall. Dismounted from his horse, he was pointing to the ground, calling Ursus’ attention to a six-foot-square octagonal vent just beyond his horse’s hooves. The same octagonal vent which had guided Brent and Nova into the very heart of the metropolis. “There are ways down,” Zaius was shouting. The perfect color on the wall dissolved as Mendez and Caspay and the fat man rose from their chairs. Mendez’s smooth face was calm but his eyes moved strangely. Flakes of gold in a mysterious wind of inner turmoil. Caspay addressed the fat man. “You know the range of their city?”

The red-clad fat man nodded. “Set it in the mechanism and wait for me.”

The fat man left the Inquisition Room. Caspay smiled at the beautiful Albina. “I want a public thought projection at adult and infant level. ‘Clear the streets. Stay indoors.’”

Albina nodded too. Then she also rustled out of the room. “What will you do, Holiness?” Caspay asked Mendez. Mendez’s marble face was fixed with confident placidity. “Everything necessary,” he murmured. Caspay smiled his benevolent puckish smile and fondled his green robes. All would be well, no matter how well organized and powerful the ape army might be. There was still the Almighty Bomb!

And Mendez, whose brilliance outshone even the sun. * * *

The last of the ape infantrymen had clambered down into the six main vents. Nothing remained on the surface of the Forbidden Zone but endless scores of tethered horses, waiting patiently for the eventual return of their riders. Four young gorilla sentries guarded the mounts as the main force pushed on. An aura of excitement prevailed. General Ursus and Dr. Zaius led the way along the narrow, glaringly white passageway. The cool air, the almost antiseptic texture of the corridor fascinated Zaius but Ursus could now smell blood. His gorilla face was beaming with expectancy. The unexpected rise of Zaius to hero status no longer disturbed him. There would be fresh battles, new conquests, and soon!

He could almost feel the proximity of combat, the matching of arms with this rabble who had to live underground like worms and play tricks with gorilla minds. Well, he would show them. Show Zaius too. Show everybody—the unimpeachable wisdom of Invade, Invade, Invade!

Everything was going so smoothly now. Once out of this damnable corridor, they would come face to face with the half savages who had dared to mock gorilla might and abuse gorilla people. Yes, he would show them. Show everybody. The ineluctable power of Force. There was just no other way to run a country. A people. A civilization. Foolish man had learned that, hadn’t he, to his sorrow. Trying to rule a world with the milk of kindness. Damn chimpanzee philosophy. Weak-kneed, thin-skinned. Hopelessly…

Grunting happily, his eyes shining, General Ursus moved down the long shining corridor at the head of his troops. Dr. Zaius tagged along, just behind him. Zaius was still unhappy. He did not like the signs all around them of a vastly superior race of beings. A race of intellects. For which no gorilla could ever be a match. * * *

Beyond the maze of octagonal corridors, in the cold glare of the metropolis above, nothing moved on the streets of the Forbidden Zone. There was a curious, almost frightening emptiness to the streets. No little knots of playing children, no passers-by, no single solitary streetwalkers. Nobody. Only the wind fanning eerily over the half-buried building tops, the windowless structures which resembled so many headstones and tombstones jutting from the depths of the faraway mountains. Only the mammoth silhouette of the great cathedral poking into the slate-gray skies. The cathedral that housed the Bomb. The Almighty Bomb. Dedicated to the Holy Fallout. And ultimate Oblivion. 13

APE AND MAN

“They’re coming,” Brent said. Outside their cell, they could hear the thunderous united tramp of marching feet. The sudden rumble of movement and equipment moved Taylor faster than any warning could have. Quickly he lugged the corpse of the Negro to the base of the cell wall. Brent and Nova joined him there, flattening out along the ground, hugging the wall. Out of sight of the peephole in the door of the cell. A helmeted gorilla face loomed there. He couldn’t see Taylor, Brent and the girl, or the Negro lying directly below him out of his line of sight. The gorilla face winced briefly and then the black muzzle of a machine gun appeared, poking into the cell. The weapon stuttered, erupted, blasted and raked the interior of the cell with lateral fire. The stench of cordite filled the room. Soon the firing ceased and the gorilla moved on, joining the tramping hordes in the corridor. Not until the sound of marching feet diminished did Taylor, Brent or Nova move. “Wait,” cautioned Brent. They didn’t know that Company A of the ape army had just trooped by their place of confinement. The marching sounds faded into silence. Taylor rose to his feet, picking up a club which lay in one corner of the cell. He used this now to batter away at the cell door, smashing it open with a burst of tremendous blows. Brent’s bandages were oozing blood. He was sweating and his face was gray with pain. Taylor hesitated, but peered down the corridor beyond the battered door. Then he looked at Brent. Brent looked at him. Each man in that instant recognized what the other had in mind. Nova stood, waiting eternally, as she always had to, with her men. “Let’s go!” Brent snapped impatiently. “Let’s go!”

Taylor nodded, and let Brent push into the corridor. He took Nova’s hand and led her out. The corridor was empty. Taylor eyed Brent with fresh respect. “You’ve got the same crazy thought I have, haven’t you?”

“Except, it’s not crazy,” Brent panted, the pain searing him. “If these —’people’—think they’re going to lose to the apes, they’ll explode the bomb. Which is the end of the ape, but also the end of everything else. The end of life. The end of the world. You told me that yourself.”

“I should do it alone,” Taylor said. “Let’s double our chances.”

Taylor frowned. “I don’t know if you’re much use. You’re bleeding pretty good…”

“I’m all right!”

Before Taylor could answer that, a sound of gunfire hammered near them and they heard the hoarse screams of some gorilla soldiers. Taylor jumped. He had caught sight of three gorilla soldiers coming down the passageway. He backed quickly into the cell, pulling Nova with him. Too late. They had been seen. With a whoop of something akin to pleasure, the gorillas bounded forward, weapons upraised. Obviously, they had already had some casualties and this was a chance to even up a few scores. Grimly, Taylor and Brent, braced to meet the attack. Taylor had his club; Nova shrank into one comer of the cell. The fight was brief and bloody. Brent and Taylor, motivated by a tremendous fear and a desire for survival, swarmed over the gorilla trio. Taylor swung the heavy club with telling accuracy. But as the scuffle ensued and Brent chipped in as best he could, one of the gorilla rifles got off a random shot. Soon, however, his face a contorted mask, Taylor won the day. The club smashed out, battering gorilla heads and faces. Suddenly the corridor was a pile of inert soldiers. Taylor swayed, panting from the effort. And then he turned back to Nova and Brent, almost smiling. The smile vanished. Nova lay crumpled on the floor of the cell. Her slender, lithe body did not move. There was an ugly stain spreading over the pitiful rags that covered her left breast. She was dead. The random shot had found her as truly as any marksman’s well-aimed bullet. The face of Taylor crumpled. Strength fled from it. He moved to the girl, fell to his knees, cradling her still head in his lap. Brent stood by, helpless. The moment held, Taylor holding the girl, silently dying within himself. Then he stood up, his dirty, bronzed face flooded with an almost uncontrollable anger. Beyond the walls of the cell, the sounds of street combat echoed dimly. “I should let them all die!” Taylor raged, his voice rising on a sob. “Not just the gorillas!

Everyone!

Every living thing!

Us too!

Look at how it all ends—!

It’s time it was finished—finished!”

He clawed at the air, a monument of bitterness and frustration. His great body trembled. “Come on, Taylor,” Brent spoke up, more strongly than before, trying not to think about Nova. About anything that had to do with love and gentleness. “Come on!”

He moved out of the cell, not looking back. Not daring to recall. Forgetting Nova and her mute, appealing goodness. He knew that Taylor would follow him. Taylor the man had to. Taylor did. But Taylor was remembering…

His brain was alive with images. Swirling, exploding pictures of the grand error which had begun with a space flight from Cape Kennedy. The disastrous flight, the time differential, the coming down into the smooth blue lake in the middle of nowhere. The death of the woman astronaut, shriveled like a mummy on landing. The planting of the small American flag in the middle of nowhere. The capture by the apes; the lobotomizing of one of the others. His own escape from Ape City with the help of a beautiful savage girl who had trusted him from the very beginning. Without words, without complaints. The sight of the Statue of Liberty poking from the sands, the wall of ice and losing the girl. Finding himself here in this underground civilization of mutants. And Cornelius, Zira and Dr. Zaius. And now Brent, a man from that same world that had vanished. Brent— almost the reflection of himself. What he had once been, at any rate. And Nova…

Nova!

By God, he had loved her. More than any woman he ever knew back on the planet in the time when all men hoped for the best in order to avoid the worst. His eyes hardened into flints. His tears dried up. This world, whatever it was, would have to pay for Nova!

B, C and D Company of the ape army had solved the various complexities of the many and different air tunnels leading into the center of the leaders’ domain. All companies, jubilant, armed and prepared for slaughter, moved in for the kill. From convergent directions. General Ursus’ militia was functioning like a well-oiled machine. Victory was in sight. In the Corridor of Busts, Dr. Zaius stood staring at the impressive rows of sculpted heads depicting the Mendez Dynasty. His intelligent nostrils were curled in disgust. He looked down the row of busts on their plinths and saw where the Inquisition Room began. The door. The bust of Mendez I heightened Zaius’ distaste. With Zaius was a gorilla sergeant, machine gun at the ready. Ursus had gone off somewhere, with bigger plans in his head. Zaius shivered, looking at the stone idols. “They’re obscene,” he muttered. The sergeant made no comment, but kept his eyes peeled, on the alert. Zaius suddenly knocked Mendez I off his gleaming plinth. The bust crashed to the floor, shattering. Methodically, grimly, Dr. Zaius moved down the line, striking out, pushing, breaking. One by one, the stone history of the Mendez Dynasty broke apart in scattered, useless fragments. With great enthusiasm, Zaius finally reached the end of the stone line. Mendez XXVI. The last bust disintegrated on the floor in a shower of chips. As it too smashed, a woman’s scream, muffled but agonizing, sounded from beyond the door of the Inquisition Room. The sergeant brushed by Dr. Zaius, batted the wall button and plunged in. Zaius followed him, curious. They found Albina. She lay sprawled in her lovely blue robes in a curved chair before the wall screen. A small phial was clutched in her outstretched hand. Her lovely face, even in death, was as stunningly beautiful as ever. Zaius scooped up the phial, put it to his nose and sniffed. The sergeant could not take his eyes off the beauty of Albina nor the ample spill of her nearly bared breasts in the blue robes. She was still bewitching. “She’s dead,” Zaius said, without inflection. He turned away, leaving the sergeant to ogle Albina while he studied the strange room. The wall caught his interest…

When he turned back it was to see the sergeant’s hairy paw on Albina’s unmoving breast. The sergeant was greatly agitated, sexually stimulated. Zaius hid his disgust for all gorillas. Animals!

“Sergeant,” he said mildly. The ape withdrew his hand. Dr. Zaius continued to study the Inquisition Room. There was a lot to be learned here. He could see that, too. * * *

The great double doors of the cathedral reverberated with the crescendo thud of an ape-wielded battering ram. General Ursus stood back as his armed troops broke down the mighty doors. In the cathedral square, ape companies had converged until they now totaled nearly three hundred strong. General Ursus was proud and happy. Victory was in the air. The war was going well!

There had been an interesting diversion on the way to the cathedral. A bit of sport. For himself and his gorilla squads of highly efficient soldiers. In the stone plaza outside the church, they had encountered three robed figures hurrying across the square. A huge fat man encased in scarlet robes, an elder-statesman type in brilliant green, and a tall, lean, hooded man. These had been, of course, the fat man, Caspay and the verger. General Ursus had not even bothered to halt them to ask questions. Rather, he had raised one authoritative paw and the machine gunners flanking him had done their specialty. A withering, blasting, raking crossfire of a thousand bullets which had seemed to pluck up the robed figures and send them skittering like puppets along the hard earth until the guns had closed down. General Ursus had never seen, in all his military past, such effectiveness of machine gun fire on mere flesh. The dull, bleak buildings bordering the plaza, with their curious starkness and contrasting moldiness and fresh stone architecture, had shown no signs of life. The streets and the alleys of this tomblike metropolis had been curiously empty. Save for the three hurrying figures in robes. General Ursus had not been disposed to take them prisoner to ask them questions. He somehow felt that the imposing edifice of the cathedral held all the answers he might need to know. In any case, the machine gun exercise had been a necessary tactic for his troops. Lest their fingers grow stale from disuse. Ursus hardly gave the bullet-riddled, blood-soaked corpses a second look as he trundled up to the mighty double doors at the head of his troops. He felt an imminent end to this war. Genuine resistance had been virtually nil. These people, whatever they were, were certainly no warriors!

He had waited for Dr. Zaius to join him at this hour of ultimate conquest. Still smarting from the heroics of Zaius on the plain, before the whole of his Grand Army, Ursus was anxious to get some of his own back. And now was the time. The great doors of the cathedral unhinged, broken open by the force of the ram. General Ursus and his troops piled through the new opening. Dr. Zaius accompanied them. With nearly three hundred elite gorilla troops behind him, General Ursus stalked into the cathedral proudly. Mightily. The great dim hall lay in gloom. Only the half light of the prie-dieu on the high altar showed any illumination. Ursus moved toward this, his troops and Zaius following. Their feet made gobbling echoes in the gigantic nave. There was only one man in the cathedral. Mendez. The Twenty-Sixth. Dr. Zaius recognized the glasslike, marble-like face. The altar screens were closed behind Mendez. In his purple robes, Mendez awaited his conquerors. Ursus and Zaius, flanked by gorilla machine gunners, stalked up the nave to a point midway where Ursus imperiously motioned for a halt. Mendez did not move. His face was impassive in the dim light. “Arrest that—creature,” Ursus commanded the guards. “And bring it to me.”

The guards moved forward, machine guns leveled, reaching the sanctuary. Behind the prie-dieu, Mendez pressed the emerald button on the panel board. It glowed green. The altar screens parted noiselessly. The guards looked up, hesitating. And in the moment of their indecision, Mendez’s powerful voice filled the cathedral, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “This is the instrument of my God.”

The first guard recoiled, batting his eyes at his partner. “He can speak!”

Mendez pressed the second button on the bejeweled panel. The topaz one. It glowed yellow. General Ursus snorted, angry with the delay. He started forward, snarling, “Your God…!”

Spurred by his voice, the guards seized Mendez, attempting to drag him off the high altar. Zaius caught his breath in a gasp of wonderment. And new knowledge. The Bomb was in view. Resplendent, frightening, all mighty, its sinister fins and snoutlike nose magnificently awesome. It had begun to rise—very very slowly, in response to the mechanism triggered by the topaz button. And now, as it would have been obvious to Taylor and Brent, the Bomb was poising itself on a mammoth launching pad. The steel sides of the monster glistened out over the cathedral. Mendez began to raise his own arms in genuflection and homage. General Ursus’ face twisted with sheer rage and hate. “Your God didn’t save you, did he?” he snarled, motioning to the soldiers. Before Mendez could speak again, the guards has brutally knotted the purple robes about his defenseless throat, and with both of them vising from each side, had strangled him where he stood. It took only two minutes. Mendez flopped like a limp doll when they finally released him, falling to the floor of the high altar. Ursus laughed sardonically at the sight. Then he snatched a machine gun from one of the guards and aimed it up at the Bomb. Directly at the glistening metallic body of the thing. Dr. Zaius moved quickly, speaking in a furious undertone. “Ursus, you fool!

That’s a weapon built by Man…”

Ursus spat full in his face. Zaius was heedless of that. He gestured at the Bomb suspended on the launching pad. “You can’t shoot it down with a clip of bullets!”

Ursus sneered. He was a simple soldier. The Devil take Zaius and his intellectual claptrap!

He tugged back the cocking handle of the machine gun with one black paw. His gimlet eyes were beady with joy. “It’ll kill us all—” Zaius begged, trying to knock the gun aside. Ursus growled, pushed him aside, leveled the machine gun upward and fired. The cathedral rocked with the sounds of automatic fire. Ursus kept on firing until the machine gun closed down on an empty drum of cartridges. His face was angry again. The impenetrable armor plating of the Bomb had deflected all the bullets of the bursting gunfire. Ricochets had whined and howled all over the nave. General Ursus flung the machine gun back to its owner. He brushed his paws together. His troops were still waiting, crowded behind him in this enemy cathedral. “Well, if we can’t shoot it down, we’ll haul it down. Rope and tackle!” he bellowed in a voice used to giving commands and being obeyed. Zaius fell back gratefully. All was not yet lost. Thirty soldiers came forward, put down their weapons and mounted the high, altar, making preparations to do as the General ordered. Thirty apes began to climb up the great golden brackets that supported the Bomb. They climbed agilely, quickly, efficiently. As only apes can. General Ursus waited, smiling. Dr. Zaius could only-hope for the best. At the dark end of the cathedral, behind the massed troops at the edge of the battered double doors, with the diversion of the activity on the high altar aiding their surreptitious entrance, Taylor and Brent crept into view. Their faces were damp, strained and unearthly. Their eyes could have belonged to madmen. Far away in Ape City, the house of Zira and Cornelius had grown unaccountably colder. Cornelius checked the barometer on the kitchen wall. He frowned. Almost perfect for the season—then why was the place so drafty?

It wasn’t at all logical. Zira came in from the living room, her cute muzzle wrinkling. “Well?” she asked, hugging her forearms. Cornelius shrugged. “Doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t be cold at all. Not for this time of year.”

Zira shuddered. Her tiny eyes sparkled. “Maybe it’s an omen,” she laughed. “That things aren’t going so well for our glorious ape army.”

“Zira,” Cornelius said wearily. “Oh, you!” she raged suddenly. “You’ll never do anything about anything, will you?”

Cornelius had nothing to say to that. Nor did the house get any warmer as daylight waned. No word had come, as yet, from the Forbidden Zone. 14

BOMB

The attention of the cathedral was solely on the act being performed on the bomb. Zaius, Ursus and the others were all intent on the ape soldiers clambering aloft, scrambling all over the steel sides of the monster. A network of ropes had been slung around the weapon so that the apes could now haul at the rising Bomb. With great strength and celerity, the soldiers tugged at the ropes. The Bomb stopped. Ursus smiled triumphantly at Zaius. “Well done!” he bellowed to his troops. Now the Bomb, still carrying the clinging, climbing apes, was pulled down to the ground. It lay dormant, off the launching pad. Zaius almost shrugged. Yet, he was still worried. At the rear of the gloom-shrouded cathedral, Brent moved painfully down the left side of the aisle, making full use of the cathedral’s architectural covering. The pillars, the posts. His hand was pressed to his side to hold back the sharp agony knifing him. Parallel to him, across the aisle on the right, Taylor’s big body moved from pillar to pillar, keeping pace with him. Brent had taken a heavy pistol from one of the guards in the cell fight, as had Taylor. A pitiful armament against General Ursus and his legions but at least something…

The keen eye of Dr. Zaius spotted a flashing movement behind one of the pillars on the left. The doctor whirled, his eyes roving. He saw Brent, staggering, lurching to cover. “Ursus!” Zaius shouted in alarm. “Behind the pillar!”

The General had rearmed himself with the rifle of one of his climbing troops. His reflexes were lightning-like. Spinning, his eyes finding what Dr. Zaius had seen, he fired. The blast of the gun rose like thunder in the arched cathedral. Brent went down, clattering to the floor with a muted blurt of pain. As he tried to rise, Ursus fired again. Brent lay there in the darkened aisle, waves of nausea and agony closing over him. He moaned. A whimper. The Bomb, unnoticed in the excitement, had separated into two closely adjacent sections. In falling down, it had divided. Part of the steel casing began to glow strangely. But Ursus and several of his apes had come down off the high altar, circling, moving in on Brent. Across the aisle, his lungs bursting, Taylor sprang toward the dais, on which stood Dr. Zaius, the Bomb and the dangling apes behind him. “Zaius!” Taylor yelled. Zaius saw him, recognized him. The orangutan face split in a shock of surprise. He recoiled as if Taylor were a leper. “You!” he gasped. “It’s Doomsday, Zaius.” Taylor spoke bitterly from the depths of the front row of pews. “The end of the world. Can’t you understand?

For God’s sake, help me…”

“Stay away from me,” Zaius said, backing away, looking for the armed support behind him. “You damned animal!” Taylor thundered. He started to bring up his gun, coming on to the high altar, reaching up to the prie-dieu. Zaius scuttled forward. “Don’t touch that,” he warned. Frantically, he signaled the guards. “Help me,” Taylor pleaded. “Help me.” His eyes, in the dim light, shone like stars. Zaius shook his head. “You asked me to help you. Man is evil—capable of nothing but destruction.”

Worn, spent, bleeding, Taylor sagged along the edge of the dais. “You bloody bastard,” he panted helplessly. “Evil,” Dr. Zaius repeated, his voice rising. “And the destroyer himself must be destroyed!”

Oblivious of the dialogue on the dais, General Ursus had closed in on Brent lying in the darkened aisle. Brent stirred painfully, bringing his pistol up. Ursus bounded forward in a prodigious leap, his powerful legs landing him directly across Brent. He seized Brent’s gun hand, and bit with his great jaws into Brent’s forearm. The gun clattered to the floor. Ursus scooped it up, beaming. He motioned to the accompanying soldiers to kill Brent. His eyes swept to the platform where Dr. Zaius stood pointing a gun at the battered Taylor who had lifted himself to the high altar; Taylor was now only twenty feet from the Bomb. General Ursus knotted his fists. “Fire!” he commanded Dr. Zaius. “Fire!”

But Dr. Zaius was indecisive. There was a look in Taylor’s eyes that he did not understand. That was beyond his range of science. Men do not look at you that way when they are not in deadly earnest. Taylor limped to the prie-dieu. He reached it. Ursus bounded forward, cleared the platform, raced toward Dr. Zaius. As the baffled apes hovering over the prone Brent hesitated, Brent’s dying gasp called out, echoing in the hollow reaches of the cathedral. “For Gad’s sake, it’s the Doomsday Bomb—the end of the world!”

Snarling, General Ursus snatched the weapon from the hands of Dr. Zaius. He aimed the gun at Taylor and fired. Taylor’s back was to him. An unmissable target. Ursus did not miss. The blast of automatic gunfire stitched across Taylor’s massive back, hammering him down to the floor before the prie-dieu. Amazingly, Taylor staggered erect, lurched forward and toppled over the prie-dieu, like a tired orator clutching his lectern. General Ursus growled in his chest. Dr. Zaius was rigid with growing dread. The great shining Bomb, with its passengers of great apes still in position on it like so many children, glowed more strongly than ever. A strange aura of something pervaded the stage. The great stain of blood on Taylor’s back spread into a river of red. Through blood-curtained eyes, Taylor saw the cathedral spin all about him, whirling, coruscating, like a kaleidoscope. His senses fused and he died, slamming down over the bejeweled panel board. He never saw the End. The dead weight of his big body pressed down on the ruby button on the panel. The one that had never been touched before. General Ursus stared at the Bomb. The glow evanesced over a period of seconds. General Ursus’ mouth opened and his fangs showed in a tremendous, terrified scream. Dr. Zaius had no time to think about anything else. Not in this world or any other. The ape militia scattered about the cathedral, three hundred in all, stupid, belligerent, unthinking, did not even think of running. Not that running would have helped. The great cathedral was visible for only one second more. Taylor’s dead body blackened to a silhouette, while above and behind him the Bomb whitened to an incandescence more blinding than the sun which Taylor would never see again. And then die universal fire began…

…and all that was left was melting and burning. And small, blackened wisps. An electronic crackling sputtered in Outer Space. 15

ARMAGEDDON

Listen, if you have the ears to hear. The Wind is speaking again. “…the Universe, at present, contains billions upon billions of spiral galaxies. In one of them, one-third from the edge, is a medium-sized star…”

Only a small, blackened wisp. If you have the eyes to see it. Or the heart to care. “…and one of its satellites, a green and insignificant planet…”

Blank, white, glaring. “…is now dead.”

Silence. There is nothing more. There is nothing left. It is as it was in the Beginning. Wasteland. ESCAPE FROM THE PLANET OF THE

APES

JERRY POURNELLE

Based on the screenplay by PAUL DEHN

TO: P. Schuyler Miller and L. Sprague de Camp

1

It was two o’clock in the afternoon with bright sunshine and cloudless skies over Omaha. A gentle wind flowed out of the northwest, and the temperature was seventy, nearly perfect weather. It would have been a marvelous day for a picnic. Major General Raymond Hamilton, USAF, knew this because the weather over each of his Strategic Air Command bases was displayed on the command status board above his desk in the hole. Otherwise, Omaha’s weather wouldn’t interest him for another six hours. It would be night before he went off duty and home to his wife and two boys and the red brick house originally built for the U. S. Cavalry before the turn of the century. Now the cavalry wasn’t needed to stand guard over Omaha. Instead, the old fort was Offutt Air Force Base, home of SAC, and SAC stood guard over the world. General Hamilton’s desk was three stories underground. It rested on a glassed-in balcony overlooking the main SAC command post, and two floors further down, directly below and in front of Hamilton’s balcony, were the Air Force personnel who could put him in communication with any SAC base. They could also launch enough nuclear firepower to destroy half the world. Among the telephones on Hamilton’s desk were two in color. The gold phone would instantly reach Executive One—the president. Next to it was the red phone that could launch the force. Ray Hamilton wasn’t thinking about the red phone at two in the afternoon. The president’s summit conferences had been successful, and although Ray, like all SAC generals, believed the Russians were planning something and had to be watched at all times, he didn’t believe the “Big One” was coming just yet. If SAC stayed alert, it might never come. Ray was relaxed in his easy chair, leafing through a murder mystery. He grimaced as he realized he’d read it before and faced the afternoon with nothing to do. General Hamilton was bored. If he worried about anything, it was about his son’s bicycle. That was the third ten-speed stolen from his family in less than two years, and it irritated him to think that SAC could guard the free world, but SAC’s Air Police couldn’t catch a bicycle thief. The boy had to ride a mile to high school and would heed a new bike, and that would cost money Ray Hamilton didn’t have at the moment. A phone rang. A black one. Hamilton picked it up. “SAC Duty Commander.”

“SAC, this is Air Defense. We have a bandit re-entry coming in over the South Pole. I say again we have a bandit on re-entry course over the South Pole. Probable place of impact, vicinity of San Diego, California. Estimated time, plus 26 minutes.”

Hamilton tensed. “NORAD, this is SAC. Are you sure you have a bandit?”

“Affirmative, SAC. We have no previous plot. Bandit has no previous orbital flight. Launch point unknown. This is a big one. Estimated excess of 35,000 pounds.”

“My God!” Ray Hamilton looked across at the enormous screens on the opposite, wall. His staff had already projected a map of the Western Hemisphere and the predicted path of the intruder. The red dotted line led from the bandit’s position over Chile up to a large circle just north of San Diego. Hamilton scowled. The Soviets had tested a 100 megaton bomb, and a vehicle that size could carry one. That thing would take out most of Southern California, including Oceanside. Hamilton’s status board showed Executive One in residence at the Western White House. Suddenly he felt very calm. His voice was unemotional as he spoke into the black phone. “NORAD, this is SAC. Thank you. Send any additional update information. SAC out.” He laid the black phone down and hesitated a second. Then he lifted the red one. A siren blared through the hole. Red lights flashed. That phone was no joke. Hamilton’s throat was dry as he spoke in the unemotional voice of command. “All units, this is SAC. EWO, EWO. Emergency War Orders. This is no drill. Yellow alert. All units, Yellow alert. March Air Base, generate your aircraft wings. I say again, March Air Force Base only, generate the force. SAC out.” He nodded, and the duty officers below him began feeding the authentication codes that would confirm his orders. Across the country men responded. Pilots tumbled from their ready-room bunks and raced across runways to their ships. Within minutes the B-52’s and B-58’s were cocked and ready, engines idling, as their pilots waited for the orders that would launch them toward the north. Each carried maps to half a dozen targets around the world. They would learn which to head for once they were airborne. In forty holes across the northern United States, USAF officers took keys from around their necks and inserted them into gray consoles. They did not, as yet, turn the keys. Above them, sergeants locked steel doors three feet thick into place; the missile commanders were sealed in and would be until the alert was over. Around the missile farms the Minuteman missiles came alert, gyros hummed, computers took in last-second data. At March Air Force Base, Riverside, California, a wing of B-52’s rolled down the runway and took off, the last airborne less than fifteen minutes from the time Ray Hamilton gave his orders. Each ship carried four twenty megaton bombs in its belly, and two more in stand-off missiles hung under the wings. The ships left faint vapor trails in the California sky as they flew northward toward their rendezvous with the tankers. Navigators handed up course data to the pilots, then looked back at their charts. On each chart was a dark black line. When the planes reached that line, they would turn back —unless they had received orders from the president to go on in. The pilots flew grimly, silent, waiting, some praying, hoping for cancellation orders…

* * *

General Ray Hamilton lifted the black phone again. “NORAD, do we have any additional bandits?”

“Negative, SAC. It’s a single object on a ballistic re-entry, automatic sequencing. Not under command so far as we can tell. Pretty big to be a bomb. Too open. I think it’s experimental.”

“So do I.” Hamilton waited. He could call the president, but there’d be no point. If that was a bomb set to detonate at optimum altitude over Oceanside it would take out the president, March AFB, San Diego Navy Yards, Miramar, Long Beach, and a lot of Los Angeles. There would be no way to get the president out in time. And if it blew, there’d be no question about a hostile move against the United States. It probably wasn’t. It was too big and too open. Probably the force would be recalled, and SAC would have had another drill. They had them every week anyway. “All right, NORAD,” Hamilton ordered. “Give me what you get as it comes in. Have you got an intercept launched yet?”

“Affirmative, SAC.”

“Patch me in.”

“Roger, SAC.”

There was a lot of static and several squeals; then Hamilton could hear the pilot of the interceptor flying above the probable area of the bandit’s impact. Ray glanced at his status board. The March AFB wing of 52’s was on its way and put of the danger area. At other bases the ships waited still. His SAC force was poised like a cocked crossbow, and the red phone could launch the greatest concentration of firepower in the history of the world. Not without permission from Executive One, of course. Ray waited; in a few minutes, he’d know. There would be no point in launching, or Executive One wouldn’t care. SAC would own its own planes and missiles again, and SAC would take a terrible vengeance for the president. “NORAD, this is Red Baron Leader. I have visual on the bandit,” came the interceptor pilot’s voice, cold and unemotional. “Roger, Red Baron Leader. Describe.”

“Bandit is lifting body spacecraft with NASA markings. Spacecraft is descending with air speed approximately mach 2.6 slowing rapidly. Spacecraft appears oriented properly for splashdown with low g-stress.”

“Red Baron Leader, say again ID of spacecraft.”

“Spacecraft appears to be United States NASA lifting-buddy ship. I can see the NASA insignia. I say again, spacecraft has US NASA markings. It’s going to splash. It looks to be under control.”

“Red Baron Leader, follow that spacecraft down to splash and stand by to direct Navy recovery team to your location. MIRAMAR, this is NORAD. We have an unscheduled NASA spacecraft splashing in your air defense area. Can you get a recovery team out there pronto, interrogative?”

“Roger NORAD, this is Miramar. Helicopter recovery team will be on the way in five minutes. We will notify Fleet to send out a recovery ship.”

“SAC, this is NORAD. Get all that?”

“Roger, NORAD.” Hamilton shook his head slowly, then watched his status boards. The timers clicked off to zero; bandit was down. He heard the chatter of Red Baron Leader. The spacecraft had made a perfect landing and was afloat. Hamilton waited another minute, then lifted the red phone. Again the sirens wailed. “All units, this is SAC. Cancel EWO. I say again, cancel Emergency War Orders. Return to alert status. March wing, return to base. SAC out.” He laid the red phone down and breathed deeply. An unscheduled spacecraft screaming in for splashdown off San Diego from re-entry over the South Pole. Somebody in NASA was going to get his hide roasted for this. Hamilton hoped he’d be around to see it. In fact, he’d like to do the roasting. The incident had scared him, he would admit now that it was over. In all his years in the Air Force, he’d been through plenty of alerts, but this was the first real one he’d commanded. Ray Hamilton said a short prayer that it would be the last. There wouldn’t be many survivors of a nuclear war. 2

The gold telephone rang, and the president hesitated a moment before answering. There were several of those gold phones throughout the U. S., and they didn’t all mean war, but he was scared every time it rang. He wondered what other presidents had thought when they heard it, and if they ever got used to it. Certainly he hadn’t, and he’d been in office over a year now. The phone rang again, and he lifted it. “Yes.”

“Mister President, this is General Brody.” The president nodded. Brody was White House Chief of Staff. He wouldn’t be calling with a war message. “Sir, we’ve got a small problem out your way. One of NASA’s manned space capsules came in over the Pole and splashed just offshore from you, and SAC went to Yellow Alert.”

“What’s their status now?” he asked quickly. “Back to normal alert status, Mister President.”

“A NASA spacecraft—I don’t recall that we’ve launched any manned capsules recently, General.”

“I don’t either, Mister President. Nor does NASA. But there’s sure as hell one up there—well, down now. Anyway, the Navy’s helicopter boys think this could be one of the ships lost a year ago. Colonel Taylor’s, for instance.”

“Eh?” The president pulled his lower lip. It was a famous gesture and he’d used it so often that it was genuine enough now, even if he had been advised to adopt it by his managers back when he was still in Congress. “What are the chances of its really being one of our ships?

With the crew alive?”

“None, Mister President. That ship maneuvered into the water. It came in on automatic, but there was a pilot working the controls just before it splashed. Colonel Taylor’s been missing over a year. There weren’t enough supplies to keep the crew alive that long. No, sir, it can’t be our people coming back.”

“I see.” The President pulled his lip again. “Have you thought of this possibility, General—that the Russians retrieved one of our missing spacecraft and have now manned it with their own cosmonauts. Could there be Russians aboard that ship?”

The line hummed a moment as General Brody listened to a background voice the President couldn’t quite hear. Then his Chief of Staff came back on. “Sir, there could be anybody aboard that thing. The Navy’s bringing the capsule onto their recovery ship right now. Have you any instructions?”

“Yes. If there’s anyone alive on that thing, welcome them to the United States. Or to Earth, if they’re—uh, there’s always that possibility, isn’t there?

That they’re little green men?

Have Admiral Jardin use his judgment, General. Meanwhile, you get those NASA scientists to go over that ship with whatever’s the scientific equivalent of a fine-toothed comb. When they know anything, tell me. And General, I want full security on this operation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You do understand me, don’t you, General?

This is not for the networks.”

“Yes, sir.” General Brody cradled the phone and swore. He couldn’t blame the president. There’d been a lot of leaks to the press. The heavy sarcasm was probably deserved. Still, there were a lot of people who were easier to work for. He lifted another telephone and dialed; then, as it was ringing, shouted, “Sergeant, where’s that TV monitor?”

“Coming up, General.” Three uniformed men rolled a color TV set into General Brody’s office. They fussed with the dials, and a picture formed. The camera was atop the island on the aircraft carrier, looking down onto the flight deck. Brody could just see waves over the side of the ship—a calm sea. A crane lifted the space capsule out of the water and over the deck. There was no mistaking the NASA markings on the sides and the vertical stabilizer. Ugly ship, Brody thought. No wings. Just the body of the craft, bent, so that it would provide lift at high speeds. Pilots told him it had all the glide characteristics of a rock, but they were all willing to fly in it. With the cutbacks in the space program, there were five astronauts for every mission anyway. The capsule was lowered to the deck with a thump. Sailors clustered around it Brody’s phone rang and he answered absently. “Admiral Jardin, sir,” the voice on the phone said. “Put him on.” Brody continued to watch the spacecraft on the TV set. No one wanted to open it. Two Navy surgeons stood outside the hatch, watching, saying nothing. Admiral Jardin, with a phone, stood with them. Brody spoke into his phone. “You going to open that thing, Admiral?

I’ve got a TV monitor here, I’m watching. The president says you’re to use your own judgment, but keep the reporters away.”

“We were wondering about quarantine, General,” Admiral Jardin said. The voice was gruff and hard, rasping. “Both ways. What might we catch from them, of course, but if they’ve been a long time in space they have been in a sterile environment. What might they catch from us?

Whoops!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Excuse me, General, the problem’s not ours anymore. Whoever’s inside is opening the hatch. See it?”

“Yes.”

The hatch cover opened very slowly. Brody watched as it swung all the way, and a ladder was rolled up. Three figures climbed out. A bit clumsy, Brody thought. Why not?

They were a long time in space. Only how had they managed that?

Could that be Colonel Taylor and his crew?

The astronauts wore complete space gear: full pressure suits, coveralls over that, helmets with mirrored visors dogged into place. They’d be roasting in there, Brody thought. A man sealed into a full pressure suit and disconnected from cooling air can quickly generate enough heat to cook himself to death, and there is no place for the heat to go. A Navy flight surgeon came forward and gestured at the helmets. The astronauts nodded and reached up to the latches, began undogging the faceplates. “Welcome aboard, gentlemen,” Admiral Jardin said. The helmets opened. Brody’s TV screen gave a perfect view into each faceplate. His sergeant was watching intently too. He looked at the astronauts and roared with laughter. “Monkeys!” he shouted. “Holy clout, General, they caught themselves three monkeys in space suits!”

“Admiral Jardin,” Brody said quietly into the phone. His voice was the same deadly calm that Ray Hamilton had used when he alerted SAC. “Admiral—”

“Yes, General. You are seeing it. That is what you wanted to ask, isn’t it?

I’m seeing it too,” the Admiral said. “No question about it, our astronauts are chimpanzees.”

“And just where the devil did they come from?” Brody demanded. “I’ll just ask them, shall I?”

“Admiral, I have to report to the president. I do toot need your jokes.”

“Sorry, Len. Well; have you any suggestions?

This is a bit stranger than I’d expected. I’m at a loss.”

“Yeah. So am I. Well, the president wants an examination of that capsule made. Immediate and thorough. Meanwhile, take the—uh, the passengers somewhere secure. Someplace that knows how to take care of them. You got any labs around there?

A university maybe?”

“Not secure.” Admiral Jardin was quiet for a moment. “I have a friend in the LA Zoo Commission. I expect we could get them lodged there without anybody’s knowing it. We can’t keep this secret very long, General. The whole crew of this ship knows…”

“Yeah. But the president decides when to break this, and to whom. Right?

OK, take ’em to the zoo. That seems an appropriate place for chimps. Get somebody to examine them. Somebody with clearances.”

“You save the easy jobs for the Navy, don’t you?” Jardin said sourly. Brody made a face at the phone. “You think you have troubles?

I’ve got to report to the president. He’s going to just love this.”

3

Admiral George “Snapper” Jardin was not a happy man. What made things worse was that none of these problems were his own fault. His Navy people had performed flawlessly. Within minutes of the signal that an unscheduled spacecraft was going to splash down, be had a Navy interceptor fighter in the air over the predicted splash area, a rescue helicopter airborne and on the way, and a recovery carrier speeding to the scene at twenty-eight knots. The chopper crew put inflation collars around the spacecraft and kept it upright and afloat. His carrier came alongside and hoisted it aboard. Everything went fine—until the astronauts turned out to be chimpanzees. Snapper Jardin shuddered again. How did they get in the ship?

“Where have we got them now?” he asked his aide. “In the wardroom, Admiral,” Lt. Commander Hartley said. “We had them in sick bay, but there are too many things they might get hold of down there. They could hurt themselves.”

“I bet the ship’s officers like having monkeys in their wardroom. Did anybody object?”

“No, sir.” How could anyone object?

Hartley wondered. They hadn’t been asked. In his experience, nobody ever asked in the Navy; the brass sent down The Word, and that was that. “Did you get the LA Zoo?”

“Yes, sir,” Hartley said. “They’re ready. Tight security. The apes can go into the sick bay. Nothing in there right now, except a mauled fox cub, a deer with pneumonia, and a depressed gorilla who’s lost his mate. The apes will be out of sight, quarantined, and there’ll be plenty of facilities for medical and psych examinations.”

“Sounds good.” Jardin lifted the phone by the chart table. “Bridge?

My compliments to the Skipper, and please take this ship into Long Beach Navy Station, standard cruising speed.” He turned back to his aide. “You found the experts yet?”

“Sir, there are a couple of animal psychologists on the UCLA staff. There’s some Army grant or other funding their work, so they’ve got clearances. They’ll start in on the apes tomorrow morning.”

“Good.” Jardin stood. “Let’s go see those apes, anyway. Has anybody fed them?

There ought to be steaks aboard this ship—would they want them raw or cooked?”

“Sir, I’m told that chimpanzees are pretty much vegetarians.”

“Oh. Well, we can’t let them starve.”

“No, sir. I’ve got a sack full of oranges. One of the pilots had a supply. I thought I’d take those below.”

“Good thinking.” They walked through the ship and down two levels to the wardroom. A Marine sentry stood outside the door. “You have them alone in there, Corporal?” Admiral Jardin demanded. “No, sir. The surgeon’s inside with them, sir. But—”

“But what, Corporal?”

“You better look for yourself, Admiral. Them apes ain’t normal, sir. Not like any apes I ever saw.” He opened the wardroom door. Surgeon. Lt. Commander Gordon Ashmead, USNR, stood in one corner of the wardroom staring at the chimpanzees. The three apes were seated at the wardroom table. On the floor between them was a large valise. Three full pressure suits lay stretched out on the wardroom floor. Coveralls were hung across chairs. As the admiral entered, two of the chimps stood, exactly as a junior officer might stand when an admiral enters; the third chimpanzee struggled to close a zippered housecoat. “Excuse me,” Admiral Jardin said. “I didn’t mean—good Lord. What am I saying?” He looked at the apes, then at Ashmead. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant Commander,” Jardin said: “I see you’ve undressed them.”

“No, sir. They took off the suits themselves.”

“Uh?” Jardin frowned. There was nothing easy about getting out of a full pressure suit. They fit like gloves, and had dozens of snaps and laces that had to be loosened. “With no help?”

“They helped each other, sir.”

“And now they’re pretending to dress,” Jardin’s aide said. “Pretending hell,” Admiral Jardin snapped. “They are dressing. Doctor, where did they get those clothes?”

“They brought them with them, sir. In that valise.”

“Now just a bloody minute,” Jardin protested. “You’re telling me that three chimpanzees got out of a space capsule carrying a suitcase. They brought that suitcase down here, took off their pressure suits, and out of their suitcase they took clothes that fit. Then they put on the clothes.”

“Yes, sir,” Ashmead said emphatically. “That is precisely what I am telling you, Admiral.”

“I see.” Jardin looked at the three chimps. They had all resumed their seats at the wardroom table. “Do you think they understand what we’re saying, Doctor?”

Ashmead shrugged. “I doubt it, sir. They are very well trained, and chimps are the most intelligent of the animals. Except, perhaps, for dolphins. But all attempts to teach them languages have failed. They can learn signals but not syntax.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, sir, a dog, for instance, can understand commands. The command is a signal. When he hears it, he does something. But you can’t tell the dog to go around the block and up the stairs, then execute the command. You could train him to do it that way, of course, but you couldn’t tell him to do it. He wouldn’t understand. That would take language.”

“They sure look like they’re listening to us,” Admiral Jardin said. He turned to his aide. “Greg, give them their oranges. Maybe they’re hungry.”

“Yes, sir.” Hartley laid the bag on the wardroom table. One of the chimpanzees took it and carefully lifted out each orange. Another reached into the valise and took out a small pocket knife. “Here now!

Wait a second,” the Marine shouted. He advanced toward the chimpanzee. “Hold it,” Dr. Ashmead said. “It’s all right, Corporal. The knife’s very short and not sharp at all. It’s the second tool they’ve employed—they used a small pick to untie a knot in one of their suit laces.”

“Um.” Admiral Jardin nodded to the Marine. “It’s all right if the Lt. Commander says it is, son. Look, you go out and arrange for an MP van to meet us at the docks, uh?

We’ll want to take these critters to the zoo.”

The chimpanzee carefully peeled the first orange and passed it to another ape. She began peeling a second. “That’s an interesting behavior pattern too, Admiral,” Ashmead said. “Usually apes won’t share. Occasionally a male will offer something to a female, and of course the big alpha males demand and get whatever they want from the smaller males, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a female offering a male a peeled orange.”

“She’s giving the next one away, too. Very nice manners, eh Greg?”

“Yes, sir,” Jardin’s aide said automatically. He couldn’t care less about the manners of a chimpanzee. He wanted to get back to San Diego where a blonde go-go dancer was waiting. She wouldn’t wait long. She didn’t have nice manners at all, but she had other compensations. “Now what’s she doing?” Jardin asked. The chimpanzee had eaten the third orange, and was beginning to peel more for the others. She kept the peelings in a neat pile. “Greg, shove that wastebasket over there and see what she does, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” The chimp pushed the peelings off into the basket. One fell to the deck and she carefully leaned over to pick it up and drop it in with the rest. “They sure are well trained, Admiral,” Dr. Ashmead said. “I’d almost think they were somebody’s house pets.”

One of the chimpanzees snorted loudly. Admiral Jardin frowned. “Well, it’s not my problem. For all I care they could stay in the Long Beach Station Hospital—only haven’t I heard you can’t toilet train an ape?

Is that right, Doctor?”

“I don’t think anybody has yet,” Ashmead answered. “Bit out of my line, though.”

“I suppose the nurses wouldn’t care for apes in their hospital,” the Admiral said. “No, sir.”

Jardin looked at the chimpanzees and shook his head. He’d had sailors with worse manners—there were sailors on this ship with worse manners, he told himself. “Well, they’ll be happier in the zoo, anyway. They’ll even have company. I’m told there’s a gorilla in the next cage.”

The female chimpanzee slammed the pocket knife to the wardroom table. Admiral Jardin laughed. “You’d almost think she understood me and doesn’t like gorillas, wouldn’t you?”

4

It was dark at the Los Angeles Zoo. Jim Haskins whistled as he made his final rounds of the hospital section. There’d been a lot of excitement earlier, but it was all quiet now, and things were almost normal. He still resented the two Marines with guns outside the hospital section, and the other Marines and their officers camped in trailers not far away, but they weren’t interfering with Jim’s routine now, and he’d finally caught up on his chores. It was time to go home. First, though, he looked in on his fox cub. Somehow the poor thing had gotten loose and ended up in the run with the Dingos, and those Aussie wild dogs had made a mess of her. Luckily there had been a keeper near enough to rescue her. The fox looked all right now. She had taken sedation nicely, and the IV was dripping properly. Jim nodded in satisfaction. He wasn’t quite a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine yet; he had another year of night school to go. But all the vets agreed that Jim Haskins had a touch about him that was worth more than book learning. There was a deer in the next cage, with ultraviolet lights to keep it warm. Jim didn’t think it was going to make it. Pneumonia was always bad with animals, and the deer family hardly ever recovered from it. Too bad, really, but at least it wasn’t one of the rare species. The gorilla was in the next cage, and it seemed to be asleep. That was a bad one, thought Jim. His official name was Bobo, but somebody had dubbed him “Monstro” and that stuck. He had been all right until his mate died, then he’d taken to brooding, and he was getting meaner all the time. Jim hoped the curator would trade Monstro to another zoo, someplace that needed a gorilla. It would be nice if they had an unattached female Monstro could woo, but the chances were pretty slim at his age. Then there were the three new chimps. Nice healthy ones. They must have been somebody’s house pets, because they insisted on wearing clothes. They wanted to keep knives, too. Jim had been firm about that. The zoo rules had to be kept, even by chimpanzees brought in by the Navy and a lot of doctors and armed Marines. The lights were still on in the new chimps’ cage. Jim made sure there was plenty of bed straw and that the floors were clean, and they had oranges and bananas to eat. They were acting a bit scared. They hadn’t eaten anything, and they wouldn’t climb on the jungle gym or swing on the tires, but maybe they’d get over that in a day or so. Chimps were always fun. Jim had never had any trouble with chimps. He liked them. The female seemed lonesome, sitting there at the edge of the cage. Jim found an especially nice banana and peeled it for her. He reached through the bars. The regulations said he wasn’t supposed to get that close to the cages when he was alone. Apes could grab a man and hurt him. They wouldn’t mean to, usually, but they could play rough, and it might be necessary to hurt one of the animals if it got loose. But he’d never had trouble with chimps, and she looked so lonesome sitting there. She slapped the banana away. Then she slapped him. Jim stepped back from the cage and shrugged. “Have it your way, mate. Good night.” He flipped out the lights, and swung his flashlight around for a final inspection. Everything was in order, and he left the hospital ward, carefully closing the door. The chimpanzees stared at the closed door. “I’m not his mate,” the female said carefully. “I’m yours.”

“Zira, please. Control yourself, my dear. I think they’re trying to be kind.”

“This, cage stinks of gorilla,” Zira insisted. She sat on the straw. One of the males joined her and took her hand. “But—Cornelius, where are we?” she asked. “And why are we pretending to be dumb animals?”

Cornelius looked up at the other male. “It was your idea, Dr. Milo. You haven’t had a chance to explain before. I think now would be a good time.”

“I did not think it wise to let them know we can speak, before,” Milo said carefully. He peeled an orange and ate it, grimacing as the juice ran across his fingers. “Now I’m sure of it. Consider. As we achieved orbit in Colonel Taylor’s spacecraft, we saw an explosion below. At least one entire hemisphere was destroyed. I do not doubt that the entire earth was made uninhabitable. Are we agreed?”

The seated chimpanzees nodded. “But if Earth is destroyed, where are we?” Zira asked again. “I’ll tell you in a moment. Consider the situation, then. We are possibly the only survivors of our civilization. The last of the apes have killed each other in a war that no one could win. The fools have accomplished what they’ve been trying to achieve for centuries, and we can never go home. Now. As to where we are. I believe that in some fashion—and I lack the intellect to know precisely how, although I have theories—we have traveled from our own time into the past. Our civilization, the time of the apes, is in the distant future of this time. We are in our dim past, at a time when men are the dominant species on Earth, and apes cannot as yet speak.”

“But—we saw the earth destroyed!” Cornelius insisted. “And Earth will be destroyed,” Milo said evenly. “Just as we saw it. But it destroyed itself in such a manner that we were sent into the past.”

“How?” Cornelius insisted. “I told you, I am not precisely certain,” Milo said. “The philosophers have shown there is a definite relationship between time and velocity. Somehow, we had, through the combined orbital velocity of our spacecraft and that imparted to us by the greatest explosion in Earth’s history, just the right velocity to send us into the past. If you do not like that explanation, call it magic; I have no better one. The important thing is, we are here.”

Cornelius nodded. “All right. We’re in our own past. What an opportunity!”

“For an historian like yourself, yes,” Milo agreed. He looked around the cage and up at the electric lights, and waved his arms expansively. “Marvelous equipment!

Think, Cornelius, all the old legends are true. Humans did have a machine civilization, with power to do almost anything they wished!”

“And destroyed it,” Cornelius reminded him. “And destroyed it,” Milo repeated. He lowered his voice in wonder. “But why, Cornelius?

With all this, with so many amazing things, so much we have not seen but must exist for all this to exist, could they not have been happy with it?

We would have been dazzled by a tenth of this.”

“For how long?” Zira asked. Milo nodded. “True. Humans and apes alike, never satisfied with what they have.” He sighed and paused a moment. “Your first question,” he said. “Consider. If we speak, the humans will ask us about our origin.” He had turned very serious. “Will we be able to conceal enough from them?

I do not think they would be edified to learn that one day their world will crack like an egg and fry to a cinder because of an ape war of aggression.”

“I see,” Cornelius said. “I think you are right. Zira?

Do you agree?”

“No.” She looked around the semi-darkened cage. “If we don’t talk to them, they’ll keep us in cages. They won’t give us any clothes. We don’t even have sanitary facilities!

Cornelius, I can’t live like a barbarian!

We are civilized intellectuals.”

“Shh,” Milo said. “You’re disturbing the gorilla.” He pointed to the inhabitant of the next cage. “Oh. Sorry,” Zira called. There was no answer and she looked up, not too surprised. Gorillas were never polite. “He doesn’t understand you,” Milo reminded her. “Apes, at this instant in time, cannot yet talk. And I believe that for the moment, we would do well to follow their example. We can reveal nothing if we will not communicate with them.”

“All right,” Cornelius said. “I’ll go along. Zira?”

“Good night,” she told him. She stretched out on the straw and grimaced. “I think we will need the sleep. Good night.”

* * *

Zira woke early. The zoo was filled with unfamiliar noises: birds whistling, the growls of large carnivores, mechanical sounds of the zoo machinery. She could identify almost none of it. The whole concept of a mechanically dominated world was alien to her, although her husband’s historical research had at least made her intellectually familiar with the idea. She knew about this world, but she couldn’t feel it. Cornelius and Milo were still asleep as Zira got up from the straw and washed herself in the shallow pool in one corner of the cage. The big male gorilla still slept in his own cage; Zira curled her lip at him. She had never liked gorillas, although she knew it was an indefensible prejudice. Zira spent the next few minutes exploring the cage. It was certainly secure, fastened with padlocks that required keys. She didn’t wonder that the humans had used that kind of lock. In her own world and time, men in cages would play with the locking system so that if there were any way it could be opened without a key, they’d get it open. She supposed that apes must do the same here and now. Wherever and whenever that was. The thought frightened her. They had seen the world destroyed. All agreed they’d seen it. But it was beginning to fade, a memory harder and harder to call up, like a dream from a long time ago. It had happened so fast. They had barely launched Colonel Taylor’s ship and made orbit when the world flamed white and red and orange, the shock wave hit them, and their ship had begun an automatic re-entry sequence. Her reverie was interrupted when the main door opened and the man who had tried to give her the banana last night came in. He smiled, his lips pressed carefully together so that his teeth didn’t show, and said “Feel better this morning?”

Zira almost answered. If the human hadn’t been so ugly, so manlike, she would have; but it always, surprised her to hear humans talk. She had known only three who could. She felt ashamed of herself for slapping the keeper last night. How could he know she didn’t like bananas?

He was only trying to be nice. The man looked into all the cages, then went into the enclosure with the deer and did something Zira couldn’t see. It was obvious that the human liked animals. He seemed as civilized as any chimpanzee. As she watched him, Cornelius and Dr. Milo woke up. Zira turned to her husband and said “Good morning.”

The keeper turned quickly from the sick deer. “Who’s there?” he said When no one answered, he wandered through the zoo hospital building, looking everywhere, and muttering. “Quiet,” Cornelius whispered. “I still think it’s the wrong idea,” Zira said. “We ought to talk to them.” She kept her voice low. The keeper finally went back to his sick deer. He was still shaking his head and muttering. A few minutes later the doors opened again. Two humans in white coats came in. The male was about six feet tall, with sandy brown hair and the kind of square-jawed features that Zira associated with the more aggressive humans. The female was much shorter, with dark hair and eyes. The soldiers at the door followed her into the room and gazed at her for a time before they went back outside, and Zira deduced that they found her very attractive. She had never understood human standards of beauty. “Good morning, Dr. Dixon,” the keeper said. “Morning, Jim. This is my new assistant, Dr. Stephanie Branton. Stevie, meet Jim Haskins. He’s a better animal psychiatrist than I am.”

The humans chattered together for a long time. Two soldiers brought a desk and some tables into the corridor outside the cages, then brought in crates of apparatus. Zira watched with interest. The equipment was unfamiliar, but extremely well made, and she felt envy. If she could have had some of her designs built that well…

All three apes watched as the humans set up their apparatus. Dr. Milo was worried; what did these humans intend?

Who were their friends and who their enemies?

It was quite possible, he thought, that they would have no friends at all. 5

Dr. Lewis Dixon watched lazily as the zoo people set up his apparatus. He was by nature a careful man, but not a worrier; there was no point in driving himself crazy about how the chimpanzees got in Colonel Taylor’s space capsule. He would find out or he wouldn’t, and worrying was not going to help a bit. He grinned at Stevie, and she smiled back. She had been with his team only about three weeks, and they were already half in love. He even had disturbing thoughts about orange blossoms and weddings. Lewis Dixon had always sworn that he would marry someone outside his profession; somebody with a life of her own, a different kind of career, so that they would have some common interests but different ones too. Stevie was making hash out of all his resolutions. She’d had the same idea, and she wasn’t having any more success than he was. He winked at her, and knew she was thinking the same things. Stevie and Jim carried some of the equipment into the cage. “Female’s a little uppity,” Jim said. “Slapped me last night. Not hard, though.”

“Hey, be careful, Hon,” Lewis called. “I will.” Stevie grinned. Lewis thought it a very nice grin. Good teeth. No future dental bills to pay. The test apparatus was simple. A shade that could be raised and lowered divided a low table. The experimenter sat at one side, and the subject at the other. As Stevie and Jim set it up, Lewis observed the chimps through half-closed eyes. They’d seen something like this before. He was certain of it. They were almost purposive in their attempts to ignore what Stephanie was doing. Lewis had never seen chimpanzees act that way before. But, he thought, I’ve never seen chimps wearing full pressure suits either. Or carrying a suitcase full of clothes, if I can believe that Navy flight surgeon. “They had to be trained to work some of the controls of that spacecraft,” Lewis said. “May as well make the first tests hard ones. These are probably very intelligent chimps.”

“All right,” Stephanie called. “Try the female first,” Lewis said. “She keeps watching you. I think she wants to play.”

Jim led Zira to the screen. Stephanie lowered the screen to reveal a red cube. She raised the screen and placed a number of other objects with the cube: a red cone, a blue cube, red sphere, etc., then lowered it again. Zira promptly pointed to the red cube. Stephanie smiled. “Very good.” She touched a button in the apparatus, and a compartment on Zira’s side opened. It had raisins, and the chimp ate them quickly, smacking her lips. Lewis entered the cage, whistling softly to himself. “You can forget simple discrimination tests,” he said. “Those chimps are trained. Very well trained.”

“Sure about the others, Doctor Dixon?” Jim asked. Lewis nodded. “I was watching them. They reacted when she reached for the cube. These chimps have been exposed to a lot of tests, Jim. We’d better make the next one tough.”

“Wonder if they can play games?” Stevie asked. She brushed long soft brown hair away from her eyes and put a hair clip back into place. “Tic-tac-toe?

Some chimps can play it.”

Lewis shrugged. “That’s true. OK.”

They set an illuminated game board on the table. Stephanie handed Zira the stylus and nodded as the chimpanzee made a mark in the center square. “She knows the rules all right.”

“Try the male,” Lewis suggested. Jim took Cornelius by the hand and led him to the table. Cornelius made a mark in the corner. Zira made another. Then Cornelius. Three moves later, Zira leaped up and held her hands clasped over her head, victorious boxer style. She chattered laughter. “That settles that,” Lewis said. He took raisins from his pocket and gave them to Zira, then a smaller number to Cornelius. “Stevie, I’ve never heard of chimps who could play Tic-tac-toe by the rules. Not like that, waiting their turn to move—the best I’ve ever seen is a race to make three in a row. Those are the best trained chimpanzees I’ve ever heard of.”

“Is it just training, Lew?

Couldn’t it be intelligence?”

“It’d be a whole order of magnitude higher than we expect of apes,” Lewis Dixon said. “OK. Let’s find out. Kroeger’s test.”

“Sure.” Stephanie helped him attach a banana to the ceiling. The ladder was removed from the cage. Then several boxes and a stick were laid on the cage floor. The three chimps stared at the boxes, up to the banana, and out to Lewis and Stevie. “Maybe they aren’t hungry,” Jim said. “Fed ’em a lot last night.”

“I think they’re too stupid,” Lewis said. “They were only trained, not intelligent. As I thought.”

Zira snorted. One of the other chimps squalled. Zira looked at the boxes for a moment, then attached two together. She added others until they formed a staircase, and, with the pole, would let her reach the banana. Zira climbed to the top of the box, used the stick to touch the fruit, and climbed back down again. “But why didn’t she get it?” Stevie asked. Zira turned to the girl. “Because I loathe and detest bananas.” Her voice was very clear and carefully controlled. Cornelius shouted: “Zira!”

Stephanie sat very carefully at the desk outside the cage. “You all right?” Lewis asked. His own legs felt a little rubbery. “Sure. It surprised me, that’s all. I don’t know why. It’s only a chimpanzee speaking English. We did hear that, didn’t we, Lewis?” She continued to sit at the desk. “We surely did,” Lewis said. He turned to the chimps. “Can all of you talk?”

There was no answer at first. Then Zira said, “Of course we can. The others don’t want to while you’re here. Will you leave us alone for a minute?”

“Ye gods!” Lewis said. He motioned to the keeper who was standing as if carved from stone. They left the cage, locking it carefully behind them. “Come on, Stevie,” Lewis said. “Do you think it is wise to leave them?” she asked. She struggled to her feet, surprised at how hard it was to stand. “Yes. Now come on.” He put his arm around her waist as they went out the door at the end of the hall. The door closed behind them. There was a long silence, “They may be listening to us,” Cornelius said at last. “Nonsense,” Zira snorted. “If they knew how to make it possible to listen to us, they already knew we could talk. It is time we told them everything.”

Milo studied Zira’s face intently as he said, “Zira, are you mad?”

“Dr. Milo, please do not call my wife mad.”

“I did not call her mad, Professor Cornelius. I merely asked her if she had gone mad. And I repeat the question. Zira, are you mad?”

“No. But I hate deceit.”

“So do I,” Milo replied. “But there is a time for truth and a time, not for lies, but for silence. Until we know who is our friend and who is our enemy —”

“And how in God’s name do we find out if we won’t communicate?” Zira demanded. “We can speak. So I spoke.”

“We can also listen,” Milo said. “No longer,” Cornelius reminded them. “Besides, did you not see the interest Dr. Lewis took in us?

He already suspected something. He goaded Zira into making that staircase. With words. Already he half expected her to understand him. And Milo, what do we hear when we listen?

A lot of psychiatric small talk.”

“We can also observe—”

“A display of primitive apparatus.”

“Primitive?” Zira gave the table a vicious kick. “It’s prehistoric. This junk wouldn’t test the intelligence of a newt.” She kicked the display again, and a leg fell off the table. “Zira, for God’s sake, be calm,” Cornelius protested. “I am calm.” She continued to kick the apparatus. “Why should I be upset?

Our world is gone. We’re trapped here among primitive humans, possibly the only intelligent apes in the universe, and we’re locked in a cage that stinks of gorilla!

Why shouldn’t I be calm?

I am calm!” She delivered another vicious kick. “Now you’ve disturbed Milo,” Cornelius said, fighting to remain calm himself. Milo screwed his clenched fists into his eyes as he paced in frustration. He walked as far from the other two as he could, until he was stopped by the bars separating their cage from the gorilla. Then he faced them angrily. “For God’s sake, stop fighting!

It’s too late anyway. Now they know. We’ve got to think what we ought to tell them.”

“You don’t have to shout at me!” Zira snapped. “I am NOT SHOUTING!” Milo shouted. He shook himself. More quietly, he said “Use your heads and start thinking.”

“Milo, look out!” Cornelius shouted. He rushed forward, but not in time. The gorilla in the next cage had reached through the bars and seized Milo. It held him against the bars and laughed. “MILO-O-O-O!” Zira screamed. “Milo!

Cornelius, help him!”

The door opened and Lewis Dixon came in. He saw the situation and shouted to the keeper. “Get your pistol, Jim!

Quick!” Dixon rushed forward to the gorilla cage and began to open the door. He waved to distract the gorilla, shouted, anything to make it release the chimpanzee. It did nothing, but continued to hold Milo, squeezing tighter, not moving. “He’s killing him!” Zira shouted. The two chimpanzees were trying to pull the gorilla’s hands away from Milo’s throat. “We’re not strong enough!”

Jim Haskins came up with a.32 automatic. He looked on in confusion. “Shoot, Jim!” Dixon commanded. “That’s a valuable animal,” Haskins protested. He stood there, paralyzed. “Damn it, so are the chimps!” Dixon screamed. “Shoot the damned gorilla!”

Jim shuffled about in indecision. The two Marines had rushed into the room and stood outside the cage, uncertain of what to do. “Shoot the gorilla!” Dixon commanded. One of the Marines raised his rifle. He fired, slowly, three times. Bright splotches appeared on the gorilla’s chest. It looked up, surprised, but it did not release Milo. “Again!” Dixon ordered. Jim Haskins came into the cage. With a sad look he placed his pistol against the gorilla’s head and fired. The shot was not very loud after the blast of the Marine’s rifle. The gorilla convulsed and staggered backward, his grip about Milo’s neck relaxed at last. Milo fell in a shapeless heap. He did not move. 6

Dr. Lewis Dixon walked along with the white-coated attendants carrying away the body of the chimpanzee the others called “Milo.” Lewis grimaced involuntarily as he looked at the strangled body, and glanced up at Stevie. She was ashen, and still shaking. “We’ll need a full dissection,” Lewis said. He kept his voice deliberately low so that the other chimps wouldn’t hear. “Yes,” Stephanie said. “With a great deal of attention to the temporal lobes and speech centers.”

“But don’t start just yet,” Lewis continued. “Don’t disturb anything until we can get the gross anatomy. Keep him in cold storage until I can get there.”

“Yes, sir.” The attendants went out of the hospital wing of the zoo, and Lewis took Stephanie’s hand. He led her back to the chimpanzee cage. The door stood open, and they went inside. Zira sat huddled against Cornelius. She sobbed against his shoulder, as Cornelius gently stroked her back. “We mean you no harm,” Lewis said. There was no response from the apes. “Do you understand?

We mean you no harm.”

Zira looked up in rage. She pointed to the dead gorilla in the next cage. “But he isn’t us,” Lewis protested. “He’s your own kind.”

“He’s a gorilla,” Zira snapped. She leaped to her feet. “They’re all alike, killers. We are not gorillas!”

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said. “I meant he’s of your own genus. He’s an ape. Anyway, you needn’t be afraid of him any longer. The army men shot him.”

“Poetic justice,” Cornelius said. “I beg your pardon?” Lewis said automatically. He winced slightly at the thought of begging an ape’s pardon. “I don’t think I understood.”

“In—uh, our world,” Cornelius said, “gorillas are the army.”

“And humans are their usual enemies,” Zira finished. “Zira!” Cornelius warned. Lewis and Stephanie looked at the apes in astonishment “Perhaps you had better explain that,” Lewis said. “They called you both ‘Doctor’,” Zira said. “Are you medical people?”

“We specialize in animal behavior,” Stevie said. “I’m a psychologist. Lewis is a psychiatrist.”

“So am I,” Zira said. The two humans stepped back as if struck. Finally Lewis said, “All right. If you say so.”

“The question is,” Zira asked, “do you have the same professional customs as we?

Are doctor-patient conversations always confidential?”

“Yes,” Lewis said. Stevie nodded. “And are we your patients?” Zira continued. Lewis looked thoughtful. “I’ve never thought of professional ethics as involving animal patients,” he said carefully. “But yes. Of course. Stevie?”

She nodded, the skin around her blue eyes creased with tiny lines. She looked puzzled, but said nothing. “Certainly,” Lewis repeated. “And we still mean you no harm.”

“We realize that,” Cornelius said. “But—” Zira protested. “Nonsense, my dear. What have we to lose?

We must trust someone. Why not our physicians?”

“That’s better,” Lewis said. Jim Haskins came back into the hospital wing, but Lewis waved him out. He waited until they were alone again. “Do you have a name?” he asked. “My name is Cornelius. This is Zira, my wife.” The chimpanzee extended his hand. Automatically Lewis took it, as Stephanie shook hands with Zira. “I’m Lewis. Lewis Dixon. And this is Stephanie Branton. Tell me, uh, Cornelius, where do you come from?”

Cornelius looked helplessly at Zira. She shrugged. He looked back to Lewis and shrugged also. “Dr. Milo knew—”

“Doctor?”

“Yes. And you killed him,” Zira said bitterly. “Nonsense, dear. The gorilla killed him. Irrational accusations aren’t going to help.” Cornelius’s voice was stern. Lewis felt sweat break out across his brow. Despite his guaranteed Stay-DriEST deodorant, he did not feel secure at all. He loosened his collar and fanned himself with the lapels of the white lab coat. He was too warm in the coat, but it was his symbol of authority here, and he didn’t want to take it off. Even as he fanned himself he knew he was using the coat as a security blanket and wanted to laugh at himself. “Didn’t Dr. Milo tell you where he thought you came from?” Lewis asked. The apes looked at each other and said nothing. “You can trust us,” Stevie said. “Please.”

Cornelius smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of amusement. “From our present —backwards into yours.”

Lewis growled deep in his throat, startling the chimps. His brow wrinkled. “You mean time travel?”

“Yes.”

“Nobody’s going to believe it. I don’t even want to report it.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t anyway,” Cornelius said. “Nobody’s going to believe any of this,” Stephanie reminded them. “Any of what?” Zira demanded. “That primitive apes can talk,” Stephanie said. “Primitive?” Zira stalked across the cage, stamping her feet. “Primitive!”

“But…” Stevie protested. “What Dr. Branton means,” Lewis said, “is that in our ‘primitive’ civilization, apes just don’t talk. None of them. And I think perhaps it will be best if we arrange it so that when you do talk for public benefit, you do it for the, uh, ‘right people’.”

“I see.” Cornelius laughed softly. “We had something of the same problem in our, uh, time.”

Zira leaned against her husband and looked searchingly at the humans. Finally she smiled. “Can I say something else in confidence?”

Lewis returned the smile. “Certainly. Please do.”

“I like you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I did from the beginning,” Cornelius said. “Both of you. I hope all humans are as pleasant as you are.”

Stevie looked worriedly from one chimpanzee to the other. “Don’t count on it,” she said. Her pretty mouth was drawn tightly, and her face was a mask. “Don’t count on it at all.”

“What do you mean?” Cornelius asked. She grimaced. “Wait until you meet the ‘right people’.”

“Stevie,” Lewis protested. “That’s hardly fair. I would prefer you didn’t let your political beliefs intrude in this.”

“Aren’t you letting yours get in the way of your professional judgment?” Stevie asked. “Let’s not fight, Lewis. But I’m scared. I really am.”

7

Long curling waves rolled onto the white sandy beach outside the Western White House. The blue green of the Pacific and the brilliant white of the sand blended together as the curlers came ashore with crashing foam. Sailboats scudded past far offshore. The president stood at his window and looked out at the bright sunshine and sea. This view always made him sigh because he couldn’t go out in a small sailboat. The Secret Service men had nearly fainted at the thought, and by the time they had outlined their security provisions, with trailing motor boats, life jackets, a trained Navy diver on the sailboat as crew, and all the rest, he knew it wouldn’t be any fun. The president sighed again and turned from the window to his aide. “You can show them in,” he said. They filed in: General Brody, White House Chief of Staff; three Deputy Chiefs to represent the Services; his press secretary; the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, who was also his principal political advisor, as the Postmaster General had once been. The president wrinkled his nose in wry amusement and distaste. Everyone was horrified at the idea that the head of the Post Office might be a political hack with no knowledge of the mail, only skill at winning elections, and they had handed the Post Office over to the professionals. Strangely, though, the mails were faster and more efficient, and certainly cheaper, back when the Postmaster General was a politician. * * *

The last man to come in was Dr. Victor Hasslein, Science Advisor. The president didn’t like Dr. Hasslein very much. He was one of those tall, thin, tweedy types, the kind who had intimidated the president when he was at college, and although most professors had changed their image since those years, Hasslein never did. He remained a typical scientist, with little understanding of politics, which, to the president, meant people. That was all there was to politics, so far as he was concerned. A good politician keeps people happy. A bad one has troubles. “Please be seated,” the president said, but he had to sit before the military people would. He grinned to himself as he thought about that. “Well,” the president said. “We’ve quite a problem here. General Brody is probably most familiar with the latest details; perhaps, General, you’ll summarize for the others?”

“Yes, sir.” Brody cleared his throat. “As most of you know, we had a Yellow Alert in SAC yesterday. An unidentified object re-entered without previous orbital trace, and impacted about ten miles from here. Naturally SAC didn’t like it and sent out the EWO. However, the object proved to be a United States NASA manned spacecraft, one of the two presumed lost in deep space over a year ago. To be exact, this was the one commanded by Colonel Taylor.”

The press secretary looked up sharply. “Sir?”

“Please wait,” the president said. “General, if you’ll continue.”

“Yes, sir. Well, the spacecraft seemed to be under command. Piloted. The Navy very creditably recovered it after it splashed—good work, Admiral.” There was a pause as everyone nodded at the admiral. “And we recovered the astronauts on board a Navy carrier. They were in good health when we got them.”

“Amazing,” the Army representative said. He looked over at the Air Force deputy. “Zeke, was Taylor alive after all that time?”

“It wasn’t Colonel Taylor,” the president said. “But, sir, General Brody said all three astronauts were alive—and it was Taylor’s spacecraft—Good Lord!

Who are they?”

Brody spoke. “We have only two now. One was unfortunately killed this morning in an accident at the Los Angeles Zoo.”

“Zoo?” Dr. Victor Hasslein had listened patiently, although it was obvious that someone was playing games. Now, however, his patience was exhausted. “Would it be too much to ask what astronauts were doing at a zoo?”

“They were not astronauts,” the President said slowly. “They were apes.”

“Apes?” Hasslein leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He looked around the table. The press secretary was shocked. So was the Army man, but not the other service reps. They had been briefed by their subordinates, which meant that this wasn’t all that secret, and couldn’t be kept secret forever. “Apes,” Hasslein said again. I will not, he thought, let them see they’ve intrigued me. I will give them no points in this silly game. “Chimpanzees, to be precise,” the president said. “Ah. Chimpanzees,” Hasslein said, as if that explained everything. Now the others looked curiously at him, but he said nothing else. Inwardly, he smiled. “General,” the president prompted. “Yes, sir,” Brody answered. “So. They are, by our preliminary reports, harmless, friendly, and highly intelligent, as one might expect of animals employed in an astronautical experiment Their clothing and gear is either simply equipment from the Taylor inventory adapted for use by apes, or is of a design and construction we cannot identify. Certainly not standard.”

Brody glanced at his notes. “There have been no major modifications of the capsule. We have no clue as to what launched it a second time, but there are definite indications that it was previously landed. The few traces of soil and other materials contaminating the capsule are confusing and their source has not been identified. Meanwhile, we have no notion of the source of these apes, nor of the fate of Colonel Taylor and his crew.”

“Someone interfered with the mission,” Victor Hasslein said thoughtfully. “You state that as a scientific conclusion, Victor?” the president asked. “I state it as an obvious conclusion, Mister President. We lost track of the Taylor capsule, but it was certainly not headed for re-entry at the time it vanished from the screens. Now it reappears, dramatically, and with no previous trace, so that SAC is alerted. And inside are—chimpanzees. Inhabitants of earth, with untraceable clothing. Even the mud stains make no scientific sense. It is fairly obvious that these chimpanzees did not force Colonel Taylor to land, nor did they remove him from his ship, adapt his clothing to themselves, and re-launch. Of course someone has interfered with our mission. The only question is who.”

“Russians,” the Air Force deputy said. He said it firmly. Navy nodded. “You don’t know that, gentlemen,” the president said carefully. “What if the Soviets are as curious as we?

And as mystified?”

“You’ve asked them?” the Army demanded. He gulped. “Sir?”

The president smiled. “General, if they were involved, they’d know, wouldn’t they?”

“Huh?

Yes, sir—”

“And if they weren’t, why not ask them?” the president continued. “I’m in favor of security when it can help us, but it can be carried too far. In fact, I see no threat to our national security from releasing this story to the whole world. Can any of you give me a good reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Only that the press can often interfere with a scientific investigation,” Hasslein said carefully. “And surely, Mister President, such an investigation is required?

I assume we do want to know what happened to our astronauts?”

The service representatives nodded vigorously. “Damn right,” the Air Force man said. He slammed his fist against the table. “Taylor was a good man, and he was our man. By God we’ll find out what happened to him!” The others murmured approval. It is obvious what they are thinking, the president said to himself. They are good men, but not rational when it comes to something like this. Taylor was their man. They were prepared to have him killed in action against an enemy, or lost in a scientific experiment, but not to something mysterious at the hands of an unknown enemy. I can’t even disagree very strongly. Besides, I want to know what happened myself. Possibly not for the same reasons that they do, but I want to know. “We’ll make a thorough inquiry,” the president assured them. “Dr. Hasslein, I’ll ask you to submit to me a list of persons who ought to be on a commission of inquiry. A Presidential Commission. Scientists, and at least two members of Congress—one from the Armed Forces Committee. I think the Joint Chiefs can give you a recommendation there.”

“A Presidential Commission,” Hasslein said. “Yes, sir.”

“You are less than enthusiastic. What better way to handle it?”

“The National Security Agency—”

“No,” the president said firmly. “I have great confidence in the NSA people, but this is far beyond their talents. I want some really top scientific talent on this, Dr. Hasslein. The implications of this event are astonishing to begin with. Particularly the last report from that UCLA chap. He implies that these apes can talk!”

Everyone looked up at the president. Hasslein snorted. “All right, I don’t believe it myself,” the president assured them. “But I want you to look into this personally, Victor. Have the two surviving apes examined by the Commission. Meanwhile they will remain in the technical custody of the Navy, and under the supervision of that UCLA chap, uh, Dixon. Victor, Dr. Dixon should be a member of the Commission; see to it, will you?

And help Monty write up the White House press release on all this. The news people are going to find this very interesting, I think.”

* * *

Interesting, Hasslein thought. He sat in his quarters in the Western White House and watched the TV newscasts. There were five TV sets in his room, and among them he could get nearly any nation’s broadcasts. He watched BBC now. A thin, pasty-faced chap with a flower in his buttonhole and orange piping on the lapels of his Saville Row suit was trying not to smile as he read copy. “One of two Yank spacecraft, both previously thought to have disintegrated in orbit, has mysteriously reappeared. According to American sources, this craft—”

The voice broke off and the man vanished. A shot of Taylor’s lifting-body ship appeared on the screen. “—landed in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Southern California yesterday afternoon. It is stated in the American dispatches that the spacecraft was manned—” the young man came back on screen and curled his lip—“by monkeys.”

Victor angrily changed channels. It was worse in other countries. The “silly season,” too early for baseball news, too hot for anything else; and the newsmen were having a field day. They mocked science itself, and the thought made Hasslein furious. What responsibilities did those chattering magpies ever have?

They didn’t have to know anything, they could simply blame him and his colleagues for not knowing. The local Los Angeles station was worst of all. A longhaired newscaster broke up as he read the copy. “U. S. LOST SPACECRAFT HIJACKED BY APE-ONAUTS!”

Hasslein angrily switched off the sets and stared at the blank screens in silence. “We’ll soon find out what really happened,” he muttered. “And when we do, maybe I can cram it down your laughing throats.”

And yet, he thought, what was the president being coy about?

He lifted the telephone. “General Brody, please.”

The White House operator took only moments to connect him. “Yes, Dr. Hasslein?” Brody said. “General, what was the report the president didn’t discuss with us?

The one he said he didn’t believe himself?”

“If the boss wouldn’t tell you, do you think I will?” Brody said. “Sorry, Dr. Hasslein, but I’ve got my responsibility to the president.”

“Certainly. However; you realize I will find out shortly. I do not like to be—unprepared. I can make my own inquiries at UCLA, but I prefer that you spare me that effort.”

“Hmm.” The phone was quiet for a long period. Finally Brody spoke into the silence. “I’ll tell you this much, doctor. Those apes may be far more intelligent than we thought. That’s all I’ll say.”

“All right.”

“Anything else?

Brody out.” The phone went dead. Victor Hasslein stretched his long thin arm across the room to return the phone to its cradle. He smiled faintly; the action of his arm resembled that of a machine, as did all his precise gestures. Newsmen sometimes called him that, the human computer, and Victor didn’t despise the title; at least they said human. When he was a boy, he had read story after story about computers taking over earth and making mankind useless. He took them seriously, and he had specialized in science; first in computers, then, when he realized that there was something far more basic, in solid-state physics. He knew what made computers tick. He knew how to program them, and how to destroy them. They would not become man’s masters, not so long as men like Victor Hasslein existed. But it would take work, he knew. Hard work. It would be very simple to allow the machines to design new machines, to let things become so complex that no human understood them; and then?

But he understood them now, and he had the most powerful position of any scientist in the world. He guarded the fortress of civilization: for man. What of the apes?

The thought came unwanted, and Victor Hasslein smiled to himself. Chimpanzees. Apes. Hardly a threat to mankind. No matter how intelligent they were, they remained apes. They could not really think. Like computers, they could only be trained. 8

It was hot in the small anteroom. In the main theatre of the Los Angeles Federal Building, the Commissioners and their assistants, the press, the curious, and those who had found enough influence to gatecrash, were cramming themselves into a room designed to hold fewer than half that number. The smell of hundreds of humans packed closely together was making the chimpanzees nervous, and that disturbed Lewis Dixon. He looked at Stevie but she could only shrug helplessly. “Turn up the air conditioning, will you?” Lewis asked. “Sure, Hon.” Stephanie went to the thermostat by the door. She could hear a low murmur outside: people, a buzz of conversation, no single thought coming through. Just people, in masses. She had always been nervous around masses and crowds, and she thought she knew how the chimpanzees must feel. She turned to put a hand on. Zira’s. “You’ll be all right.”

“I hope so.” Zira shuddered. “There are a lot of humans out there—”

“And every one of them can talk intelligently,” Lewis said. “Or thinks he can. And most of them, whether they’re intelligent or not, are certainly influential. You ready?”

Cornelius nodded. So did Zira. Stephanie smiled. “You’ll be great.”

“Remember,” Lewis said. “When I give the cue, start slowly with simple answers to what will certainly be simple questions. Let them get the idea themselves. Don’t just shock them with it.”

“All right,” Cornelius said. He smiled in amusement, and looked at his wife. “And if the questions become less simple?” Zira asked innocently. “Just be yourself,” Lewis said. Cornelius chuckled. He raised his leathery forefinger and shook it at Zira. “Your better self, my dear. Please.” They all laughed. “Dr. Dixon,” a speaker overhead called. “The Commission is ready, Dr. Dixon.”

“Let’s go,” Lewis said. “Stephanie?”

“Right.” They each lifted a chain: Dixon’s was attached to Cornelius’s Collar, and Stevie’s to Zira’s. “Sorry about these,” Stevie said. “They weren’t my idea.”

“Nor mine,” Dixon added. “But necessary.”

“Phooh,” Zira snorted. “What do they think we are?

Gorillas?”

“Shhh,” Stevie warned. “OK, let’s go.”

The stage was large, and they crossed it carefully. The chimpanzees were dressed; business suit for Cornelius, and a lady’s equivalent, knitted skirt suit and blouse, for Zira. The outfits did not match those of Lewis and Stevie, and the apes were as well dressed as the commissioners. Four chairs stood at the center of the stage. Lewis led his charges there, and invited them to be seated. Zira and Stephanie sat, after which Cornelius took his seat, then finally Lewis Dixon. They looked around the large hall with curious eyes. “My fellow commissioners,” Lewis thought. He knew most of them. Victor Hasslein, the president’s pet warthog—but a damned brilliant physicist and general systems analyst all the same. Dr. Radak Hartley, zoologist and Chairman of the Department of Zoology, Harvard, titular Chairman of the Commission, although Lewis knew that to be a joke. Hasslein would have more power than old Hartley. All Hartley’s work, including his Nobel Prize, was done a long time ago. Cardinal MacPherson. Strange name for a Catholic prelate, Lewis thought No fool, either. Jesuit. The Jesuits almost dominate the biological sciences. And the others, scientists, lawyers, senators and congressmen. Beyond the commissioners were seats for other VIPs. The mayor and city council of Los Angeles. Zoo commissioners. Press people. More congressmen; nearly every local LA state and national legislator had come. Anyone with influence enough to get in was present. There was a murmur of approval from the audience as the chimps sat carefully and watched everything, looked intelligently at everyone. There were also a few nervous glances. These men and women weren’t used to being stared at by anyone, certainly not by apes. “You may begin,” Dr. Hartley said. “Are you ready, Dr. Dixon?”

“Yes, sir.” Lewis stood and addressed the commissioners, but he kept an eye toward the press people out in the audience. They and the VIPs were together as important as the Commission—perhaps more so—and it was vital that the chimpanzees get sympathetic treatment. “My fellow commissioners,” Lewis began. “And ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know me, but allow me to introduce myself anyway.” He saw the cameras above were rolling. The networks hadn’t been permitted in, and these films were going to be enormously valuable. They ought to belong to the chimps—if they didn’t, perhaps they could be used to get some appropriations for UCLA. If Dixon’s department had the money, the chimpanzees would be insured good treatment, even if they legally couldn’t own anything themselves. “My name is Dr. Lewis Dixon, and I’m a psychiatrist specializing in animal research. I have been in charge of these two apes since they arrived at the Los Angeles Zoological Gardens five days ago. You all know the spectacular way they arrived.”

There were murmurs of agreement and a few laughs. Lewis continued quickly while he still had audience sympathy and curiosity. “The young lady is Dr. Stephanie Branton, my assistant. Between us we have made some amazing discoveries about these apes, and we want to prepare you for a shock. Dr. Branton and I will answer any questions you may care to address to us, but I doubt you’ll have many for us. You see, our chimpanzee friends are perfectly capable of answering for themselves.”

“What… Sam, is he serious?… You know, I always knew young Dixon was going to flip one day… Id-iot… Jesus, suppose it’s true?” Lewis heard. There were other murmurs and comments, and a moment of confusion. “I assure you it is true,” Lewis said. “They will not answer with signs, or looks, or symbols, or anything of that sort. They can talk. As well as you or I.”

That got dead silence. Finally, old Dr. Hartley rose from his seat and stared at Lewis. “Young man, I’ve admired your publications—but that does not give you the right to make jokes here. This is a Presidential Commission of Inquiry, and I have no intention of seeing it become a ventriloquist act!”

“Nor I, sir,” Lewis said quickly. “These apes can speak. Test it for yourself. Ask them something.”

There was nervous laughter, picked up by the audience until everyone was laughing, but it had a hollow quality. Lewis noticed that Victor Hasslein did not even smile. “I take it,” Dr. Hartley said, “that the one in skirts is female?”

Zira stood and nodded toward the Commission. Hartley frowned. “Did she rise at some cue from you, Dr. Dixon?

Or in response to my question?”

“That is for you to decide,” Lewis said. “I see. You, young, uh, female. Have you a name?” Hartley looked as if he’d been sucking lemons. The thought of addressing questions to a chimpanzee upset him; the thought of having people watch him do it was torture. “Zira,” Zira answered. She stood, waiting, saying nothing else, as the audience tittered. “I see,” Hartley said. “Certainly she can articulate. Better, perhaps, than any chimp I have ever heard. But, Dr. Dixon, are we to infer that, uh, ‘Zira’ is her name, or some word or phrase in her own language that indicates affirmative or negative or some such?”

“Again,” Lewis said, “I invite you to find out for yourself, Mr. Chairman. And I assure you that she is capable of answering. Perhaps you phrased the question improperly?”

“Very well. Young female. What is your name?”

“Zira.”

“I see. One might as well speak to a parrot. Except that a parrot would answer something else. Polly, perhaps.” Hartley laughed, and the tension broke slightly. Others laughed. “Polly?” Zira demanded. There was another outburst of laughter. “Well,” Dr. Hartley said. “The mimic power is very well developed, Dr. Dixon. I assume they have a vocabulary of their own, or you wouldn’t have called it speech. Very well developed mimicry. Unique in an ape. Does the other one talk as well?”

Cornelius stood. “Only when she lets me,” he said carefully. Zira laughed and reached for Cornelius’s hand. The audience began to applaud. Dr. Hartley sank to his seat, where he sat and stared evilly at Lewis Dixon. I’ve made no friend in him, Lewis thought. Too bad, but I don’t see how it could have been avoided. I tried to warn him. He looked up to see Dr. Hasslein staring at the chimpanzees. He knows, Lewis thought. Cornelius’s answer shows everything in one line. Urbane, witty, responsive to a question not directed to him, humor; whatever intelligence is, if you’ve got that much moxy, you’ve got intelligence. Hasslein looks as if he’s swallowed a frog and now has to have at a big spider. What’s so horrible about ape intelligence to him?

Congressman Boyd stood. “Dr. Dixon, what is the male’s name, please.”

“Cornelius. Cornelius, this is Congressman Jason Boyd, of the House Science and Astronautics Committee.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Congressman Boyd,” Cornelius said. “I would offer to shake hands, but the chain is not long enough.”

There was laughter in the room. Nervous laughter. “Yes,” Boyd said. He rubbed his balding, coal black forehead. “May I say that I apologize for the chains?

Dr. Dixon, somehow the sight of chained intelligent creatures disturbs me. It brings memories that perhaps you don’t share, nor do I, directly, but—”

“They weren’t my idea, Congressman,” Lewis said. “Or mine,” Cornelius added. Everyone laughed. “But we understand. Where we come from, apes talk and humans are dumb animals. We shouldn’t care to face such creatures unless they were restrained, and we can hardly blame you for having the same prejudices.”

“Thank you,” Boyd said. “Mister Cornelius, what is your relationship with Zira?”

Zira answered before Cornelius could speak. “He is my lawfully wedded spouse.”

“Hmm.” Heads turned toward Cardinal MacPherson. The elderly Jesuit started. “Please excuse me.”

“Do you find, the concept of marriage among apes amusing?” Boyd demanded. MacPherson chuckled. “Not amusing, Congressman. Startling, perhaps. Intriguing. After all, there are varying degrees of matrimony, at least varying degrees of recognition of the state. I wonder which concept she means—but later, later. Please continue, Mister Boyd.”

Boyd obviously would like to start a fight with the Cardinal, Lewis thought. Wonder why?

Maybe the Catholics aren’t too popular in Boyd’s district. Wouldn’t be, now that I think of it. They’re mostly Baptists there. But that’s no call to—

“Mister Cornelius,” Boyd was saying. “Do you or your, uh, wife speak any language other than English?”

Cornelius frowned. “What is English?” he asked. The audience murmured comments Lewis didn’t hear, and Victor Hasslein frantically scribbled notes. “I speak the language taught me by my father and mother,” Cornelius continued. “They were taught it by their fathers and mothers. This has been the language of my ancestors for at least two thousand years. As to its origins—I don’t know. I am surprised to find that you speak it. Are there other human languages?”

“Several,” Boyd said drily. “Now I am curious,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “And surely you have curiosity?”

Cornelius nodded. Zira looked at the aged clergyman with interest. “Did you never wonder where your language came from?” the Cardinal asked. “I, for one, am very curious as to how a single language, English, became universal among your species.”

“Not merely our species, sir,” Cornelius said. “Gorillas and orangutans also speak our language. In fact, the gorillas and orangutans in my community believe—believed—that God created apes in His own image, and that our language was given us by Him.”

The Cardinal is a bit shook by that, Lewis thought. Cagey old bird. Doesn’t show much. But that ought to have got to him. Hasslein’s still making notes. He seemed awfully interested in that hesitation of Cornelius’s; It won’t take him long to figure out where/when they’re from, I suspect. “Of course, that’s all nonsense, dear,” Zira said firmly. “I’d expect the Cardinal to second that thought,” Congressman Boyd said. He looked puzzled as he examined the apes. “I expect you to leave the theology of the Church to the Church’s theologians,” MacPherson snapped. He turned to the apes. “I would keep that opinion on a tight rein, were I you, Cornelius. There are some Fundamentalists who will find it far more upsetting than I will—”

Zira wasn’t finished. “Chimpanzees are intellectuals,” she said loudly. “And as an intellectual, Cornelius, you know damned well that the gorillas are a bunch of militaristic nincompoops and the orangutans a gaggle of blinkered, pseudoscientific idea-infatuated geese. As to humans, I’ve dissec…” she caught herself abruptly. “Excuse me. I have examined thousands of humans and until now I have discovered only two who could talk in my whole life. God knows who taught them.”

“I expect He does,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “Who were the two humans you knew who could talk?

And precisely where is this place, where apes speak, gorillas make war, orangutans dream ineffectually, chimpanzees are intellectuals, and humans cannot speak at all?”

“That is a very good question, Your Eminence,” Victor Hasslein seconded. “I should like very much to hear the answer.”

“We aren’t sure,” Cornelius said. “But at that place, it is as His Eminence put it in his excellent summation?

Apes speak and humans do not?” Hasslein insisted. “Yes,” Zira said. “But you do not know where this place is,” Hasslein continued. The room was very quiet now. Lewis watched, fascinated, reminded of a serpent stalking a small bird. “I’m not sure,” Cornelius said. “Dr. Milo was sure,” Zira said. A large tear formed in each eye and she wiped them, furtively. “Dr. Milo was a genius far in advance of his time,” Cornelius said. He stood and went to place an arm across Zira’s shoulder, then faced the Commission. “We did not enjoy a mechanically dominated civilization such as yours,” he said. “We did not have the energy sources, for one difference. Certainly there was nothing resembling space flight. Yet, when that spacecraft first landed intact on our seacoast, Dr. Milo was able to salvage it, and through study, repair it. In the end he half understood it.”

“Half,” one of the commissioners said. “Was ‘half’ enough?”

“It was.” Cornelius looked up in anger. His voice hardened. “Enough for us to escape when war became inevitable. Enough to repair the spacecraft and adapt the survival equipment. Enough for us to survive to land, here, where he was murdered in your zoo, and enough for us to be standing here where we can be insulted by you. Quite enough, I think.”

“Please accept our apologies,” Cardinal MacPherson said quickly. “We did not intend to insult you. I wonder if you can understand our surprise, though?”

“I think so,” Cornelius said. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“I add my apologies,” Hasslein said softly. “But please, Cornelius, where did you come from?

Did none of you know?

Not even Dr. Milo?”

“He knew,” Cornelius said. “He believed we came from—from your future.”

There was silence. The commissioners stared at each other. Then the audience became restive. There were murmurs and comments, and the chairman pounded for order. Eventually there was quiet again. Dr. Hartley looked at Cornelius and said, “That does not make sense, sir.”

“It is the only thing that does!” Hasslein smacked the arm of his chair with his open palm. “The only thing!” He looked up, realized the others were staring at him. “Please excuse me.”

“You spoke of war,” a new voice said. “Senator Yancey,” Lewis said. “Armed Forces Committee. Senator, Cornelius and Zira.”

“Yes. You spoke of war. War between whom?” Yancey insisted. Cornelius sighed. “Between our army—all gorillas—between the gorillas and whoever lives—uh, lived—will live?

I have trouble with the tenses. Between the army and the inhabitants of the tunnels and caves of the territory next to ours.”

“And you don’t know who, they were?” Yancey insisted. “No, sir.”

“Who won that war?” Yancey asked. Zira interrupted before Cornelius could answer. “How the devil would we know?

Chimpanzees are pacifists. We stayed at home. May I ask you something?

Would you care to be here, chained, thirsty, under these very hot lights, watching us drink water while you had none?”

“Good heavens!” Dr. Hartley exclaimed. He gestured, and two attendants took a pitcher of water and glasses to the chimpanzees. They drank thirstily. Lewis and Stephanie were not offered water, and Lewis winked at Stevie. She winked back. “So you don’t know who won the war,” Yancey insisted. “Surely you must have heard reports—”

“No, sir,” Cornelius said. “We assisted Dr. Milo in his work to repair the spacecraft. Then we left. Somehow we ended here. Now.”

“Can you explain that?” Hasslein asked eagerly. “No, sir. Dr. Milo had a theory, perhaps, but he never explained it to us. I know that before he died that night he was scribbling complex mathematics on the floor of our cage—”

“Where are those equations?” Hasslein demanded. “Dr. Dixon, were they preserved?”

“No sir.”

Hasslein sank into his seat, dejected. Then, angrily, he said “Why not?”

“Because,” Zira answered, “we were never given writing materials. Dr. Milo was using his finger and water to write on the cement floor. Naturally the writing wouldn’t last—”

“Oh,” Hasslein said. He brooded. “About the spacecraft,” Senator Yancey said. “It landed in your country. By the sea, you said. What happened to the crew?

To Colonel Taylor and his men?” Zira and Cornelius looked at each other, then back to Yancey. “I don’t know,” Cornelius said. “The spacecraft was empty when we first saw it.”

“And did you know Colonel Taylor?” Yancey insisted. “Did you ever meet him?”

The apes exchanged glances again. “No,” Cornelius said evenly. “Is he a soldier?”

“He was an officer of the United States Air Force, an astronaut, and a hero,” Yancey said. “And one of the purposes of this Commission is to find out what happened to him.”

“We don’t know,” Zira said. She looked up helplessly. “We are peaceful creatures. I am a psychiatrist, and my husband an archeological historian. We are very tired,’ and we have been cooperative, but can’t you now take these chains off and let us rest?

Please?”

There was an instant of silence; then the hall burst into applause. Even Hartley’s gavel couldn’t silence it until Lewis and Stevie, smiling, had unlocked the collars and thrown the chains to the floor. 9

“You were marvelous!” Stevie said. She threw her arms around Zira. Both laughed as they danced around the hospital wing of the zoo. Stevie halted suddenly and looked around. “I’m sorry you’re still here…”

“It’s as good a place as any,” Cornelius said. “Thank you for the furniture.” He indicated the chairs and tables which had been placed in the cage. There was even a small stove in one corner. The door to the next cage, where the gorilla had been, was now open, and bedroom furniture had been placed inside. Cornelius strolled to the corner and turned on the television. “Is this the right way to work this?” he asked. “Yes.” Lewis watched, frowning, as the news programs came on. A local announcer was saying, “Doctor Victor Hasslein had no immediate comment for this reporter, but we understand he will be a special guest on the Big News, in just half an hour. Stay tuned for the Big News. Now—late-breaking sports. The Los Angeles Rams have—”

“That’s how to turn it off, too,” Cornelius said. “But I do want to watch this Doctor Hasslein.”

“We all do,” Lewis said. He stood at the cage door. “Well. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“Eh?” Cornelius said. “Come in, come in,” Zira insisted. “We don’t mean to be impolite—but after all, it’s your zoo. We don’t really think of this cage as our home, Lewis. I’m sorry…”

“Very natural, of course,” Lewis said. He took a seat without being asked; he was tired, and they’d probably never get around to that. “Have a seat,” Cornelius said. Lewis grinned at him and they both laughed. “They were just marvelous,” Stephanie said again. “Weren’t they, Lew?”

“Sure, darling.” Dixon’s voice took on a worried edge. “Fabulous. But there was a moment there when…”

“Yes,” Zira said. “Now, let’s not think about our difficulties,” Cornelius said. “I’ve just learned about coffee, and I want some. I watched Stevie make it, and I think I know how.” He went to the stove and began rattling the percolator. “He knows,” Zira said. “You’re not helping, Cornelius. He knows.”

“My dear,” Cornelius said. “Are you sure we should go into this now?”

“Quite sure,” Zira said. “But only to these humans. To—to our physicians. In confidence. This is in confidence, Dr. Dixon?”

“Yes,” Lewis said. He was fairly positive of it; no one would bug the hospital section of the zoo, certainly not without Haskins being aware of it, and Haskins had said nothing. “In confidence.”

“Why can’t you be honest with everyone?” Stevie asked. “With the Commission?”

Cornelius sighed deeply. “I wish we could. I truly do. But—I’m afraid to talk even to you.”

“But we will,” Zira said. “Sit down, Stevie. Cornelius, stop messing with that pot and come join us. We have to talk to them while we’ve got the chance.”

“I suppose.” Cornelius came over to the group—two chimpanzees on one couch, facing two humans on another. All four wore white laboratory coats now. Lewis had thought it a good joke on the zoo procedure. Haskins would be scandalized. “But—why not with the Commission?” Stevie asked again. “Because,” Zira said, “truth can often harm the innocent. And I have a very special reason for wanting to survive. At least for a little while. This does have to be secret, Doctors.”

“Go ahead,” Lewis said. “No. You tell them, Cornelius.”

“We did know Colonel Taylor,” Cornelius began. “It is true that the first time we saw the ship, it was empty, but we had seen the crew before that. We came to love Colonel Taylor very much.”

“But,” Stevie protested, “what possible harm could come from telling the Commission that?

Why—”

“Shh,” Lewis said. He gently put a finger over her lips. “Please go on, Professor Cornelius.”

“Our feelings, our regard for Colonel Taylor was unusual,” Cornelius said. “In our time, apes do not—did not—love human beings. They hunted them for sport, as you might hunt animals. They did not always kill them quickly, either.”

“Good Lord!” Lewis exclaimed. “Chimpanzees too?”

Zira nodded. “We don’t hunt, but we used humans, alive and dead, for experimental animals. Anatomical studies. Medical reactions, drug tests, anything of that sort. Dissection to train medical students.”

“Ugh.” Stevie swallowed hard. “That’s—that’s horrible.”

“Yes,” Lewis nodded. “But we do the same with animals right now. As a scientist I can understand, if humans in their time are only dumb animals, unable to speak or reason…”

“We thought they were all that way,” Zira said, “until we met Colonel Taylor. He was the first talking human we’d ever known.”

“I think,” Lewis said slowly, “I think perhaps you were right not to tell them you’d known him. What happened to Taylor, anyway?”

“That was the other reason we didn’t tell about him,” Cornelius said.”

“Yes,” Zira added. “They would have asked what happened to him, whether he’s still alive.”

“And he’s dead,” Lewis said with finality. He paused a moment and took in a deep breath. “I knew him, you know. Not well, but I worked with him once—you know he’s dead, then?

Know for sure?”

“Yes,” Cornelius answered. “After we achieved orbit, we could see Earth below. From the ship. And we looked down and saw the earth destroyed.”

Stevie gasped. Then she looked up at Zira. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

Just what do you mean, the earth destroyed?”

“Just that,” Zira replied. “There was a glare and an explosion.”

“And Colonel Taylor was down there?” asked Lewis. “Yes,” Cornelius replied. “He—he wasn’t able to come with us in the rocket.”

“But what did you mean, the world destroyed?” Stephanie insisted. Cornelius sighed. “Just that. The gorillas wanted possession of a weapon. Something left from the old days. Milo thought that it would destroy the earth if it were used. Evidently someone used it.”

“The whole earth,” Lewis said. He didn’t even hear himself speaking. “Yes,” Cornelius answered. “The whole earth. And now, I think you understand why we were less than frank with your commissioners.”

“I still don’t like it,” Zira said. “I don’t like lies and deceit. But what can we do?”

Lewis shrugged. “It’s time for Dr. Hasslein.” He went over to turn on the television. “And now the Big News presents Dr. Victor Hasslein,” the announcer said. “Dr. Hasslein is the chief science advisor to the president, and insiders know him to be perhaps the most influential scientist in the nation. “As our Big News viewers know by now, the whole nation is excited about talking chimpanzees. These two apes impressed this reporter, as I am sure they impressed everyone in the room. They answered questions, made jokes, and quite literally spoke and thought as well as any human. Dr. Hasslein, was that your impression?”

The camera panned from pictures of Zira and Cornelius over to Hasslein’s thin features and steel-rimmed glasses. The contrast was startling. “Yes. Although certain members of the Commission seem to harbor residual doubts, I think there is absolutely no question here. These chimpanzees are intelligent by any definition we could rationally put forward.”

“And what do you think about that, Dr. Hasslein?” The interviewer leaned forward and gave his famous look of intelligent concern, a look familiar to millions of six o’clock news viewers. “What does this make you feel?”

“Frightened,” Hasslein said firmly. “Why is that?”

Hasslein shrugged. “Anything that completely upsets what we thought were known scientific facts is a bit frightening,” Hasslein said smoothly. He smiled as if to show it really wasn’t important. “Would you say that this shows a potential for intelligence in other apes?”

Hasslein shrugged again. “I would think no,” he said. “We have, after all, rather thoroughly studied apes, and I think we have established the limits of their intelligence. Apes have been raised in human households, as children might be raised. In one experiment, you may recall, a, chimpanzee and a human child of similar ages were raised by the child’s parents together as sisters, with absolutely no differences in treatment. Yet, after a few years, the chimpanzee could not speak and had fallen very far behind her human counterpart. No, I think these apes are from a genetically different strain. Quite different.”

“I see.” The interviewer smiled again to show the audience who was the star of the show. “Now, Dr. Hasslein, when you asked the male ape, uh, Cornelius, where he came from, he replied ‘From your future.’ Do you believe that?”

“Absolutely. It’s the only possible explanation,” Hasslein answered. He leaned forward to peer intently into the camera, and to the apes watching him on the screen he seemed almost to come into the room. “He—frightens me,” Zira said. “Well he might,” Lewis told her. “But you’ve got to get along with him. Oh, the entire Commission could probably overrule him, if we wanted to badly enough; but the president listens to Hasslein. Don’t blame the president, you understand. Hasslein’s brilliant, and he has a talent for explaining complicated subjects to educated laymen. Just remember, you’ve got to get along with him.”

“Shh,” Stevie said. She put her hand on his lips and grinned. She had been waiting to do that for a while—since Lewis had shushed her. “I’m afraid, Dr. Hasslein,” the interviewer was saying, “that I don’t find it at all obvious what the ape meant. How could they be from our future?

Is time travel actually possible?”

Hasslein smiled thinly. “Walter, there will be nothing simple about this explanation. I do not myself actually understand time, although I have written papers about its nature, mathematical papers. Men will probably never understand time. Only God can do that. But perhaps I can give an illustration, of something I call infinite regression—”

The interviewer winced, but Hasslein smiled. “It is not that difficult, Walter,” he said. “Remember the Morton’s Salt Box?

On it there is a little girl carrying a box of Morton’s salt. On her box there is a little girl, also carrying a box of Morton’s salt. And so forth, until, of course, the engraver became tired and did not bother to make the actual detailed picture within a picture within a picture…”

“I suppose,” the interviewer said. He looked sharply at Hasslein, and the look said quite a lot. It said, “Whoever told me this guy knew what he was talking about?”

“The same was true of the old Quaker Oats boxes,” Hasslein said. “On those boxes was a man holding a box of Quaker Oats, and so forth. Now, let us see this in a different direction. Let us imagine a landscape painting. In order for it to be realistic, the painter would have to place himself in the painting, would he not?

Otherwise something would be missing?”

“Why—yes.”

Hasslein smiled. “Excellent. But of course, now, in order for it to be realistic, the painting within the painting would itself have to contain a picture of the artist painting a picture of the artist painting a picture of the landscape. And, in fact, that is not quite realistic either, is it?

One would have to regress again. And again, and again—”

“It would never be accurate,” the interviewer exclaimed. “Perhaps not,” Hasslein said. “But in order to understand time, you would have to be like the artist who had done an infinite series of such paintings until he had actually succeeded in portraying the scene realistically.”

“That’s enough to drive you mad,” the interviewer said. Hasslein shrugged. “Perhaps. But let us imagine, then, that we have this capability. That we have made the, ah, infinite regression, and we are both the observers and the observed. And now let us look at time.”

“What would we see?” Walter asked. “We might well see it as an infinity of parallel events, but not always parallel. Science fiction writers once called this, ah, ‘fan-shaped’ time; from ‘now’ there stretches forward a large number of alternative pathways. Some come back to the same path. Others lead very far away indeed. And thus, the choices made here determine different futures. In one of these futures, you will leave this building at eight-fifteen, precisely in time to be killed by an automobile which left the parking garage at eight-twelve.”

“I think I do not care for that future,” Walter said nervously. He laughed. “Yes, but in another, you may leave here at eight-sixteen, and be perfectly safe,” Hasslein said. “Or the automobile does not leave the parking garage until eight-twenty because the driver received a telephone call. Yet, and this is the important point, each of those futures may be as real as any other.”

“But we wouldn’t experience more than one of those futures, would we, Dr. Hasslein?” the interviewer asked. He was now thoroughly confused. “Certainly not,” Hasslein said. “Yet, each one would be real to the mythical observer who has achieved infinite regression. Now, I do not find it at all hard to believe that these apes have arrived here from one of the possible futures of this planet. To them, that future was very real. But, and I want to stress this, it need not be real to us. We can, perhaps, change that future. And indeed, I think it important that we do.”

“We'll come back to Dr. Victor Hasslein as the Big News continues following station identification,” Walter said. “Now an important message.”

“I wish Milo had been here to explain that,” Zira said. She looked sadly around the cage. “I am Chiquita Banana, and I’ve come to say, Bananas must be ripened in—”

Cornelius flung himself at the set and turned off the sound. “That’s all we needed,” Zira said. “Inappropriate,” Lewis agreed. “I suppose I should have expected it.”

Cornelius took a bunch of grapes from the table and passed them around. “Have some, dear,” he said. He gave Zira most of them. They ate in silence until the commercials were over, and Cornelius turned the sound back on. “The Big News continues. This reporter will confess that he was impressed by the Ape-onauts, and I certainly applaud the president’s decision to transfer them from the Los Angeles Zoo to a hotel. They are no danger to us, and from what I’ve seen, they will be our friends. “In other, late breaking stories, criminals struck at a Los Angeles Savings and Loan for the third…”

Lewis switched off the set. “Congratulations,” he told them. Zira and Cornelius smiled happily. “We won’t be sorry to leave,” Cornelius said. He looked around the cage, and at the place where Milo died. “We won’t be sorry at all.”

10

Lewis Dixon found the next week unbelievably hectic. First, there was the escorted ride to the Beverly Hills Hotel. The Navy had locked the chimpanzees into a zoo. Now that they were released, Admiral Taylor had been determined to make amends. He had persuaded a wealthy retired admiral friend to come for the chimpanzees in a chauffeured Mercedes. The City of Los Angeles had provided a motorcycle escort. Navy Intelligence provided a bodyguard. And the general public had provided the crowds. Not only was attendance at the Los Angeles Zoo twice the previous record crowd on the day the chimpanzees were to move, but the whole Griffith Park road system was crowded with sightseers. Los Feliz Boulevard was nearly impassable, so that the motorcade finally had to go out the back way, past Forest Lawn of Hollywood Hills, down Ventura Boulevard and up over Laurel Canyon. These streets were normal enough until the motorcade passed—then people fell in behind, until Dixon and his charges were leading a parade five miles long, and had created the worst clear weather traffic jam in Los Angeles history. It was as bad at the hotel. Of course the apes weren’t used to automobiles in the first place, or escalators, or elevators, or automatically opening doors. All these things confused them. So did doormen with their elaborate uniforms and their deferential attitude. At the registration desk the clerk had asked the apes for their permanent address. Cornelius shrugged. So did Dixon. Finally Stevie had said, “If you have to write something, put down the Los Angeles Zoo.”

The registration clerk had looked down his aristocratic nose and said calmly, “Madam, the Beverly Hills does not have guests who reside in a zoo.” What he wrote was anybody’s guess, but the clerk was the only one there who didn’t think it funny. The apes had one of the best suites in the hotel. And that, Lewis thought, was going to be a problem. Sure it was authorized, but it cost more than Dixon’s entire department budget. If Lewis could have thought of a way to transfer any of that money to his research, he would have insisted on the apes taking a less expensive place; but there wasn’t any way to do it. There was money to put the apes into the best suite of the Beverly Hills, but none for a new electron microscope. One of these days, the Navy was going to decide not to pay for that suite. And then who would be responsible?

Lewis wondered. At least it wasn’t a problem now. There was also the question of the mail and gifts. Hundreds of thousands of letters poured in, and literally thousands of packages. Most of the packages contained toys, balls, art work, decorative jewelry; but they had to be inspected, because some of the people out there had sick minds. Not only were there bombs, but other ugly and disgusting things. All that mail had to be sorted, and answered, and the people doing that had to be paid. For a while the University of California had undertaken the task, justifying it as a special experimental project; but Lewis didn’t think that would last. He sighed. Well, the apes could afford their own help, of course. They could command their own fees for speaking engagements, and Lewis had arranged a few, along with some appearances on TV programs. The fees went into the UC budget system in a special category, the money reserved for the chimpanzees. “Is that fair?” Stevie had asked. Lewis shrugged. He hadn’t known how to answer her a week ago when she asked, and, he thought, I still don’t know. Can chimps legally own money?

Would the courts uphold any rights at all?

Certainly the university can be trusted to hold onto some of the money for them, and give it to them when they need it. I guess that’ll have to do until we find out what legal status these apes have. It hadn’t satisfied Stevie and it didn’t satisfy him, but it was all the answer Lewis Dixon had. * * *

Lewis had observed the chimpanzees closely as they moved into the hotel. They were obviously unused to technology. The flush toilet had startled Cornelius, and Lewis made a note to inquire what kind of sanitary facilities the apes were used to. The refrigerator had been an even bigger surprise. Cornelius explained that apes packed ice in straw for the winter, much as humans had done when the Americas were first settled. It had been amusing to watch Cornelius play with the refrigerator; he liked to open the door quickly to see if he could fool the light that came on. “Milo would have been impressed,” Cornelius said. “I doubt it,” Lewis told him. “Refrigerators are pretty simple compared to spacecraft. If Milo understood the ship, he would have had no problems with this.”

Cornelius shrugged. “Still and all, Lewis, it is a bit overwhelming. Much of this machinery is totally unfamiliar to me, yet I was, after all, an archeological historian. I knew that human civilization had possessed many of these marvels. The humans had also used up nearly all the energy sources so that, no matter how much the ape scientists might know, we simply could not develop a machine civilization again. Not that we really wanted to, you understand.”

“I see.”

“I have not made my point,” Cornelius said. “I meant to say that I am at least not surprised by the existence of all this; but the same is probably not true for my wife. Oh, certainly, we all knew that humans had machines, and I often spoke of my work to her; but I would not be surprised if she found much of this a bit overwhelming.”

And he was certainly right, Lewis Dixon thought. Zira was perpetually startled by this civilization—toothbrushes, which she thought a bit small to use as hairbrushes; high-heeled shoes, which she thought ridiculous. Sometimes, watching her, it was difficult for Lewis to remember that the apes weren’t primitive at all; not in the way he was tempted to think. Machinery wasn’t everything. Future shock with a vengeance, Lewis thought. Add to it the knowledge that their world is destroyed and they can never go home. Realize that they are all alone here on Earth and always will be, that there will never be any others of their own kind; and the question is inevitable. Are these chimpanzees quite sane?

I certainly wouldn’t be, Dixon thought. The culture shock of this machine civilization would be enough to put me off my hinges. Or knowing I was alone and always would be. Any of it would be enough to drive almost any normal human stark staring mad—yet the apes don’t seem very upset at all. They’ve adjusted to tailors, automobiles, TV, telephones, refrigerators, and flush toilets, and they’re still at it. This should make a fascinating book when I have finished with the study. * * *

Another press conference was about to begin. It was the tenth, or eleventh, for the chimpanzees; Lewis Dixon couldn’t remember which. The big, important publications had been dealt with, or wanted so much time for depth interviews that scheduling was difficult; now came the turn for the specialty magazines and papers. Lewis and Stevie waited in the living room of the suite until Cornelius led Zira out. “Hey, you look nice,” Lewis said. The first time he had seen Zira in a high-necked maxi-skirt cocktail dress he had been unable to restrain himself, and his laughter had been embarrassing. The embarrassment hadn’t lasted long, though; when Zira modeled the clothes for Cornelius, her husband had found the whole thing even funnier than Dixon had. Only Stephanie sympathized. Apparently women chimpanzees weren’t a lot different from human females when it came to clothing. Stevie hadn’t seen anything to laugh about at all. “How many reporters do we have this time?” Zira asked. “Not many. Two or three,” Lewis said. There was a knock at the door, and when he answered it, a room service waiter came in with a tray of glasses and a bottle of champagne. “I didn’t order this,” Lewis said. “Compliments of the house,” the waiter said. “I’ll put this second bottle in the refrigerator. The manager thought, you might like some refreshments between press conferences.”

“Yes, we would, thank you.” Lewis took the tray and gave the waiter a tip. He poured for each and raised his glass. “Here’s to the most popular apes in the world.”

They all lifted their glasses and drank. “Hey, not so much. You sip champagne,” Lewis told Zira. “Don’t gulp it!”

“It’s very good,” Zira said. “What is it?”

Dixon shrugged. “Sort of—grape juice plus, I guess. Surely you have had wines?”

“Not this good,” Zira said. She took another big swallow of the champagne. “Excellent.”

Cornelius led Lewis Dixon to the other side of the ornate suite. “All chimpanzees have a tendency to drink too much alcohol. It seems to be inherited—we do not notice it particularly in orangutans and gorillas, although some gorillas are alcoholics.”

“Zira too?” Lewis asked. Cornelius shrugged. “It is not a real problem. She does not actively seek wine. But, if it is around, she will drink it. So will I.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lewis said. “We’ll let this glass be the last.”

“Certainly until after the press conference,” Cornelius answered. “You may bring the reporters in now.”

“Right. Stevie—they’re ready.”

“Right.” Stephanie went to open the door as Cornelius took his place on the couch. He sat at the opposite end from Zira. They looked at each other and grinned. There were four reporters. One, the only girl, wore an enormous floppy-brimmed picture hat which set off her dark features perfectly. She smiled at the chimpanzees and took a seat. The other reporters found their places. Two had cameras and snapped away at the chimpanzees, and all seemed surprised to see Cornelius in a double-breasted suit with necktie and vest. Zira had worn long dresses on television before, but Cornelius had never been so sharply dressed in public. “Miss Jeanna Robbins,” said Stephanie. “You’re with—?”

“Fur and Feather,” the reporter answered. Zira frowned. “What kind of magazine is that?”

“Well—” the reporter seemed embarrassed. Finally she giggled. “It’s a pet magazine, Madame Zira.”

“Hm.” Zira smiled maliciously. “Do you think I’m a pet?”

“Why yes, I do, rather.”

They all laughed. Zira lifted her glass and drained it of the last of the wine. “Madame Zira,” Jeanna Robbins asked, “what is your favorite fruit?”

Zira smacked her lips. “Grape.”

“Bill Cummings, Men’s Hunting and Outdoors,” one of the reporters said. “How do you find our women, Mister Cornelius?”

“Very human?

Really, sir, we haven’t the same standards of beauty. The question makes no sense.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does. Do you ever hunt, Mister Cornelius?”

“No.” The chimpanzee looked rather sadly at them. “Some apes did, but I don’t think I want to tell you about it. It was mostly the gorillas, anyway, and we didn’t know many of them, at least not socially.”

“A caste society, then?” the third reporter asked. “I’m Joe Simpson, Ebony. Which was the lower caste, Mister Cornelius?” The black reporter spoke aggressively. Cornelius shook his head. “None of them. The gorillas were—well, they were the army and much of the government was by gorillas, but with the advice of chimpanzees. The chimpanzees were the intellectual class. Not entirely. Orangutans were also teachers, but they are not very practical, Mister Simpson. They prefer to think and to dream.”

“Seems pretty racist to me,” Simpson said. Cornelius shrugged. “The differences are observable. Quite real, Mister Simpson. Should we ignore them?”

Lewis cleared his throat. “Perhaps—had you finished, Miss Robbins?”

“No—Madame Zira, I understand you’ll address the Bay Area Women’s Club tomorrow. Do you have any idea of what you’re going, to say?

I know I won’t be able to get there, and perhaps these gentlemen won’t either.”

There was muttered agreement from the men, although Simpson still wasn’t happy. Zira grinned. “My husband isn’t going to like it.”

“Oh, no,” Cornelius groaned. “Not that liberation speech again!”

“I’m sorry, but yes, dear.” She turned back to Jeanna Robbins. “In some ways your society is a great deal like ours. Three male reporters and one female—and you’re from a pet magazine!

Everywhere I look, the best jobs go to the males!

It was the same with us.”

“Really,” Jeanna said. “Yes. I mean, a marriage bed is made for two, but every morning it’s the woman who has to make it.”

“That’s a good line,” Jeanna said. “I’ll quote you.”

“Not before tomorrow, please,” Zira said. “I have to make the speech first—”

“Oh, we won’t be out for weeks,” Jeanna replied. “You are a physician, aren’t you?”

“Sort of,” Zira said. “A psychiatrist. I worked mostly with, uh, animals.”

“You mean humans, don’t you?” Simpson demanded. “Yes,” Zira answered. “And they couldn’t talk. Black or white, they couldn’t talk. Just beasts, is that right?”

“Well—yes,” Zira said. “There were no black humans that we ever saw,” Cornelius said. “Not where we lived, anyway.”

“And where was that?” Simpson demanded. Cornelius shrugged. “From a study of the maps, I would say somewhere immediately south of the area you call New York.”

“Then what happened to all the people who lived there?” Jeanna Robbins asked. “I’m sorry,” Stevie interrupted. “You’re getting to questions that are still under study by the Presidential Commission.”

“Censorship, huh?” Bill Cummings said. “I suppose that figures.”

“Not at all, Mister Cummings,” Lewis answered. “But I do think that the President’s Commission of Inquiry should have first crack at scientific information of that kind, don’t you?

Cornelius and Zira are as anxious as you are to find out the truth, but we don’t want to prejudice the Commission’s findings by publishing a lot of speculations.”

“Sounds like a bunch of crap to me,” Simpson said. “For once I agree!” Cummings looked expectantly at Lewis and Stevie. “You ought to do better than that. We don’t represent the really big papers and magazines, but we ought to get some kind of a story. I don’t know about everybody else, but my readers are going to want to know what happened to the people on this earth. All the people…”

“Black and white,” Simpson seconded. “There are a lot of black people around New York. In their time there aren’t any. What happened to them?”

“If I knew I would tell you,” Cornelius said. “How can I answer for what I do not know?”

“You can bet we won’t be the only ones to ask,” Cummings said. 11

There were no reporters at the next meeting of the Presidential Commission. The sixteen commissioners sat in a much smaller room, with only their secretary for audience. “It looks like a trial,” Stevie said. She spoke quietly to the commission secretary; Lewis Dixon had to sit with the other commissioners on the opposite side of the big walnut conference table. The chimpanzees sat with Stephanie at a small table in front of them, and the secretary was just to Stevie’s left. Her stenotype machine ground out yards of folded tape as the conference continued. “I trust you are sufficiently rested,” Chairman Hartley said. “This may be a long session.”

“We’ll just have to endure it,” Cornelius answered. He did not smile. Lewis frowned, and Stevie nudged Cornelius. “You’ve got to keep their friendship,” she whispered. “We will be as cooperative as we can be under the circumstances, Dr. Hartley,” Cornelius said. “Unfortunately, we may not know enough.”

“That remains to be seen,” Hartley said. He seemed less unfriendly, but he obviously did not enjoy conversing with chimpanzees. “Senator Yancey, I believe you were asking about Colonel Taylor when the last session ended at Madame Zira’s request. Would you continue, please?”

“Thank you,” Yancey said. “I believe you told us you never met Colonel Taylor?”

“That is correct, Senator,” Cornelius said. “But you arrived here in his spacecraft.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How was that spacecraft launched?

I am an old Air Force reservist, Mister Cornelius, and frankly, I don’t think anybody, I don’t care how smart he is, could have flown that ship without some instruction. Since you couldn’t teach yourselves, one of the crewmen must have taught you.”

Cornelius shrugged, as Zira looked worried. “Your logic is impeccable, Senator,” Cornelius said. “Unfortunately, your conclusion is not correct. We were not taught to operate that spacecraft by Colonel Taylor, or any other human.”

“This other ape, this Dr. Milo you called him, he learned all that by himself?” Yancey said. His voice was scornful; he obviously did not believe the apes. “He found books and papers in the spacecraft,” Zira said. “And Dr. Milo was a genius. His theories on the nature of time and matter were causing every physicist to doubt everything that had been taught.” Tears formed in her eyes again. “I wish he had lived, so that he could discuss his theories with your physics experts.”

“Doubtless we would have learned a great deal,” Hartley said. He didn’t sound at all sincere, and Zira winced. “I want to return to that ship,” Yancey said. “Is it possible that this Milo knew Colonel Taylor and didn’t tell you about it?”

Cornelius shrugged. “I suppose it is possible, but very unlikely. Senator, all we can tell you is that we found the capsule, empty; Dr. Milo studied it and the books and papers aboard it; and eventually he caused it to fly.”

“And why did he pick the two of you to go with him?” Yancey demanded. “We were willing to go,” Zira answered quickly. “Not everyone believed in Milo—not enough to risk their lives with him!

No ape had ever flown, not within our memory!

When Dr. Milo said the ship would fly, no one else would believe him.”

“And why did you?” Lewis Dixon asked. “Because, as an historian, I knew that humans had once had flying machines,” Cornelius answered smoothly. “So I knew such things were possible. Even so, we had our doubts about Dr. Milo’s theories.” He didn’t say anything else, but Lewis knew he was thinking about talks he must have had with Taylor. “Are you satisfied, Senator?” Hartley asked. “No, sir, I am not satisfied,” Yancey answered. “But I reckon I’ve got all the information I’m going to get on the subject. I don’t like it, Dr. Hartley. I don’t like it at all. Three officers of the United States Air Force took off in that space capsule. A year later that same capsule comes back, and nobody knows what happened to our troops. Now I’m just old-fashioned enough to think this, republic exists to defend its citizens, Dr. Hartley, and if there’s any chance those men are alive somewhere we ought to go get them!”

“Colonel Taylor’s ship was not the only one that vanished,” Victor Hasslein said. “Tell us, Cornelius, did the other ship arrive in your, uh, time, as well?”

“Not so far as I know,” Cornelius said quickly. “We found only the one ship.”

He’s getting nervous, Lewis Dixon thought. So is Zira. Old Senator Yancey talks with a mouth full of corn pone, but he’s no fool, and Hasslein is like a snake after a bird. They’re not going to let go of this. “And yet,” Hasslein said, “your Dr. Milo, genius that he was, was able to deduce what Taylor’s ship was for and how it worked, convince himself that it would still work, and persuade you to risk your lives on it. All this on the basis of one ship and no crewmen. Tell me, Mister Cornelius, does this sound reasonable to you?

If I told you that one of your friends had done something like that, would you believe it?”

“I would,” Zira snapped. “My husband has told you that he was an historian. He knew that humans had flying machines. He had told Dr. Milo about them. And once Milo had examined the ship, he said it was obvious what it was for.”

“Obvious,” Hasslein said. He shifted papers and pointed to several passages. “Interesting,” Dr. Hartley muttered. He looked up. “Tell me, sir, were you actually startled by the light in the refrigerator?”

“What?” Cornelius half stood at his seat in indignation. “I suppose you were spying on us?” He looked at Stephanie and Lewis. “We only reported what we saw,” Stevie said. “You knew we would—”

Cornelius’s lips were tightly drawn against his teeth. “I had not known you would report such trivia. Yes, sir, I was startled by the light in the re-frig-er-a-tor.” He pronounced the new word carefully. “And why was that?

Because you had no electricity at all?” Hartley said. Cornelius shook his head. “We were not that primitive, sir. We were familiar with the concept of electricity. It was not widely used, and most generators were hand or animal driven. Certainly we did not use it for the little light in the refrigerator. We did not have energy to waste on such things.”

“And why not?” Cardinal MacPherson asked. “Not why didn’t you waste energy on refrigerator lights; I tend to agree with your assessment of that. I mean why was there so little energy?”

Cornelius shrugged. “Our histories are not that complete, Your Eminence. All I can say is that there were very few sources of energy, and very little technology; and things had, we thought, been that way for a long time. At least a thousand years.”

“Would you say that men had destroyed their great civilizations with war, then?” the Cardinal asked. “I don’t know, sir,” Cornelius replied. “It is possible.”

“Is it possible you destroyed the human civilizations?” The questioner was a new man. Lewis thought for a moment before he realized who he was —Dr. Raymond Wilson, a naturalist specializing in great apes. “Well, I suppose so,” Cornelius said. “Except—” He looked to Zira. “Our records showed only that humans had civilization,” Zira told them. “Such things weren’t even legends to most apes. I doubt if one ape in a hundred would have believed my husband if he told them that humans once built cities and had flying machines.”

“Did you have legends of apes once having great civilizations?” Wilson asked. “I am asking you directly—is it not possible that wars among apes destroyed the cities and power plants and everything?”

“Apes don’t have wars,” Zira protested. “Apes don’t kill apes.”

“Don’t be silly,” Wilson said. “Yeah, you had an army, you said so,” Senator Yancey pointed out. “If there wasn’t anybody to fight, why’d you have an army?”

“All right,” Cornelius said. “There were other ape settlements. Sometimes the gorillas would go fight them. But they didn’t have any weapons except rifles, that sort of thing. Nothing like the bombs we had legends about—all human weapons. Atom bomb. Does that word mean anything to you?

It was a word we used to frighten children, but we weren’t sure it meant anything.”

“It means something,” Yancey said. “Who did your, army fight?” Wilson asked. “Another tribe of apes?”

“Sometimes,” Cornelius said. “But chimpanzees are pacifists. We never had any part in that.”

“You’re convinced all chimpanzees are pacifists,” Wilson said. “And that you’re total vegetarians too?”

“Well—”

“What are you trying to pull?” Wilson demanded. “Would you like to see the films?

I have plenty. Chimpanzees hunting down baboons and eating them. Young baboons play with baby chimpanzees, and sometimes, for no reason, the big chimps will beat the little baboons to death, and the little chimps will eat their playmates—”

“No!” Zira screamed. She looked faint. “Stop that!” Stevie said. She stood in anger, her fists hard against her hips. “Dr. Wilson, your remote ancestors used the thighbone of an antelope to beat other men to death so they could eat their brains!

Not five hundred years ago, humans ate meat so rotten they had to put pepper on it to disguise the taste!

And a thousand years ago your British ancestors were running around wearing nothing but blue paint. Now—”

“Atta-girl!” Lewis shouted. “Young lady!” Chairman Hartley pounded his gavel. “Young lady!

You will restrain yourself. Dr. Wilson, you will grant she has a point—”

“Maybe,” Wilson said. “And maybe not I’ve seen enough damn-fool articles trying to prove that apes ought to inherit the earth and we ought to get out of their way—”

“I have never said that,” Cornelius pointed out. “Dr. Wilson, ladies and gentlemen of the Commission, we must get along with you. We are trapped here, permanently, hopelessly. There is no way we can ever return to our own time. We must live in a human-dominated society, and we must learn to like it. We have no choice in the matter. And we must do whatever we can to help you. It isn’t our fault if we don’t know enough.”

“Absolutely correct,” Victor Hasslein said. “Professor Cornelius, some of my colleagues are, ah, perhaps overzealous. It is difficult for them to accept the simple fact that they are speaking to another intelligent being, not merely to an animal who talks. It was difficult for me, at first, and so I understand their problem. Perhaps, perhaps it would be better if we adjourn this session while my colleagues think about their position and examine their consciences. Give them and you some time to adjust. I so move.”

“Second,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “Splendid thought, Victor.”

“All in favor,” Hartley said. “I see we have a majority. Very well, this Commission stands adjourned.”

12

“That could have been sticky,” Lewis said. He sipped his coffee and relaxed in the apes’ hotel suite. “You can be certain they aren’t through, either.”

“It, was nice of Dr. Hasslein to adjourn the meeting,” Zira said. “I didn’t like him at first, but he seems to be a nice man.”

“Maybe,” Lewis said. “Nice or not, he’s important. Nobody seems to know him well. I don’t think he has any personal life at all.”

“Certainly he does,” Stevie said. “I’ve met his wife and children. He’s no monster, Lewis. A little cold, perhaps, but he’s very pleasant when he wants to be.”

“When did you meet his family?” Lewis asked. “At school. It must have been, oh, a year or two ago. There was an advisory group coming through to review grant applications, and Dr. Hasslein was one of the reviewers. He brought his wife, and the dean asked me to entertain her. Turned out he’d brought two kids, too. He has three, but only the older two came.”

“What’s Mrs. Hasslein like?” Lewis asked curiously. The chimps listened with interest. “Well, she’s not very big, really, but she gives the impression that she is,” Stevie said. “You know, she acts like an old mother hen. It seems a little out of place in such a small girl. But she keeps the children in line very nicely. Especially the—you know.”

Lewis frowned. “I know what?”

“Oh—you didn’t know,” Stevie said. “Well, one of the children has Down Syndrome. He’s about fourteen years old, with the intelligence of a six- or seven-year-old child.”

“Poor Mrs. Hasslein,” Zira said. “She doesn’t let it bother her,” Stevie told them. “And they’ve done wonders with the boy. You wouldn’t think he could have learned so much. Dr. Hasslein is very patient with him. I watched them together.”

“He’s showing me around the Museum of Natural History tomorrow,” Zira said. “I understand they have some marvelous specimens there. In our time there were so many species known only through records, thousands of extinct species. It should be interesting to see them displayed in their natural habitats.”

“I suppose so, my dear,” Cornelius said. “I think, though, I should go with you.”

“Nonsense,” Zira said. “You have an appointment with that British historian chap tomorrow and it’s the only chance you’ll have to see him. I’d be bored stiff sitting through that. It was nice of Dr. Hasslein to offer to show me around.”

“Watch what you say to him,” Lewis warned. “I don’t know what his game is, but I don’t trust him.”

“That’s silly,” Zira said. “If we’re going to be suspicious, then he’ll have a right to be suspicious of us. Pretty soon, nobody will trust anybody, and then where’ll we be?”

“You can’t trust him now,” Cornelius reminded her. “You weren’t thinking of telling him the entire story, were you, my dear?”

“No. I won’t without your permission. But I don’t like this deceit, I really don’t. It’s not natural.”

Cornelius laughed. After a few moments the others did also. “Interspecies trust,” Cornelius said. “A new first.”

“And I hope it lasts,” Stephanie added. * * *

A highly colorful display of the life cycle of the Monarch butterfly; a collection of birds, stuffed or skinned; rhino models; models of the Indian civilizations of the southwest, including a large model of the Aztec City of the Sun; all these and more. Zira rushed from one display to another laughing joyfully, and driving her escorts half crazy as they tried to keep up with her. There was a large mockup of a hurricane, baleful eye of the storm calm in the midst of whirling winds. The artist had drawn it perfectly, and it was framed by satellite pictures of real hurricanes. Next to it was a display of photographs: the destruction of Bangladesh by the great typhoon of 1970.

“How many were killed?” Zira asked. Hasslein looked pained. “Hundreds of thousands. No one knows for sure. Possibly as many as half a million people.”

“I don’t think there were that many apes, or humans, on earth in my time,” Zira said. They went on through the meteorology section to a display of dinosaur bones and models. “Do you know what happened to all those people?” Hasslein asked. “There are nearly three billion on earth now. Perhaps more.”

Zira pointed to the dinosaurs. “What happened to them?”

“We are not sure,” Hasslein said. “It was apparently time for them to go. They went. Perhaps small, mammals developed and ate the eggs of the big lizards. Perhaps the climate changed and they could no longer get enough to eat. No one is certain. But do you think it is time for the human race to leave the earth?”

“It hadn’t in my time,” Zira said. “But apes were dominant,” Hasslein prompted. “Humans did not talk and had no civilization…”

“Not in my part of the world,” Zira said. “I suppose I’m getting tired. Perhaps we should go now. It’s been a very nice day.”

“And it can still be,” Hasslein said smoothly. “I will not press you again. You do understand, it’s a question that is very important to me. To all of us. What can have happened to the human race?

Perhaps we are about to make some mistake—a mistake we can do something about.”

“But—” Zira stopped and looked at him. Her eyes widened. “Do you think you can change the future?

We came from the future!

What we saw had already happened!”

“But it has not happened yet,” Hasslein said. He was very serious. “And thus need not happen.”

“But—what of us?” Zira demanded. “If you do something to prevent our world from ever existing, won’t Cornelius and I just—vanish?”

Hasslein shook his head. “I doubt it. You are here. You are part of the present, not the future, even though you came from the future.”

Zira shrugged and turned away. She began to walk down the corridor again, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. “I don’t think I understand all this, and it gives me a headache.”

Hasslein laughed. “It does me, too.” They turned the corner and entered the primate room. The display was dominated by the centerpiece: an 800 pound male gorilla, magnificently erect, with clenched fists. His dead, glassy eyes stared at the door and seemed to bore through Hasslein and Zira. Around him there were other displays, but he seemed to fill the room, to grow larger and larger, until Zira could see nothing else. The room seemed to swirl about, and Zira felt dizzy. Slowly she fell against Hasslein. The scientist held her for a moment, then gently lowered her to the floor. The attendants ran up. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we do anything?”

“Send for Dr. Dixon,” Hasslein said. “Are you all right, Zira?”

“It must have been the shock of the gorilla,” a Marine bodyguard said. Zira opened her eyes. “Shock, my foot. I’m pregnant.”

“Good Heavens,” Hasslein said. “And we’ve worn you out with all this walking and looking. Let’s get you home.”

* * *

“Dr. Dixon will be here soon,” Victor Hasslein said. “Are you sure you are all right?

The ride back home didn’t tire you too much?”

“I’m fine. You can go now, Dr. Hasslein. Thank you.”

“Oh, no, Zira,” Hasslein said. “I shan’t leave you until Cornelius or Dr. Dixon get here. No, no, I insist. Is there anything I can get you?”

She leaned back on the couch and kicked off her shoes, sighing in relaxation. “Well, I have a strange craving—”

“That’s only natural under the circumstances. What can I get you?”

“Grape Juice Plus.”

“What?

I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“It’s in the refrigerator,” Zira said. “Re-frig-er-a-tor. I said it right, didn’t I?

We call it an icebox.”

“Refrigerator. Certainly. I’ll get it.” Hasslein went to the suite kitchenette. There were three bottles of California champagne in the refrigerator, and he smiled softly to himself. He looked through the cupboards until he found a large wine goblet, then opened the champagne and filled the glass. He brought the bottle with him into the living room. “Here you go,” lie said. “Grape Juice Plus.” Hasslein winked at Zira. She winked back. “But I shouldn’t drink this much…”

“Oh, come now,” Hasslein said. “You’re not that far along, are you?”

“Pretty far,” Zira said. “Well, a little champagne never hurt anyone. How long have you known you were—uh, going to have a child?”

“Since well before the war.” She took a deep drink of the champagne and smacked her lips. “That’s very good. Anyway, I knew since before the war, and that was another reason we wanted to escape. We couldn’t know what would happen.”

Hasslein took out his cigarette case and set it on the table. “Perhaps I shouldn’t smoke—”

“Oh, it doesn’t bother me,” Zira said. “It seems a very silly habit, though.”

“It is. One much easier to take up than to quit, it seems. Thank you.” He lit a cigarette, and left the case on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You say you don’t know against whom the war was fought?”

“Not really,” Zira said. She took another gulp of champagne. Hasslein casually filled her glass again. “Just that there were some—uh, apes, living underground in the next district, and the army decided to fight them.”

Hasslein nodded agreement. “Ordinary citizens often are not asked about such things. Who won your war?”

“It wasn’t our war,” Zira protested, her speech slurring. She gulped more wine. “It was the gorillas’ war. They’re always fighting about something. Chimpanzees are pacifists. We never did see an enemy.”

“Oh.” Hasslein filled her glass again, then took a seat and stretched his feet out in front of him. “Hard day today, wasn’t it?”

“A little,” Zira agreed. They chatted about the museum for a while, as Hasslein continued to keep her glass full. “Surely you know which side won the war,” Hasslein said finally. “Neither side won,” Zira said. “The stupid fools. We told them…”

Hasslein frowned. “Just what did happen, then?”

“When we were in space… we saw the light. A blinding bright white light, it was horrible. The rim of the world seemed to melt!

The whole earth must have been destroyed. Dr. Milo thought it had been. Then there was—I don’t know. Then we were here.” She lifted her glass again and drank more wine, spilling several drops on the table and drooling more down her chin. “I feel very sleepy,” she said. “Magnificently sleepy. I think I shouldn’t drink any more.”

“Probably you’re right,” Hasslein agreed. ‘“Tell me, Zira, what was the date in your time?”

“Thirty-nine… fifty-five.”

Hasslein whistled. “That’s a long time from now. Nearly two thousand years. How far back did you have records?”

“I don’t know. Cornelius would have better information. We had some records, copies of human records, that go back into your past, Dr. Hasslein. But we didn’t have details of anything much over a thousand years old.”

“I see. You are getting sleepy, and here comes Dr. Dixon. He’ll see you get to bed.” Hasslein retrieved his cigarette case as Lewis came in. “You’re all right?” Lewis demanded. “I was told she had a fainting spell.”

“Nothing to be worried, about;” Hasslein assured him. “But perhaps you don’t know. Madame Zira will be a mother shortly. I’ll leave you with your patient, Dr. Dixon. Good afternoon.”

Lewis watched Hasslein put his cigarette case in his pocket and leave the suite. He watched until the scientist was gone, and then turned to Zira, noting the nearly empty champagne bottle, and Zira’s slack smile. Just what had Hasslein learned?

And what would he do with the knowledge?

Lewis Dixon was suddenly afraid. 13

It was warm in Washington, far too warm, and the president wished he were back in the Western White House in California. If it were left to him he’d move the whole government out there, except it couldn’t really be done. All those bureaus and bureaucrats—of course, he could do without a lot of them, but not without the embassies. He sighed again thinking about California, then buzzed his secretary. ‘Who’s next, Mary Lynn?”

“Dr. Hasslein, Mister President.”

“Oh.” He sighed again. What would Victor want this time?

He seemed so upset about the chimpanzees. “All right. Send him in.”

Hasslein came into the oval office and stood, straight and still, in front of the president’s desk. Except for the military people, Hasslein was the only man who stood quite that way, and the president often wondered if the scientist were a frustrated soldier. “What can I do for you, Victor?”

“I made a tape last week, Mister President. While I interviewed the female chimpanzee. I’d like you to listen to it.”

“All right.” The president got up from behind the big desk and came around to the couch on the other side. He motioned, Hasslein to a chair. “Can I get you anything, Victor?

A beer, perhaps?

I’ll have one myself.”

“No, thank you, sir.” He set the small tape recorder/player on the coffee table and waited until the president had opened the beer he took from the refrigerator under the end table. “Just how did you get that tape?”

“With a clandestine recorder the CIA people gave me. A cigarette case.” Hasslein started the tape. It began with his own voice—“How long have you known you were—uh, going to have a child?” Zira answered. Eventually it ended. The president drank the last of his beer. “So?”

“So?” Hasslein stood and paced angrily. “So Mister President, we have evidence that some day talking apes will dominate the earth. They will live in a civilization, if you can call it that, with very little science and no technology. Humans will be dumb animals, probably mistreated. And in less than two thousand years those apes will destroy the earth, killing themselves and all humans as well.”

“I doubt we will be in office then,” the president said. “Really, sir, I am serious.”

“So am I, Victor. I have an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, and to preserve and protect the people and nation. I don’t see how these apes are much of a threat to that oath—or, for that matter, what I am supposed to do about a theoretical threat to the earth that doesn’t mature for almost two thousand years.”

Hasslein continued to pace. He said nothing. “Come now,” the president said. “Victor, what the devil do you expect me to do about it?

What can we do about it?”

“Mister President, can apes talk now?”

“Eh?

Of course not, Victor.”

“After thousands—millions—of years of evolution, they can’t talk and don’t appear to be able to learn,” Hasslein said. “Had you asked me before those three appeared in that capsule, I would have said it was absolutely impossible for apes to learn to talk at any time within the foreseeable future. That it would be at least hundreds of thousands of years before they learn.”

“Yet we have two who can.”

“Precisely!” Hasslein smacked his left fist into his open right hand. “Because these two apes are genetically different!

Yet, I expect, they can interbreed with other apes. They can transmit that distinguishing characteristic, the ability to learn speech, to their progeny. If that gene is distributed among apes, then all apes will eventually have the ability to speak.”

“Oh, come now, Victor, that’s a paradox!

You’re saying that they come from the future to our present; they interbreed with other apes; and by interbreeding with them, they create their own future!

That if they didn’t come here to be their own great-great grandparents, they couldn’t exist at all!

You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“Yes, sir, I’m afraid that’s precisely what I believe.”

“Impossible!

Rubbish!”

“No, sir.” Hasslein’s eyes blazed as he glared at the president. “I can prove it. What you think of as a paradox, as a violation of the laws of causality, only appears that way because you have a very distorted view of causality to begin with. Now, let me show you.” He took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and laid them on the table. “Look here—”

“Oh, no,” the president protested. “Victor, I never got past college algebra!

You take those equations and put them back in your pocket.”

“But I can’t prove it to you without them.”

“We’ll assume you prove it, all right?

But what do you want me to do?” He looked at the pale blazing eyes. “No!

You really think we can alter the course of the future?”

“Yes, sir. Their future is not necessarily our future. Even though it is just as real. I can—”

“I heard you on the Big News show. Not that I understood you. So you want me to alter what you believe may be the future by slaughtering two innocents. Three, now that one of them’s pregnant.” The president nodded grimly to himself. “It’s an old tradition with kings, isn’t it?

Herod tried it. He wasn’t successful, either. Christ survived.”

“Herod lacked the facilities we have,” Hasslein said grimly. “And we have only two apes to deal with.”

“Victor, have you any idea how unpopular such a thing would be?” the president demanded. “I’d go down in history as another Herod. No, thank you. I’ve a good record, and I don’t need that on it.”

“You are putting your sentiments for these apes ahead of your duty to the people.”

The president half stood, his mouth a grim, tight line of anger. “I do not need you to remind me of my duties to the people, Doctor Hasslein!”

“I beg your pardon,” Hasslein said formally. “You beg it, but you aren’t sorry,” the president said. He sighed and sat down again. This interview wasn’t going well at all. “Victor, I’ve seen the chimpanzees on television, I’ve met them briefly—they seem very charming, very harmless, and very popular with the voters. You speak of my duties to the people. One of those duties is to carry out the popular will, and I think being courteous to those chimpanzees is very much what the people want.”

“Not all of them,” Hasslein said. “The Gallup poll shows a lot of undecided. Especially when they’re asked about Colonel Taylor—”

“Yes. But the fact remains, they’ve done nothing to us, and have made no threats. In God’s name, Victor, how would we justify anything like that?”

“It would look like a tragic accident,” Hasslein said. “The CIA could arrange it.”

“They could, eh?

How do you know?”

“Well, sir, I assumed—”

“You can keep your assumptions to yourself, Dr. Hasslein. No. We will have no tragic accidents.”

“My God, Mister President, do you want them and their progeny to dominate the world?”

The president smiled again. He went to his big chair behind the desk and sat his eyes not focused but staring idly outside at the White House lawn. One of his children was playing out there. “Not just yet, certainly,” he said. “And not at the next election, either. But if their progeny turn out to be as pleasant as they are, maybe they’ll make a better job than we have. We haven’t done all that well, Victor.”

“They destroyed the earth!”

The president shrugged. “Are you sure that was our earth she saw destroyed?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t, Mister President?”

“Of course not.”

“And it is a reasonable assumption. They believed it was the earth. It certainly sounded like it. These animals are native to Earth. They therefore came from our earth—”

“Oh, spare me the long-winded logical arguments, Victor. You may be right…”

“The earth, Mister President. All of it. Leave out the fact that these apes have conquered our earth in their time; that humanity consists of sniveling wretches unable even to pronounce their own names. Perhaps something could have been done about that. But not with the earth destroyed!”

“Victor, if that is the future, nothing we do will change it.”

“Insufficient understanding again, Mister President. All futures may be equally real, but only one will happen.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand how something can be real if it doesn’t happen-—oh, never mind. I don’t want you to explain it again. You truly believe that by deliberate, present day action we can change the future for the better.”

“Yes. I do.”

“All right. But do you believe we should?

Have we got the right to do that, Victor?”

“I don’t know.”

The president looked up, shocked. It was the first time he had ever seen his science advisor in a state of uncertainty. The man’s wild stare was gone, and there were suspicious glints at the corners of his eyes, as if he were about to cry. Hasslein’s voice was unsteady as he continued. “You can’t know how I’ve wrestled with that problem, Mister President. I just don’t know what the right thing is. Out of all the futures, all real, which one has God chosen for man’s final destiny?

And if we destroy those apes, are we defying God’s will or carrying it out?

Are we His instruments or His enemies?”

The president got up from his desk and went to put a hand on Hasslein’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry too much about thwarting God’s will, Victor.”

“I can’t believe in fatalism—”

“Nor I, Victor. I only meant He’s big enough to get His way if He sets His mind to it, without much regard for what you or I want. Maybe you’d better ask Him what to do. I do. Quite often, in this job.”

Hasslein shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

“Then I do feel sorry for you. But you do know that killing two innocent beings is immoral. You can’t condone that kind of assassination—”

“You have,” Hasslein protested. “We had that Soviet marshal killed—”

“God help us. Yes. He was an evil man, full of plans for war. I had no choice.” The President noticed Hasslein’s triumphant look, and felt disgust. “Yes. I authorized murder of an evil and dangerous man, Dr. Hasslein. But I wouldn’t have approved killing him as a baby because he might become an evil man. Or having his remote ancestors killed to prevent his ever being born. That’s just what you’re proposing to do with those chimpanzees, and I won’t have it. They haven’t done anything to us.”

“Nothing proven,” Hasslein said. “The fact remains, they have appeared in Colonel Taylor’s capsule. The very act of their coming here makes it impossible for Colonel Taylor to return. Don’t forget that, Mister President. They may have killed Colonel Taylor for his ship. Did you ever think of that?”

The president sat abruptly. “No. I didn’t.”

“Suppose that’s the way it happened?” Hasslein asked. “Then we would have to rethink our position,” the president said. “Taylor was one of my officers. I sent him. What makes you think these chimpanzees know any more than they’ve told us?”

“They didn’t tell us about the end of the world,” Hasslein reminded him. “Not until I got one of them drunk.”

“Plying a pregnant girl with champagne,” the president said. He almost smiled. “I ought to be ashamed of you.”

“It got more information than anything else we’ve done,” Hasslein snapped. “And there have been other discrepancies. I think those chimpanzees are lying to us. About many things. I think proper interrogation would disclose what they were lying about.”

“And you don’t think the Commission is competent?” the president asked. “No, sir. How could it be?

And its procedures are those of Anglo Saxon justice. I submit to you, sir, this is a matter of national security, and those apes have no rights under the Constitution of the United States.”

“I suppose not,” the president said. “I take it, then, you want your own interrogation—?”

“Yes, sir. I want to borrow some people from the National Security Agency, and I want to transfer this matter to the National Security Council instead of that farcical Commission.”

The president nodded. He lifted a telephone from his desk and spoke briefly into the instrument, then turned to Hasslein again. “All right. I’ve asked General Brody to set things up with NSA for you. As to the Commission, you will give all information NSA digs up for you to the commissioners. I will not remove this matter from their jurisdiction until and unless I think there is a real threat to the national security. You keep me informed, and until you find me something really convincing, the Commission stays on the job. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir,” Hasslein said. “Thank you.”

“You needn’t,” the President said. “I don’t like any of this. But you’ve effectively reminded me of my duty. Very well, Victor. Keep me informed.”

“Yes, sir.” Hasslein left, a twisted smile on his face. The president watched the door close behind his science advisor, and sighed again. There were times when he wondered if all the fight he’d had to get to this office had been worth it; if he wouldn’t be happier back in Congress. He’d always liked politics, but the Oval Office was a pretty big job for an Iowa farm boy. It would be pretty big for anybody, he thought. And the man who had wanted it, the man I defeated to get it—God, no. “Mary Lynn, who do we have next?”

“Secretary of the Interior, sir.”

“Very good. Send him in.”

14

Admiral Jardin looked with disgust at the document. He read it carefully, then again, before looking at Dr. Hasslein. “I don’t like it,” Snapper Jardin said. “You are not asked to like it,” Hasslein told him. “It is a valid order from the Presidential Commission of Inquiry, and countersigned by General Brody for the president. I take it you are not satisfied, Admiral. Would you prefer to call General Brody yourself?”

“No. All right, I’ll deliver the chimpanzees to your National Security Agency interrogation team. I don’t seem to have much choice. But I will be damned if I’m going to cook up a press release about the apes needing rest and privacy and seclusion. I won’t cover for your damned wrecking crew, Hasslein. Leave the Navy out of your bloody intrigues.”

“All we are trying to do is to find what happened to Colonel Taylor, Admiral. Surely you want to cooperate in that?” Jardin frowned. “Yeah. But I don’t think you’re going about it the right way. OK, what do you want for facilities?”

“Perhaps an empty hospital wing at Camp Pendleton?” Hasslein suggested. “Somewhere on a guarded post, and since one of the apes is pregnant, medical facilities wouldn’t be a bad idea. After all, Admiral, we don’t want to harm these animals. We only want to be sure they’ve told us everything we need to know.”

“I suppose. I still think my people could have handled the job. OK, you’ll get your hospital. We have a whole clinic not being used right now. It was part of the reception center for the Viet Nam POWs coming home. Ought to have everything you need. We have tape recording setups and projection screens for debriefings of our troops—”

“Excellent,” Hasslein purred. “And you need not bother to arrange transportation. I’ll take care of that. You just alert the guards at Camp Pendleton that we’ll be there before noon tomorrow.” He reached across the desk to take the documents. Admiral Jardin smoothly held them out of Hasslein’s reach. “I’ll keep this, if you don’t mind.”

Hasslein frowned. “Why?”

Jardin slammed his open palm against the desk. “Because I still don’t like any part of this, and if I didn’t have it in writing from the president I wouldn’t do it. I’ll keep these orders, Hasslein. I may need them some day.”

“Nonsense,” Hasslein said. He shrugged. “But if that’s the way you feel about it, there’s nothing I can do. Just be sure to have that interrogation suite ready for me, Admiral.” Hasslein smiled again, but there was no warmth in the look, and Admiral Jardin did not want to meet the scientist’s gaze. * * *

“You still have not explained what they will do with us, Lewis,” Cornelius said. He watched the rolling brown hills of Orange County flicker past as the big limousine drove south on the San Diego freeway. Many of the hills were covered with imitation adobe houses, all crowded together inside small walled communities, while around them were empty brown hills again. “I gather we have no choice about coming with you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t,” Lewis said. He sat with Stevie; the two were facing the chimpanzees in the rear of the limousine. A glass partition separated the four from a Marine officer and his driver up front. Two Marine staff cars filled with armed men trailed behind them. “And I don’t know what to advise you. A number of the commissioners weren’t satisfied with your answers, so it wasn’t too difficult to get them to agree to a more, ah, professional, interrogation. I got the impression that if the Commission hadn’t agreed, this would happen anyway, so I went along with it…”

“Lewis!” Stevie said. He shrugged. “As I told you, it wouldn’t have made any difference, darling. They’d have been subjected to interrogation anyway. At least this way the Presidential Commission has authority in the matter. They can’t do anything without consulting us. If we let it get out of the Commission’s hands…”

“But who’s behind all this?” Stephanie asked. Lewis shook his head. “I don’t know. I suspect Hasslein.”

“Dr. Hasslein was very kind to me,” Zira said. “I wouldn’t think he’d do anything to hurt us.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Lewis said. He looked helplessly at the apes. “You understand, as a member of the Presidential Commission, I can’t advise you to lie or withhold information. But as your physician and friend—be careful.”

“These men are experts,” Stevie said. “They can make you say things you don’t mean, or—”

“Why would they do that?” Cornelius asked. “I don’t know,” Stevie said. “But be careful, please.”

“And be polite,” Lewis warned. Cornelius laughed. “You did hear that, did you not, Zira?”

“I heard. Lewis, have they—who are these men?

How can they do this to us?”

“We did more to Colonel Taylor,” Cornelius reminded her. “They have as much right to treat us as animals as we did to treat their pilots…”

“But we didn’t know,” Zira protested. “I wouldn’t mention Colonel Taylor at all, unless they ask,” Lewis warned. “And then I think you’d best stick to your original story—here we are.”

The car turned off the freeway and down a side road. It drove past the huge dome-shape of the San Onofre nuclear power plant, and Lewis and Stevie had to explain that to the apes. “Atomic power?” Cornelius said wonderingly. “Would that have anything to do with atom bomb?”

“Not really,” Lewis said. “Same principles, but entirely different application. Atom bombs explode. This can’t.”

“But all these things really are human inventions,” Cornelius said. “I had always suspected so.”

The camp gates were just ahead. The car stopped and two Marine sentries peered inside, then waved them through with a salute. The car drove past barracks and administrative offices, and through the main part of the Marine camp. Then it climbed into more barren hills, until all the other buildings were lost from sight. The two staff cars followed. They rounded another low hill and saw a complex of single-story wooden buildings with green roofs. The whole area had an abandoned look despite a number of cars parked in front of the central building. Two Marines stood guard out front, and they saw several others go into another building to their left. Admiral Jardin came out to greet them. “Welcome to Camp Pendleton,” he said. “You should be comfortable here. We’ve arranged for our guests and the necessary scientific people to stay in the central wing here. Other personnel as needed will stay over there. We have everything you’ll need, I think.”

Lewis Dixon nodded. “Thank you, Admiral.”

Victor Hasslein came out of the central building. Four civilians accompanied him, but Hasslein did not introduce them. They stood around the limousine, and when the apes got out, stayed carefully behind them. “Very good, Admiral,” Hasslein said. “We’ll take custody of them now.”

Jardin nodded. “Yeah. You’ll remember this is a Navy facility, Dr. Hasslein.”

Certainly. You needn’t be concerned, Admiral. We’ll take very good care of your guests. And of course, we now assume full responsibility…”

“Yeah,” Admiral Jardin said. He looked unhappily at Lewis and Stevie, then back at Hasslein. “Yeah. You sure do.”

* * *

Everyone had been very polite. The chimpanzees had a full day to adjust to their new quarters and move their things into their suite. They had been well fed by white-uniformed hospital attendants, and Lewis and Stevie had been served an excellent meal in the apes’ rooms. They were given rooms of their own, and furnished every convenience. Every convenience but one. No one could leave without Dr. Hasslein’s permission. He insisted that it was all a formality, and that he would soon have passes made up for Lewis and Stephanie; but the secretaries were slow, and everything was irregular so that they had to establish some control procedures. The one thing certain was that the Marines on guard outside weren’t letting anyone in or out. They were introduced to two new staff members. “This is Henry Amalfi,” Hasslein said. “And Larry Bates. Of the National Security Agency. Well, Dr. Dixon, I think it is time to begin. Can you bring the chimpanzees down to room 104, please?”

The room had been an operating theater. Surgical equipment was still racked against the walls, and there were white glass-fronted cabinets full of gleaming steel instruments. Zira looked at the equipment with envy. She hadn’t had gear half this good. Her interest in the set-up was not enough to cover her fears, though, and she clung to her husband’s hand. Hasslein, Amalfi, and Bates sat side by side at a long table at one end of the room. The chairs set out for the chimpanzees resembled dentists’ chairs, comfortable, but cold and clinical in appearance. There was no place for Lewis or Stevie to sit, and the guards ushered them out. “Now just a minute,” Lewis protested. “I have a right to be here—”

“No, sir,” Hasslein told him. “I represent the Commission, and you have no medical duties to perform at the moment. I’m sorry, Dr. Dixon, but I must insist that you leave.”

Lewis shrugged helplessly, and turned away. He was uncomfortably aware of the terrified gaze Zira directed at his back, and he left her looking at him even after the door closed with a hollow sound. 15

“Relax,” Dr. Hasslein said. “We won’t hurt you. We only want to find out the truth.”

Cornelius and Zira said nothing. Finally Cornelius asked, “If you don’t mean us any harm, why did you send Dr. Dixon away?

Are you ashamed of what you’re going to do?”

“That’s no way to talk,” Mr. Amalfi said. “Look, the sooner we get started, the sooner we can all go home. I don’t like it here any more than you do. We’ve just got a job to do, that’s all.”

“What’s the point of trying to reason with monkeys?” Bates demanded. “Aw, Larry, don’t be like that,” Amalfi said. “He hadn’t ought to be like that, had he, Dr. Hasslein?

Be nice, Larry.”

“I don’t have to be nice to monkeys,” Bates said. “They won’t tell us anything. Probably don’t know anything.”

“I don’t agree,” Amalfi said. “They’re pretty smart. Aren’t you?” He flashed them a smile. “Now, for instance, we need to know about things like this.” He touched a button on a small console on the table in front of him. Zira’s voice, somewhat blurred, came from the player: “When we were in space… we saw the light. A blinding bright white light, it was horrible. The rim of the world seemed to melt!

The whole earth must have been destroyed. Dr. Milo thought it had been. Then there was—I don’t know. Then we were here.”

“Now, that was you talking, wasn’t it?” Amalfi said. “You saw all that?”

“I don’t know if I said that,” Zira said. “Eh?

Why don’t you know?”

“I don’t remember saying it,” Zira told them. “I was drunk. Dr. Hasslein can tell you, I had too much champagne to drink.”

“Yes,” Hasslein said. “That’s right, Mr. Amalfi. She probably didn’t know what she was saying.”

“But we have to check it out,” Amalfi said. “Now, Madame Zira, why would you tell Dr. Hasslein something when you were drunk but hide it from the Commission when you were sober?

Were you afraid of us?”

“No. We didn’t hide anything,” Zira insisted. “Nobody ever asked us about that.”

“I see,” Amalfi said. He smiled gently. “See, Larry, I fold you they’d cooperate. So. Now we do have to ask you about that, of course. You had a war, and the earth was destroyed…”

“But not by us,” Zira insisted. “Chimpanzees had no part in that war or in the destruction. Only the gorillas and the orangutans.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” Bates said. “You’re all a bunch of monkeys anyway.”

“That will do,” Cornelius said harshly. “I have overlooked your insults before, Mr. Bates, but I will not do so again. Please do not employ the word ‘monkey’ in referring to us. We find it offensive and impertinent.”

“Well, look who’s on his high horse,” Bates said. “For somebody who blew up the world, you’re sure holy and righteous!”

Cornelius sniffed. “As an archeologist and historian, I studied a very great number of ancient records,” he said. “I have concluded that the weapon which probably destroyed Earth was man’s invention. I am almost certain of it, now that I have seen your atomic power plants—you do have real atom bombs.”

“But your kind used them,” Bates sneered. “Perhaps,” Cornelius said. “But I also know that one reason for man’s decline and fall was your peculiar habit of murdering one another. Man destroys man. Apes do not destroy apes.”

“Crap,” Bates snapped. “You tried to pull that one before. Run the film,” he ordered. There was a screen on one side of the room. It lit with scenes obviously taken from a blind in an animal game preserve. A group of chimpanzees, both adult, and young, played together with young baboons. Suddenly one of the adult chimpanzees seized an immature baboon and dashed its brains out against a tree. It cracked open the skull and dipped its fingers into the brain case, then licked them off. Other chimpanzees crowded around as the rest of the baboons fled in panic. They tore the baby baboon apart and ate it. Finally the screen went dark and the lights came on again. “Well,” Bates demanded. “What’s this crap about being peaceful and vegetarian?

Aren’t baboons apes?”

“But we never did anything like that!” Zira protested. “Chimpanzees are pacifists!

Only the gorillas wanted the war—”

“Bates, I’m shocked,” Hasslein said smoothly. “Look how that film has upset Zira. Cornelius, Zira, this is not an interracial hassle. We are trying to find out the facts. For example: we can admit the possibility of the decline and fall of mankind, but we would like to know just how it happened—and how apes rose to take man’s place.”

“I see,” Cornelius said. “As an historian, surely you must have theories,” Hasslein said smoothly. “Yes,” Cornelius admitted. He settled back in his chair. “So far as we can tell, it began with a plague that affected dogs.”

“And cats,” Zira added. “And cats. Millions of them died, and there was no antidote. A house that had been infected by the plague could never again have a dog or a cat in it. To bring pets anywhere near that house would be to kill them. And despite the quarantines, the plague spread…”

“It must have been horrible,” Zira said. “And when it was over, man had no pets. None at all.”

“An intolerable situation,” Cornelius continued. “Men might kill their brothers, but not their dogs. Since they couldn’t keep dogs and cats, men took primitive apes into their homes.”

“Primitive,” Amalfi said. “Would you explain that, please?”

“They couldn’t talk,” Zira said. “But primitive and dumb as they were, they were still twenty times more intelligent than dogs and cats. And people bred them for intelligence.”

“Precisely,” Cornelius said. “They lived in houses with people. They shared the same foods, and they copied—’aped,’ if you prefer—their owners’ habits. And after two centuries of living like this, the apes became more than pets. They became servants. They did far more than tricks, they worked for humans.”

“Like sheep dogs?” Amalfi asked. “Humpf,” Zira said. “Could sheep dogs make beds?”

“Or cook?” Cornelius asked. “Clean house?

Go marketing for groceries with lists from their mistresses?

Apes worked in factories, and waited on tables in restaurants. They performed all the menial tasks humans insist on having done for them but won’t do themselves.”

“Fascinating,” Hasslein said. “But then what happened?”

“They turned the tables on their owners,” Zira said. Her voice held satisfaction and pride. “They learned they were slaves, and they did something about it!”

Cornelius gently laid his hand on Zira’s. “First, of course, they had to develop personalities of their own. While they were animals, unaware of anything, they did not feel exploited; but after two hundred years of this, they became aware of their identity. Then they learned to be alert to the concept of slavery—and to slavery’s antidote, which is unity and brotherhood. They learned to act together. They learned to refuse.”

“I see,” Hasslein said. “Do go on, Professor Cornelius.” His pale eyes were alert and interested, and he leaned slightly forward across the table. “At first, they only barked their refusal,” Cornelius said. “But then, one historic day, there came an ape named Aldo who didn’t bark. He spoke. He spoke a word which had been spoken to him, time without number, by humans. He said, ‘No’.”

“You seem proud of Aldo,” Hasslein said. “Of course,” Zira told them. “His is the most honored name among apes. We are all proud of him.”

“And that’s how it all started,” Hasslein said to himself. “But—what happened to the humans?”

“We don’t know, exactly,” Cornelius said. “Slaughtered by the apes, maybe?” Bates sneered. “More likely, by each other,” Zira snapped. “Roll that film clip. B-3,” Bates ordered. The screen lit again, to show Cornelius and Zira during the first session with the Presidential Commission of Inquiry. “Where we come from, apes talk and humans are dumb animals,” Cornelius’s image said. “Those were your words, were they not?” Bates asked. “Certainly,” Cornelius answered. “So in your culture, humans are dumb,” Bates continued. “Are they happy?” Cornelius looked away from the interrogator’s cold staring eyes. “I asked you, are they happy?”

There was no answer. “Just what happened to the human culture, Professor Cornelius?” Hasslein asked gently. “Was there a slaughter of humans by apes?

Surely you would have records of a triumph like that!

You would be proud of it.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Cornelius said. “After the revolt, the apes enslaved the humans, didn’t they?” Bates insisted. “For revenge. And eventually exterminated every human with intelligence. Destroyed civilization.”

“No,” Zira protested. “It wasn’t that way at all.”

“How are humans treated in your time/place?” Amalfi demanded. “What would happen to me, for instance, if I went there?”

“I don’t know,” Zira answered. “Ah,” Bates said. “Sure about that?

Real sure?

Run that next tape, uh, tape B-5.”

The screen lit again, to show Zira speaking to the Commission. “As to humans,” her image said, “I’ve dissec—Excuse me. I have examined thousands of humans and until now I have discovered only two who could talk in my whole life. God knows who taught them.”

“Now,” Bates said, “we presume that you meant you had known two humans who could speak prior to your arrival in our time. Otherwise, your words make no sense at all.” His voice hardened into a whiplash. “Who were the two?

Colonel Taylor and who else?”

“I never met Colonel Taylor,” Zira protested. “You came here in his ship,” Hasslein reminded them. “Give me that special setup, sound only,” Bates told the intercom. Zira’s voice came through. “As to humans, I’ve dissec—excuse me. I have examined thousands of humans…”

“Now what was that word you didn’t finish?” Bates asked. “Just what were you afraid to tell the Commission?”

“I don’t remember,”’ Zira said nervously. “I—we weren’t afraid of anything!”

“Hah. You don’t remember,” Bates said. “We’ll refresh your memory. Run the loop.”

“Dissec—dissec—dissec—dissec…” Zira’s voice said endlessly. “Finish the word, monkey,” Bates snarled. “I have told you not to use that word!” Cornelius snapped. He stood and advanced toward the table. “If you don’t sit down we’ll put the chains back on you,” Bates said. “Dissec—dissec—dissec…”

“Complete the word, Madame Zira!”

She sniffed. “It sounds as if I had hiccups!”

“Good girl!” Cornelius encouraged. “I see,” Hasslein said. “I take it, then, you refuse to tell us of your relationship with Colonel Taylor?”

“We never knew…”

“Oh, don’t lie,” Amalfi said. “That won’t do you any good. Come on, tell us about it. You’ll feel better, and we can leave you alone then.”

“Those monkeys aren’t going to tell us anything,” Bates snapped. “You shouldn’t call them monkeys, Larry,” Amalfi said. “Professor Cornelius said he didn’t like that. Won’t you just tell us about it?

Please?

We have to find out, you know. And we will, too. Make it easier on yourselves.”

“Good advice,” Hasslein told them. “There is nothing to tell,” Cornelius said. Hasslein sighed. “You leave us no choice. Send for Dr. Dixon, please.”

There was a long pause. Then Lewis Dixon came into the small clinic. “You wanted me?”

“Yes,” Hasslein said. “I want you to administer sodium pentothal to these apes. You may begin with the female.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Lewis said. “I don’t care what you think, Dr. Dixon,” Hasslein said. “I have not invited your comments, and I will not listen to your arguments. You may do as I have asked you, or you may refuse. If you refuse, I will have an NSA physician administer the dosage. I only invited you because these apes are under your care, and I thought you might prefer to participate.”

“I see.” Lewis was silent for a moment. “I’ll get my bag.”

“That will not be necessary,” Hasslein said. “You will find everything you need in that cabinet there. I trust you already know the body weight.”

“Yes,” Lewis said. “But I don’t necessarily know the dosage. Or the effect on a chimpanzee.”

“It should be the same as with humans,” Hasslein said. “Anyway, we’ll try it.”

“You haven’t the right,” Lewis protested. “Dr. Dixon,” Hasslein said, “that is the last argument I will hear from you. Either you do as I ask, or someone else will. Now is that clearly understood?

Are you serious, for that matter?

These are animals. They have no legal rights. Perhaps their owners have rights—”

“No one owns us!” Zira shouted. “You see?” Hasslein said. “And of course they appeared in a U. S. spacecraft. Trespassers. A prima facie case of skyjacking. Administer the hypo, Dr. Dixon, or we’ll get someone in who will.”

“All right.” Lewis took the tray from the cabinet. What can I do?

he thought. If they get someone else in, he may not even care if he harms them. At least I’ll be here to protect my—patients. He filled a hypodermic with sodium pentothal and turned toward Zira. “No!” Cornelius shouted. He had seen the instrument for the first time. “When we use those things, it’s for killing!

No!”

“Restrain him,” Hasslein ordered. Amalfi and Bates took Cornelius’s arms. “Killing what?” Bates asked. “Thought you were pacifist vegetarians!”

“Yes, just whom have you killed with those needles, Professor Cornelius?” Hasslein asked. “Well, we shall know all shortly. Proceed, Dr. Dixon.”

“This won’t harm her,” Lewis assured Cornelius. “This isn’t for killing. It’s for—well, relaxing.”

“Will it harm my baby?” Zira asked. “No. Please lie down on the table, Zira,” Lewis said. “And bare your left arm.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Zira said angrily. She climbed onto the operating table and lay quietly. Cornelius whimpered and tried to get closer to her. “Take Professor Cornelius to his quarters, please,” Hasslein said. Bates nodded and led the chimpanzee away. As he left, Cornelius saw Zira wince as the needle was pushed home into her arm. 16

Henry Amalfi and Larry Bates stood outside the interrogation room. Bates pulled at a big calabash pipe, while Amalfi puffed on a black cigar. “You had better stay outside,” Amalfi said. “She’s not going to relax with you around.”

“Expect you’re right,” Bates said. “Can’t really say I’m sorry to be out of it. This is a weird one.”

“Maybe.” Amalfi stuffed the cigar into a sandfilled ash tray. “You weren’t on that interrogation of those cats from North Laos, were you?” When his partner shook his head, Amalfi continued, “Now that one was really weird. These monkeys speak English, anyway. That outfit spoke some brand of Gook that nobody else understood. Finally we found a Gook who could speak their gibber and could talk Chinese too, only then we had to get a Chink to translate that. Weird, I tell you. This is pretty straightforward.”

“I suppose. Only, Henry…”

“Yeah?”

“You really shouldn’t speak of them as Gooks and Chinks. It isn’t nice.”

“Yeah.” They both laughed, and Amalfi went back into the interrogation room. “This will have about the same effect as ‘Grape Juice Plus’,” Lewis told her. “You’ll get sleepy…”

“And drunk,” she said. “More or less. OK, count backwards from ten, please,” Lewis said. “Sure. Ten—nine—eight—seven—seven—six…”

“That’s fine. Just keep it up.”

“Five—four—four…”

“What’s after four?”

“I don’t know—two?

I’m very tired.”

Lewis looked up to Hasslein. “We’re ready.”

“Thank you, Dr. Dixon. You may go now.”

“No, sir,” Dixon said. “This chimpanzee is my patient, and I’m staying here.”

Hasslein said nothing. Lewis met his steady gaze. “Dr. Hasslein, I am both a member of the Presidential Commission, and the attending physician. If you have me put out of here I’ll make so much noise you’ll be hearing about it for the next ten years.” Lewis spoke very quietly so that he wouldn’t disturb Zira, but his voice was hard and determined. Hasslein nodded. “Very well. Mr. Amalfi, you may begin.”

“Zira,” Amalfi said. “You remember me?

I’m your friend.”

“Friend…”

“Have you ever worked in a room like this one?” he asked. “Yes. Mine was larger. But not so—pretty.”

“Pretty?

I wouldn’t call this room pretty,” Amalfi said. “The equipment is lovely,” she muttered. “Really beautiful equipment. We never had such good equipment.”

“I see. And you had assistants?”

“Three. Three assistants, all chimpanzees. And one orangutan worked with us, sometimes…”

“And what did you do in your laboratory?”

“Comparative studies.”

“Comparative studies of what?” Amalfi asked. “Comparative ana—ana…”

“Comparative anatomy?”

“Yes,” the sleepy voice answered. Hasslein looked at Lewis with both triumph and sadness in his eyes. “You knew?” he asked softly. Lewis didn’t answer. “Traitor,” Hasslein said coldly. “Continue, Amalfi.”

“What anatomies did you compare?”

The chimpanzee rocked gently on the table. There was no answer. Finally Amalfi said, “Human and ape anatomy?

Is that it?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you mean yes?

Say yes if you mean yes. Did you compare human and ape anatomies?”

“Yes.”

“So you dissected other apes?

All species of apes?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Dead apes. From hospitals, and morgues.”

“But to do comparative studies, you had to dissect humans as well, didn’t you?”

“Yes. As they were—as they were made available.”

“I see. How were they made available, Zira?”

“The gorillas hunted them. For sport. They used nets, and guns, and traps. Sometimes they caught them alive, and kept them in cages…”

“And what did they do with the humans they kept in cages, Zira?” Amalfi asked. His voice was carefully controlled, calm and friendly, but he looked away with hatred and disgust. “The army used them for target practice, some of them. We had our pick of the others, for scientific experiments. Some were very good specimens.”

“I see.” Amalfi’s voice came alive, matching Zira’s enthusiasm. “And you could make so many scientific discoveries that way. You dissected and removed and compared—”

“Bones, muscles, tendons, veins, arteries, kidneys, livers, hearts, stomachs, reproductive organs. Everything. We did very careful work. We mapped the nervous systems, and reflexes—”

“Reflexes,” Hasslein hissed. He looked at Dixon, then at Amalfi. “What does she mean, reflexes?”

“Reflexes?” Amalfi said. “But dead humans don’t have reflexes.”

“Of course not,” Zira protested. “I told you we did good work. We used living specimens. You can’t make a dead man’s knee jump, or test a corpse’s reactions to a prefrontal lobotomy.”

“Then you were very advanced,” Amalfi said. “So much so that you were able to do experimental brain surgery on living humans?”

“Yes.”

“How many survived?”

“Quite a few. Of course we lost a lot of them, too, but that was only to be expected,” Zira said. “But my main project is to stimulate the atrophied speech centers of the humans.”

“Have you had any success?”

“Not yet,” Zira said. “I mean, not now—not anymore?

Where am I?”

“She’s coming around,” Hasslein said. “Another injection, Dr. Dixon.”

“I think not,” Lewis said. When Hasslein started to protest, Lewis said, “If you kill this intelligent, speaking chimpanzee, you’ll answer for it to the president. I won’t take the responsibility, and I doubt you’ll find another doctor who will.”

“What about Colonel Taylor?” Amalfi asked. “Did you stimulate his speech centers?”

“Of course not,” Zira snapped. “He could talk already.” There was a sharp sound from Hasslein as he drew in a deep breath. He nodded to Amalfi, then looked at Lewis again, the same look of sadness and triumph mingled. “There were three men in Colonel Taylor’s ship,” Amalfi said. “Yes,” Zira answered. “There was one who—somehow—died.”

“Died?”

“Yes. Before we found that he could talk. The gorillas killed him. He had a unique skin, something we’d never seen before, until we came here. We had him stuffed and put in the museum—like the gorilla I saw in your museum.”

“What do you mean, this human had a unique skin?”

“It was black,” Zira said. “Coal black. He dominated the room in the Museum of Natural History.”

“Lieutenant Dodge,” Hasslein whispered. “What happened to Taylor?”

“Did you dissect Colonel Taylor?” Amalfi asked. “No!

We loved Colonel Taylor.”

“All of you?

All apes?”

“Many of us,” she said. “We did everything we could to help him. Cornelius and I—”

She struggled against the restraining straps on the table. Dixon quickly stepped over and looked at her. “That’s all,” he said. “And no, Dr. Hasslein, I won’t give her another injection.”

“Cornelius!” Zira called. She opened her eyes and looked wildly around, but she could see only Lewis Dixon. “It’s all right,” Lewis said. “Go to sleep now.” He turned to Hasslein. “She’ll need a nap.”

“Very well.” Hasslein opened the door to admit a white-coated young Marine. “Orderly, take this chimpanzee to its quarters, and see that Dr. Dixon gets anything he needs for treating it.”

“Yes, sir.” Tommy Billings, age nineteen, went over to the operating table. “Hey, she’s really out, isn’t she?

Come on, girl, it’s all right now. Let’s get you back to your room.” He looked up at Hasslein and Dixon. “You didn’t hurt her, did you?

You got no cause to hurt her. She never did anything—”

“Just return that chimpanzee to its room, Orderly,” said Hasslein. “Yes, sir.” As he wheeled the rolling table out, he spoke gently to the sleeping form. “Come on, nobody’s going to hurt you now. Tommy’ll take care of you. I like monkeys. We had three pet monkeys and a chimp in the little zoo next to my high school. I took care of ’em sometimes. You just come on…” They left the room. “I think we have heard enough,” Hasslein said. “Heard enough for what?” Lewis Dixon demanded. “Come now, Dr. Dixon. Even you see the danger from these apes. But if you don’t, yet, I’m sure you will when I’ve finished my presentation to the Commission. You’ll understand then.”

17

Victor Hasslein’s voice was low and urgent as he spoke to the commissioners. “I think,” he said, “that I have adequately demonstrated my points; allow me to sum up.” He looked across at the dozen men and women seated at the big mahogany table in the Federal Building. He had them all, he was sure; all, that is, except Dixon. And possibly Cardinal MacPherson. The rest would agree. “First,” Hasslein said, “I have demonstrated that these apes can interbreed with primitive apes, and produce a talking species; and without that admixture, it is unlikely that apes will learn to talk within the next thousand years at least.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the commissioners. “Second,” Hasslein continued, “I have demonstrated that the development of talking apes would be an unprecedented and unparalleled catastrophe. In the future to which these apes belong, not only did the apes revolt against man, but after that revolt, it seems clear to me, the apes hunted down all the men who could speak or act rationally; they systematically destroyed every last trace of human culture. This was the reward they meted out to us for having given them the power of speech!”

“Surely, Dr. Hasslein, that has not been established beyond doubt,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “Perhaps not, Your Eminence,” Hasslein replied. “But we do know, that the apes revolted against men; and within a few centuries, men could no longer speak. It is a reasonable supposition.”

“I see,” the Cardinal said. He nodded slowly. “Thirdly, I submit to you that this female chimpanzee has been guilty of the most unspeakable tortures of humans; and that although she personally did not kill Colonel Taylor, her people did, along with Lieutenant Dodge— whom they exhibited, stuffed, in a museum.” Hasslein looked straight into Congressman Boyd’s eyes as he said this; and was rewarded with a look of pure hatred. Boyd was ready to vote for anything. “The president is waiting for your recommendation, ladies and gentlemen,” Hasslein said. “We are faced with a danger, not to the United States alone, but to the entire human race. I say we must act.”

“But surely,” Chairman Hartley said, “surely, Dr. Hasslein, there could be no danger from these chimpanzees if they remain confined and under our control?”

Hasslein shrugged. “Gentlemen. Ladies. I haven’t time to explain my notion of the meaning of time itself—no joke intended. But I can say this: the future is not unalterable, but the very fact that, to these apes, that bleak and horrifying world in which our descendants live as dumb brutes has happened makes it very likely that it will happen. So long as those apes are alive, their genes may, somehow, enter the breeding pool for all apes. So long as they are alive, they are a danger to every man who will ever live!

To the descendants of every one of us.”

“Very dramatic,” the cardinal said. “As I have no descendants and no likelihood of any, I can speak with a certain detachment, and I say that neither of these chimpanzees is guilty of anything worthy of the death penalty. We would not execute dogs on that evidence. Why should we kill intelligent, speaking, aware beings?”

“Come now, Your Eminence, you are hardly suggesting that these apes have souls?” Chairman Hartley demanded. “Surely—”

“I make no suggestion of the sort,” the cardinal said. “I don’t have to. On the other hand, I don’t really feel comfortable about the world Dr. Hasslein describes. It is grim, and should be prevented. I do not think, however, that evil can be prevented by greater evil. The slaughter of the innocents did Herod little good. It was not successful for Pharaoh. Why would not the very attempt bring about the evil we seek to prevent?

It always has.”

Hasslein snorted. “Admirable sentiment, but faulty reasoning. If we do nothing, then the future these apes come from is likely. We must prevent that. We must!”

Chairman Hartley rapped for order. “Gentlemen!

Ladies!

Please!

Dr. Hasslein, I realize that the president wants a decision as quickly as possible. I suggest we have a half hour recess to regain our composure, and that we then meet here to make a definitive decision as to what must be done with these apes. Do I hear any objections?

It is so ordered.” The gavel fell. * * *

It took three days, not three hours. Even then there was no unanimity to the decision. It was late in the evening when the Commission met for the last time. Lewis Dixon sat impassively, but there was a bitter taste in his mouth, and his throat was dry. Dr. Hartley read to the commissioners. “It is my duty to announce that the president has accepted and approved the following final findings and recommendations made by this special Commission. “First, we find no evidence whatever that either of these apes bears any hostility toward the human race as presently constituted, or that either ape represents, by himself or herself, a clear and present danger to the human race. This finding was unanimous.”

There were murmurs of assent around the table. That one had been easy enough. “Second,” Hartley droned. “We find that the male chimpanzee known as Cornelius has not, so far as we can determine, taken any part in atrocities against human beings or crimes against humanity; and we further find that he is and was always a deeply interested and well-disposed academician who has studied the coming downfall of the human race with the objectivity of a good historian. He is guilty of nothing worthy of punishment. This finding is also unanimous. “Third, we find that the female chimpanzee known as Zira has been guilty of actions which, considered objectively, constitute crimes against humanity, and if such actions were committed today, would warrant the most severe punishment. However, this Commission finds itself unable to agree upon whether such actions, undoubtedly atrocities in our present time, can be called crimes at all given the circumstances of the chimpanzee Zira’s culture. It is specifically noted that the actions, which we call atrocities, committed by Zira on the persons of humans in her time are commonly performed today on the bodies of beasts, and for the same motives; and that Zira apparently believed, until her encounter with Colonel Taylor, that humans were no more than dumb animals.”

Congressman Boyd cleared his throat loudly. “Yes, Mister Boyd?” Chairman Hartley said. “Mister Chairman, I want that report to show that this finding was not unanimous. Given the history—history which her husband Cornelius undoubtedly knew—the apes had no right to consider humans in the same category as beasts, and furthermore, I submit, they did not so consider them. They saw them as former masters, and took revenge on them when and where possible—”

“Excuse me, Congressman,” Hartley interrupted. “You will be allowed to present the minority report—”

There were more murmurs around the table. “—your minority report, I should say, at a later time. All of you who wish to present minority reports will be given the opportunity. The majority report notes that this finding is not unanimous.”

He continued reading. “The Commission does find, by majority vote, that either Zira has committed no crime which deserves prosecution; or that, being an ape, she cannot be tried by the standards imposed by the International Law of War Crime; or that this Commission has no jurisdiction over Zira, without regard to the truth or falsity of the first two propositions; and the Commission is therefore agreed that it does not recommend any prosecution of the chimpanzee Zira. Is this a fair statement, Commissioners?”

There were more murmured assents. Someone said, “Get on with it. It’s nearly dinner time.”

“I will attempt to do so,” Hartley said. He lifted his paper again and read, “This Commission finds that although these apes do not themselves represent a threat to the human race, their progeny, by interbreeding with common apes, may well do so; that unless these progeny interbreed with common apes, the future described by Cornelius and Zira is so improbable as to be to all purposes impossible; and that, therefore, without considerations, of justice, but purely in the interests of expediency and the physical salvation of the human race, this Commission recommends to the President of the United States that the birth of the female ape’s unborn child be prevented, and that the two adult apes be sterilized permanently by painless means; that after sterilization is performed, they may be considered wards of the United States and employed in such wise as their talents would best indicate, with due regard to their own stated desires.”

“It’s still murder,” the Cardinal muttered. “Abortion is always murder. Why not let the little ape be born and sterilize it if they’re so anxious—it’s the Slaughter of the Innocents again, and no good can come from it.”

“We have heard your views before,” Hasslein said. “I appreciate your concern, Your Eminence. It is not your responsibility. Let it be on my head.”

“On your head and on your children, is that it, Dr. Hasslein?

Fortunately, God won’t permit you to pass that guilt on to your children.”

“If you are quite finished,” Chairman Hartley said. He read again. “These findings being adopted by this Commission and presented to the President of the United States, and having been accepted by the president, Dr. Victor Hasslein by Executive Order is given authority to carry out the recommendations of this Commission, and is hereby ordered to do so immediately.” Hartley looked at the assembled group. “I think there is nothing else, is there?

No?” He raised his gavel. “I hereby declare this Commission dissolved.” The gavel fell again, and the sound was like the crack of doom to Lewis Dixon. * * *

Lewis parked in the driveway outside Stephanie’s Glendale home. She came outside to meet him, and he pulled her to him, kissed her desperately. “Hey,” she said finally. “What’s wrong?”

“Does it show?”

“Yes. That wasn’t just for me, Lew—what is it?”

He told her. All of it. “At least they’ll be allowed to live, but—it’s horrible, Stevie.”

“Do they know yet?”

“No,” Lewis said. “But Hasslein will tell them tomorrow. He’ll have the operation done tomorrow, too. Stevie, he’s terrified of those chimpanzees. He really sees them as the end of the human race.”

She shuddered in his arms. “Lew—shouldn’t we tell them?

Shouldn’t someone, a friend, be with them when they find out?

We can’t just wait until Hasslein comes in and—does it.”

“Yeah. I’d thought the same thing. That’s why I came here, Stevie. I can’t face them alone. Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go.”

“But, Lewis, I can’t now. Not for an hour. I’ve got my sister’s children here!

I can’t leave them alone…”

“Get a sitter,” Lewis growled. “You know Hasslein. He’s likely to go down there tonight.”

“It will take a few minutes to get a sitter,” Stevie said. “Lewis, if it’s that urgent, you better drive down right now. I’ll join you as soon as I can. I won’t be long, not more than half an hour behind you.”

“But that half hour could be crucial. All right, darling. Hurry. And—I love you.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled, but there was pain in her eyes as well, and she stood watching him drive away for nearly half a minute before running inside to the telephone. Her nieces couldn’t understand why she was crying. 18

“Here’s your wife back, sir,” Tommy Billings said. He wheeled Zira into the suite she had shared with Cornelius. “I know you’ve been worried about her, sir. Here she is, safe and sound.” The orderly helped Zira to her feet, then left them alone. “Three days,” Cornelius said. “I’ve been nearly out of my mind!”

“Didn’t they tell you I was all right?” Zira asked. “Of course they said so,” he answered. “But after what they did I wouldn’t believe anything they said. Savages!

Barbarians!

Jabbing needles into a pregnant woman!

Even gorillas wouldn’t think of that.”

“Yes, dear.” She moved closer to him. “Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“O Lord, yes.” He took her in his arms, then led her to a chair. “You shouldn’t be standing. Sorry the furniture’s so—” he shrugged, “functional.” He gestured at the plain room with its government-issued equipment. “It’s all right,” Zira said. She took a seat and watched as Cornelius paced around the room. “Savages,” Cornelius repeated. “I’ve done as much to humans as they did to me,” Zira said. “And more. Much worse things.” She shuddered. “If we’d only known—you must remember, Colonel Taylor thought we were savages. At first.”

Cornelius looked frantically around the room. “They’re probably listening to us,” he said. “So what?

They know about Taylor.”

“They made you tell about him, too?”

“They made me tell about everything, Cornelius. We no longer have anything to hide.”

“Brutes!”

“And may I tell you something?

I’m glad, Cornelius. I’m glad because now there’s nothing to lie about. I hated that. We can’t live with lies.”

“If we live at all,” Cornelius muttered. “They may not let us live, you know.”

“That’s nonsense.” She rubbed her swollen belly. “It is nonsense, isn’t it?

They aren’t really savages…”

“I don’t know.” He took her hand and held it to his cheek. “How long, now?”

“A week. Not more. Perhaps less.”

“So close. And they treated you that way. Savages. How could they do that?”

“Cornelius you didn’t really mean it, did you?

They won’t—they wouldn’t hurt us?

Not now?” She touched her swollen abdomen again. “They wouldn’t—oh!” A key rattled in the lock. Zira looked fearfully at the door. It opened, slowly, to admit Tommy Billings. “Chow time,” he said. He carried a tray with soup, juice, and sliced fruit. “Time to eat up.”

“Bah,” Cornelius said. “Get out.”

“Aw, that’s no way to talk.”

“I’m not hungry, either,” Zira said. “Well, maybe you aren’t, Ma’am, but maybe someone else who can’t talk yet is. Come on, at least drink your juice. You need the vitamins. And the soup. You ought to eat, if only for the sake of the little monkey inside you.”

“Damn you!” Cornelius shouted. He seized the tray and shoved it in Tommy’s face. “Here, now!” Tommy shouted. His arms flailed wildly, as the hot soup blinded him and he struggled to get his balance. “Here, what are you doing?”

“Damn you, damn you, DAMN YOU!” Cornelius shouted again. He took the tray and struck at Tommy’s head. “But what did I do?” Tommy wailed. He staggered forward, and his foot slipped in the spilled soup and juice on the floor. He toppled forward and struck his head against the table; then he was very still. “Is—is he all right?” Zira asked. “Of course he’s all right,” Cornelius snapped. “You know how thick human skulls are. Serves him right. Nobody makes a fool of my Wife.”

“He’s not moving.”

“He’s unconscious. Let’s get out of here.”

“But—Cornelius!

Shouldn’t we call for a—”

“We call for nobody and nothing. We leave. We’re intelligent beings; it’s about time we showed some intelligence instead of waiting around to see what these savages will do with us. Let’s go.”

The hall was empty. Cornelius led Zira to its end, and peered out the glass in the door. There were Marines outside. “Guards out there,” he whispered. “Probably all around the place.”

“Then how do we get out?” Zira demanded. “Cornelius, I think we ought to go back and—”

“No.” He looked around the low building, then went into one of the empty offices, where he examined the ceiling. He looked especially at the ceiling of the closet in the office, then led Zira into another office, where he did the same thing. “Aha,” he said. He pointed to the closet ceiling. “I knew there had to be a way up in this building. There’s an attic up there, and I’ll bet we can find a way onto the roof.”

“And what does that do for us?” Zira asked coldly. “Humans can’t climb,” Cornelius said. “They don’t think of looking up when they guard a place. I know—I’ve been watching them while I nearly went out of my mind worrying about you. And you can climb better in your present condition than humans can in the peak of health.”

He swarmed up the closet shelves and opened the trap door, then, once up, reached down to help Zira. They were in a dusty attic, and at its end they found a ventilator. Cornelius cautiously removed it, and looked out onto the roof. “Now be very quiet,” he whispered. “There are guards below. But notice, they never look at that tree over there—and we can just reach it from up here. Once we’re out on the roof, don’t talk and don’t stop. Just make for the tree and get down on the far side of it. I’ll be right behind you.”

“All right. I—hope everything will be all right.”

“So do I,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” She climbed out onto the roof. * * *

Lewis glared angrily at Victor Hasslein. The scientist’s pale eyes glared back and Lewis found it difficult to keep from reaching across the desk and smashing Hasslein in the face. “You could give them a few days,” Lewis said. “The instructions said immediately,” Hasslein told him. “Immediately does not mean in a few days. Damn it, Dr. Dixon, if something unpleasant must be done, putting it off makes it neither easier nor less unpleasant.”

“So you admit this is unpleasant.”

“Unpleasant?” Hasslein said. “It’s a tragedy!

Dixon, do you think I enjoy this?

Do you?”

“Yes, I rather think you do,” Lewis said. “How wrong you are,” Hasslein said. “Sit down, Dr. Dixon. You may as well. I doubt that either of us will convince the other of anything, but you can be comfortable while we argue. When the argument is finished—I don’t suppose you would care to perform the operation yourself?”

“Jesus Christ, Hasslein!

I won’t be a part of your monstrous—”

“You don’t have to, Dr. Dixon. I merely suggested it in case you loved them enough to want to be sure it was done as painlessly and efficiently, and as safely, as possible. I see that you do not.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Lewis said. He sat heavily in the padded chair across from Hasslein. “Got another of those cigarettes?”

“Certainly.” Hasslein passed the pack across the desk. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I haven’t, for five years. It seems like the thing to do tonight.”

“You are very concerned, and it is fitting,” Hasslein said. “Have you thought that I am also concerned?

Consider, Dixon. I am sacrificing what may be one of the most important discoveries in history. Talking animals— intelligent, nonhuman creatures, who are aware and conscious, and who breed true. Marvelous. And I am as uncomfortably aware as you that I have no philosophical grounds for thinking myself any better than they are.”

“But—Dr. Hasslein, if you believe that, why are you doing this?”

“Because if I am right, the human race will be sacrificed if we preserve these animals. If I am wrong, then we have sacrificed only two individuals. Charming. Innocent. But only two.”

“Two?

The orders said nothing about the parents. Only the unborn child. You want the parents dead as well, don’t you, Hasslein?

Damn it, answer me!”

Hasslein shrugged. “I would be more comfortable if they were all dead. Yes. But the orders are precise, and I will carry them out to the letter. That is why I asked if you wish to perform the operations—so that you can be certain that no more is to be done than we have been ordered to do. I would not care to be accused of killing the adults if—if anything goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong?” Lewis demanded. “There better not be anything. If you murder those chimpanzees, you’ll answer for it.”

“How you misunderstand me,” Hasslein said. “I carry out my duties, Dr. Dixon. I think we are taking sufficient measures to safeguard the human race. I only want to see them accomplished, and until the job is done, I will worry. We are attempting to change the future; and although I believe in theory we can do that, I confess some doubts. Have another cigarette?”

“No, thank you—what’s that?”

There was a disturbance outside in the hall. “It sounds as if someone is shouting,” Dr. Hasslein said. “Come, let us go see what it is…”

* * *

Cornelius looked back at the chain-link fence of Camp Pendleton. “I think that is the last of them, my dear,” he said. “We are outside the camp entirely now, if my memory is correct.”

“But what will we do?” Zira asked. They stumbled along in the light of a quarter moon. The narrow road seemed eerie, and they heard rustlings in the chaparral and scrub oak of the fields around them. “We’ll have to find clothing,” Cornelius said. “Hats. Enough clothes to disguise ourselves as humans.”

“I don’t think we can do that—oh. Uh!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Calmly, Cornelius. Calmly. Now. Are you calm?”

“Yes—”

“Good. I think my labor has started.”

“You what?”

“It must have been the exertion of climbing. I wonder what it was like for primitive apes, when they had to climb trees all the time, right up to the time—”

“But—but—we have to do something!” Cornelius protested. “I’ll have to go back for help!”

“Nonsense. We had children for thousands of years without help. I’ll manage. And I do have you.”

“But—”

“We had better get off the road, though,” Zira said. “Come on.” She took his hand and led him down the embankment and into the chaparral. “There’s a road on the other side.”

“Same road,” Cornelius said. “It makes a big U here to get up the side of the bluff. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course—oh!”

“Again?

We’d better—” he broke off, as there was a thunder of wings. A California quail took to the air from beneath their feet. “Like a machine gun,” Zira said. “Will they come looking for us?

With their army?”

“Possibly. You’d better get some rest. Only—if you can still walk—”

“Of course I can still walk. I’m a perfectly healthy female chimpanzee.”

“Then I would like to get further away while we can—” he stopped to listen. “What do you hear?” Zira asked. There was the faint wail of a siren behind them. Cornelius turned back to his wife. “Nothing. Just another bird.” He took her hand and led her down the embankment. 19

Lewis Dixon knelt beside the white-coated body. There was no pulse at all. He motioned for a blanket, then looked up to Victor Hasslein who stood in the doorway. “Dead,” Lewis said. His voice was incredulous. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Hasslein said. “Sure you are,” Lewis said. He covered the dead orderly and stood. “Sure.”

“I really am. I don’t know why your opinion is important to me, Dr. Dixon, since it is obvious that you will never think well of me, but I find myself trying to convince you that I’m not a monster thirsting for innocent blood.”

“You want the chimpanzees dead. You’ll use this as an excuse to hunt them down.”

“Certainly. They are a threat to humanity, to civilization, to science, to everything I hold dear, and they must be destroyed. I wish they were evil. It would make this easier.” Hasslein waited until the attendants had finished covering Tommy, then turned away. “Even this, I expect, was an accident; but it will make things easier.” He walked rapidly to his office and began telephoning. Within minutes there were sirens throughout Camp Pendleton, and jeeps of armed men drove rapidly through and around the camp grounds. Hasslein hesitated before making the next telephone call. As he stared at the phone, Lewis Dixon came into his office. Hasslein looked up with a frown. “Yes?”

“What orders did you give them?” Lewis demanded. “Are they going to shoot on sight?”

“I merely told the Admiral that the prisoners had escaped, and that they had killed one of his Marines doing so.”

“Jesus!

That’ll make the others trigger-happy…”

“Possibly. I hope so,” Hasslein said can admit that to you. Dixon, don’t you care?

In future times, another Shakespeare, another Edison, another Einstein, may be crawling on all fours, unable to speak, a brute with no culture doomed to a life of misery—and all because of these apes. Can’t you understand it’s them or us?”

“Even if I believed that, I couldn’t condone killing them out of hand.”

“No. I suppose not.” Hasslein lifted the telephone. “General Brody, please. If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Dixon, I must report to the president.” He waited until Lewis had gone, then lit a cigarette. They took a long time getting Brody on the phone, and it took even longer for Hasslein to explain what had happened. “What orders do the Marines have?” Brody demanded. “To recapture them, of course—”

“Yeah. Recapture them, but they know these monkeys have killed one of their buddies. They won’t do it without damned strong orders. You’ll see that they get those orders, Hasslein. We want those chimps alive. Is that understood?”

“I thought you were in agreement with me, General,” Hasslein protested. “What’s that got to do with it?” Brody demanded. “The president’s going to insist on the same damned thing. Those apes are to be recaptured, alive, and to hell with what they’ve done or haven’t done. Have you got that?

I’ve seen the Harris poll on those monkeys, Hasslein. You shoot them down out of hand and you’ll make a political crisis. The people think of those apes as human. Every science type in the country wants an interview with ’em. And so on. I want them back alive, Hasslein, and so will the boss. You got that?”

“Yes, General.”

“I’ll make bloody sure of it, Victor. I’m calling Admiral Jardin right now. Meanwhile, you issue the proper orders. And call me if anything new happens.”

* * *

They watched the cars full of soldiers race back and forth on the road, and felt increasing horror. Zira moaned again, and finally Cornelius could not stand it any longer. “I’m going to go get help,” he said. “I’ll find Lewis.”

“No… please.” She looked around their small hollow. Chaparral grew thick on all sides, so that they were invisible from the road. “Look, I only lost my temper with that boy. I hurt him, but he’ll be all right. I owe him an apology. I’ve felt miserable ever since I struck him— and it wasn’t his fault. We’ve got to go back, we’ve got to have help.”

“I can walk,” Zira said. “Or I can have the baby here. We’ll be—”

“No.” Cornelius was firm. “They may punish us, but at least the baby will be delivered with proper care. I’m going to get help. You wait here.” Before she could protest, he scrambled down the hill toward the lower loop of the road. There were soldiers there. They had a barrier across the road, and they carried rifles. Cornelius waited, afraid, hoping to see someone he recognized. Finally a car came, its lights showing the dozen Marines clearly. One of them came forward and shined a light into the car. “Miss, I’m afraid this road’s closed,” the soldier said. “I am Dr. Branton,” she said. “Captain, I have a pass. Here.”

“Oh. Right, Miss.”

Cornelius recognized Stevie and felt relief. He started forward through the bushes, ready to show himself, and the Marine continued to speak. “Better be careful, Dr. Branton. Those monkeys killed one of our troopers, that young orderly Corporal Billings, and they’re on the loose. Out there somewhere. I ought to send a trooper with you, but I don’t really have the men to spare. You lock all your doors and don’t open them ’till you’re at the compound, you hear?”

Cornelius turned away in horror. What had he done?

The boy was dead!

Dead!

What of the law now?

He saw Stevie’s car drive away, and remembered how the road looped here. Quickly, he thought. I have to catch her. He ran uphill, through the chaparral, heedless of noise but silently all the same, ten thousand years of instinct protecting him from being heard. He reached the upper section of the road and stood panting, waiting, as Stevie’s car came up the hill. She braked hard, and the car stopped with a screech. Cornelius went to the driver’s side. The window was rolled up, and Stevie did not move. Cornelius stood there, silently, in mounting panic. Stephanie rolled down the window. “Cornelius!

What’s happened?” she said. She sounded very frightened. “Thank you for trusting me,” he told her. “I do not deserve it. But I didn’t mean to kill the boy. He was teasing Zira. Or I thought he was, and I struck him. He fell. It was an accident. You must believe me.”

“I do,” Stephanie said. “But they won’t. Where’s Zira?”

“In the bushes there. She’s in labor, or very nearly so. Stevie, what are we going to do?”

“Oh, God, I don’t know—can you get Zira into the car?

We’ll have to find Lewis.”

“I’ll get her.”

“And hurry, Cornelius. The Marines will be all over this road.”

He rushed down the slope, and lifted Zira tenderly. “Can you walk?”

“Yes. It will be all right—where are we going?”

“Stevie has a car. She’s going to help us.” They struggled up the hill. Stephanie had the back door of the car open. “Get in,” Stevie said. “And get down. Cover yourselves with this blanket. I’ll have to think of a story to get us past that roadblock down below. Don’t move, whatever you do.” She jockeyed the car around in a U-turn, backing up twice to get the long station wagon turned around on the narrow road. Then she drove back down the hill. “Back so soon, Dr. Branton?” the Captain asked. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about what you said. If they’ve killed one of your men, I want no part of them, Captain. I’m going home.”

“Don’t blame you, Miss.” He shined his light into her car and glanced in, but made no thorough search. “I’m supposed to open the trunk—you got no trunk in a station wagon, though. Have a good trip, Doctor.”

“Thank you, Captain.” She drove away. “Killed?” Zira said. “Cornelius, what have you done?”

“I killed that boy. The orderly,” Cornelius said miserably. Zira groaned. “Would it have helped if we’d called for help after he fell?” she asked. “I don’t know,” Cornelius said. “Be still. Rest. Think of the new life on the way, not about—one dead human. Stevie, where are we going?”

“You’ll see. It’s the only place I can think of. We’ll call Lewis when we get there.”

She drove on into the night, through the brown hills of Orange County. Behind them they could hear the sirens of the Marine trucks, and the sounds of helicopters searching the camp. * * *

They drove through the darkened streets of San Juan Capistrano, past the old mission to a vacant field beyond. There were tents pitched on the field, and a number of truck-mounted circus wagons parked next to them. Stevie drove to a camper-trailer marked “ARMANDO’S SENSATIONAL CIRCUS.” “Wait here,” she said, and went to the door. After a long time it opened and Stevie vanished inside. “Can we trust her?” Cornelius asked. There was agony in his voice. “What else can we do?” Zira said. “Cornelius, if she intended to betray us she need merely have spoken to the Marine captain at the roadblock.”

“Yes, but suppose she has changed her mind?

Or—why would this man help us?

This Armando?”

“What else can we do?”

Stevie and Armando came out of the caravan. The short, dark man peered into the station wagon, then opened the door. “Come out, come out,” he said. His voice was almost musical. “We have better places than the back seat of a Plymouth for a chimpanzee to be born. Come along, come along.”

His enthusiasm was infectious. Cornelius and Zira were led through the tent, and caravan city to a small tent at the end. Inside they found a small infirmary, as well as cages. Armando pointed to the cages and laughed. “You will not be the first chimpanzee to give birth in Armando’s infirmary. Nine, nine healthy young apes have been born here, the last one less than a week ago. Now, Madame Zira, if you will consent to sleep in a cage—”

“Anywhere,” Zira said. “I’m exhausted.”

“Can you send for Lewis?” Cornelius asked. “Certainly,” Armando said. “Certainly. Although you will find that Armando is not inexperienced in these matters.”

“I already called him,” Stevie said. “You’ll be all right here, Cornelius. You’ll see.”

Zira lay on the pallet in the cage. “If Lewis is going to deliver this baby, he’d better hurry,” she said. “I don’t think he’s going to make it.”

“Oho,” Armando said. He looked at Cornelius, then shrugged. “Out. Out!

Go to my caravan and wait. You will find cigars and scotch there, if you wish them, but leave.”

“But shouldn’t I stay?” Cornelius said. The other three laughed in unison: Cornelius let himself be pushed out of the tent, their laughter ringing behind him. “Fathers!” Armando snorted. “I have delivered five human children here, when this circus was on the road, and I tell you, I prefer the animals, because the fathers of apes do not care. Go, Cornelius, you are worse than they are.”

He went to Armando’s wagon and found a seat at the dinette. The caravan was small but neat, and there was plenty of room to sit, but none to pace. Cornelius sat in the dark, his face in his hands, and he listened, and waited, while his thoughts haunted him with memories of the dead boy lying motionless on the hospital floor. They will demand my child’s life as the price of that boy’s blood, he thought. I do not know how I know this, but I do know it. My child’s life for that boy. 20

“You’re taking a big chance, Armando,” Lewis Dixon said. “Why?”

The circus owner shrugged. “What have they done to deserve death?

Imprisonment?

Their baby killed?

Come, it is nearly time. Stephanie is waiting for you.” They walked quickly through the circus yards. “In that cage we have Heloise, and her daughter Salome. Our last maternity in this circus. We have had more chimpanzees born here than you have in your Los Angeles Zoo!”

They reached the infirmary tent. “Cornelius!” Armando said. “I told you to wait in my caravan.”

“I had to see Lewis. I didn’t mean to kill that boy, Lewis. I didn’t—”

“I believe you,” Lewis said. “But will the others?

While I waited, I had the most horrible thoughts. Nightmares, but I was fully awake. I thought—that humans would demand the life of my child in exchange for the orderly. I want them to take mine instead.”

“Nonsense,” Armando said. “No one will die for that boy. There was an accident. A very bad thing, but no one should die for it. Now go and wait for us. It is nearly time.”

Stevie looked out through the tent flap. “Yes, hurry, Lewis. Armando. Please.”

“We’re coming,” Lewis said. “Wait here, if you can’t go to Armando’s caravan. But stay out of sight.”

“My people may be trusted,” Armando said. “Perhaps. But they can’t, go to jail for what they don’t know. Or they’ll be less likely to, anyway,” Lewis said. “Now let’s deliver that baby.”

Again Cornelius was alone. He went to the other cage and looked inside. The chimpanzee whimpered at him, and clutched its baby protectively. “Confused, aren’t you?” Cornelius said. He used soothing tones, knowing the chimpanzee couldn’t speak. “An ape, like you, but wearing clothes, and speaking. Well, you needn’t worry about it. Your child won’t speak. But she’s a fine one, anyway…” He paced again, waiting, and it seemed to be hours before he heard a cry from the infirmary. He rushed to the entrance, but no one came out. He heard more cries from inside, and voices, low, urgent. What was happening?

He was reaching for the tent flap when it opened and Stephanie came out. She smiled. “It’s a boy. A fine healthy one, so far as I can tell. And Zira’s all right. Everything is fine, Cornelius.”

He looked around at the shabby circus wagons, and remembered the soldiers searching for him in the dark. “Sure,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

* * *

Zira lay under blankets on a bed in one of the circus caravans. The baby suckled as she cradled it in her arms. “What will we call him?” Cornelius asked. “Milo,” Zira said firmly. “Milo. Yes, certainly,” he said. “Are you sure you feel all right?”

“I’m fine, Cornelius. But what are we going to do now?”

“Armando goes on tour in a month. We stay with him. Where better for apes to hide than in a circus?” Cornelius said. “We can help him train the others. We can even be performers, so long as we’re careful not to appear too intelligent.”

“It’s not much of a life,” Zira said. “Wouldn’t it be better to go back, now?”

“How?” Cornelius asked. “Even if they would forgive us for the orderly, the Commission gave orders for—for our child to be aborted, and for us to be sterilized.”

“What?” She clutched the infant closer to her. “Savages!”

“They believe they are protecting their race. Would we act differently?

I didn’t hesitate to hit that boy over the head—”

“Stop torturing yourself.”

“Yes. Anyway, you see that going back is impossible. And even if we could, we would have to tell where we have been, and Armando would be punished.”

“Then we can’t go back,” Zira said. “We’ll have to stay with Armando. Forever.”

* * *

Victor Hasslein’s office had become a command post. It was lined with maps, and his three telephones would reach, through the switchboards in the lobby, every law enforcement unit in Southern California. He stabbed out a cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and looked up at Lewis Dixon in desperation. “She couldn’t have had more than two weeks to go before giving birth, could she?”

Dixon shrugged. “I’d say less time. Certainly no more.”

“Then that definitely limits where they could go.”

“I wonder,” Amalfi said. “It’s been thirty-six hours, Dr. Hasslein. They could be anywhere now.”

“You are implying that someone helped them. Some traitor to the human race drove them away from here.”

Amalfi shrugged. “I don’t believe it,” Hasslein said. “But—it’s worth checking out.” He lifted a telephone. “Major, find out what automobiles left here on the first night of the escape—and have those automobiles examined by the crime laboratory people. They are to search for signs that chimpanzees traveled in the cars.” He laid the phone in its cradle. “Where?

Where would apes go?”

“To other apes?” Amalfi said aloud. Hasslein looked up with a frown. Then he nodded slowly. “Of course!” He lifted the telephone again. “Major Osgood!

Have all units begin a systematic search of every zoo, veterinary office, circus, menagerie— anyplace that would normally shelter apes. Begin with Orange County and then spread out to Los Angeles and San Diego.” He paused a moment. “Yes, Osgood,” Hasslein said. “All of them. Ask for permission to search, first. If they won’t cooperate because you ask them, remind them that they probably want research grants and this is a federal matter. Tell them the IRS can look into their books. And if that doesn’t get you permission to search, we’ll have a federal judge standing by to issue search warrants… Right. Immediately.” He laid the phone down again. “That, gentlemen, may just do it.”

* * *

It took Lewis ten minutes to find an excuse to leave Hasslein’s office. He got coffee from a machine in the lobby, and went to a pay telephone when he was sure no one was watching. The phone rang and rang, and he was afraid no one was answering. Finally someone did. “Stevie?” he asked hopefully. “Lewis?

Darling, are you all right?

You sound so—”

“No time,” he said. “Hasslein’s ordered a search of all circuses and menageries. You won’t have long, they’re starting in Orange County. You’ve got to get the apes out of there!”

“But where?” she asked. “I’ll think of something—just get them out of Armando’s, fast. Take them north, toward Laguna. I’ll meet you at that coffee house south of Laguna. The place where we had lunch last month.”

“Right. I’m on my way.”

“I love you, Stevie.”

“Yes. Lewis—will it be all right?

Can we save them?”

“I wish I knew. We’ll try. I love you.”

“Yes. That helps. I’m going now. I love you too, Lewis.” She hung up the pay phone and left the booth, running to Armando’s tent. He wasn’t there, and she found him in the caravan with Cornelius, and Zira. Quickly she explained what Lewis had told her. “Bastards!” Armando exclaimed. “No, no, Zira, you rest. Cornelius and I will pack what you need. Where will you go?” he asked Stevie. “I don’t know, yet. Lewis will think of something.”

“It is better that I do not know, anyway. What Armando does not know, Armando cannot be made to tell.” He took out a suitcase and began stuffing it with baby clothes and equipment. As he did, he muttered. “I had planned it all so well!

In a month—in just one month—we move on to our tour and eventually to winter quarters in Florida. I could have released you in the Everglades, and you would have lived happily. Or you could stay with Armando!

My friends, my dear friends, what can I say?

What can I do?”

“You’ve been a saint already, Armando,” Stevie told him. “No, no, a real saint can work miracles, and Armando has none of those.”

“A man like you is a miracle,” Cornelius said. “We will be grateful forever.”

“I am grateful to you,” Armando said. “It has been a privilege to know you. I hate those who wish to tamper with destiny, which is the unalterable will of God. If it is God’s will that man destroy his fine civilization, and dominion over the earth pass to the apes, then that is God’s will; and no man has the right to change that. Dear friends, you must go. Now, before the police come.” He reached up to his collar and took a medal on a silver chain from around his neck. “Wait. Take this. For the baby.” He put the medal around the infant chimpanzee’s neck and fastened the clasp. “But what?” Zira asked. “It is a medal of St. Francis of Assisi, and it has been blessed by the cardinal himself. Armando has no miracles, but perhaps St. Francis has.”

“Who is he?” Cornelius asked. “He was a very holy man who loved animals,” Armando told them. “And some of us believe he can work miracles to this day. I know this is superstitious nonsense to you, but for Armando, leave the medal on the child. Please.”

“We will, Armando,” Zira said. “Always. It will never be taken off him. I promise you that.” She turned away, then suddenly looked back. “Armando?

I would like to say goodbye to Heloise.”

The circus master frowned. “There is little time—but of course.”

They watched as Zira, carrying her child, went into the infirmary where Heloise cared for her own baby chimpanzee. Then Armando and Cornelius were busy again, gathering the things they would need on the road, and Stephanie brought the car around. They did not have to wait long before Zira joined them. * * *

It was night, and the oil derricks stood above them like giants. The grey bird pumps pecked endlessly at the ground, bringing up oil for the power plants just visible in the distance. The ground was covered with blowing dry dust. Lewis stopped the station wagon at the edge of the oil field. “This is as far as I can take you,” he said. “We have to get back to the labs and clean up Stevie’s car.” He switched on the interior lights of the car and held out a map. “Can you read this, Cornelius?”

“I am familiar with maps,” Cornelius said. “If the conventions are explained—yes. Certainly. I could have drawn this.”

“OK,” Lewis said. “This is the oil field. It goes on that way to a bluff overlooking the sea. There’s a small bay right here, about two miles, just beyond an abandoned oil refinery. The bay’s crowded with wrecks. Old ships, brought in and beached. It’s not deep enough to use for a harbor.”

“Yes, I see,” Cornelius said. “Zira, wrap that baby up well. It’s chilly out there, and we have a long way to walk.”

“I used to play here when I was a kid,” Lewis mused. “Anyway, there are some old ships there, intact enough to give you good shelter. You can hide in them for the next month—”

“A month?” Zira protested. “At least,” Lewis told her. “I’m still hoping we can get you out of here and past the search, so you can go With Armando. I’ll bring you more food when it’s safe.”

Cornelius nodded, and got out of the car. He shouldered the backpack from the trunk, and looked to Zira. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He turned to Lewis. “They’ll kill the baby if they find us?” he asked. “I’m afraid so. Yes,” Lewis said. His voice sounded as if the words had been torn from him with hot pincers. “Then—give us a chance to kill ourselves. Please.”

Lewis hesitated, then nodded. He took a pistol from his pocket. “Do you know how to use this?”

Cornelius nodded, then laughed bitterly. “That was one portion of your technology which we never lost. Please, Lewis.”

“All right.” He handed Cornelius the weapon. “You’re the second human I’ve kissed,” Zira said. She put her muzzle to his lips. “Colonel Taylor was the first.”

“And you’re my first,” Cornelius told Stevie. He kissed her. “Goodbye.”

“Till we meet…” Lewis said. “Not goodbye.”

“Come on, Zira. Don’t dawdle,” Cornelius said. He moved briskly away, his voice harsh to mask his emotion. 21

They paused at the edge of the ridge and looked across the bay toward Los Angeles. The lights were very bright, glittering slightly in a haze rising from the sea. The waves pounded on the coast below, marching endlessly from the west. They were so close to the city lights that they could not see many stars, but they had never seen city illuminations before. They stood looking for a long time. “Brighter than the stars,” Cornelius said. “Beautiful.”

“From here,” Zira agreed. “I think it wouldn’t be so pleasant if we were there.”

“Yes.” He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

They went along the top of the bluff until they reached the sheltered bay. As Lewis had told them, there were a number of abandoned boats, mostly fishing craft, beached in the shallow water. One large old tramp steamer stood out from among the others, and Cornelius pointed to it. “We can hide in that.”

They threaded their way down the bluff. Oil tanks stood on the sky line above them, each marked by winking red lights. “Who lives in those?” Zira asked. “No one. It’s where they store the food for their machines. This whole vast mechanical civilization depends on—” he paused. “Quiet!” he whispered. “Is there someone out there?” Zira whispered. “I don’t know. I thought I heard someone,” Cornelius said. “I don’t hear them now. Let’s go.” They crept on toward the abandoned ships. Oil had seeped from the ground near them, and made the way slippery. They reached the beach, and soft sand made the going even harder. Then they came over a slight rise, and saw the fire. * * *

“We’ve checked out just about every place that ever had apes,” Larry Bates told Hasslein. “Nothing. It wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“But where, then?” Hasslein demanded. “They must have had help. Widen the perimeter of search. Assume that someone met them and took them out of the camp.”

“Who?” Amalfi demanded. “Assume anyone who left, and see what you get from that,” Hasslein said. “Start with that Dr. Stephanie Branton. She came up to the camp gates, ran into the road block, and turned around. Her car was searched—but suppose it wasn’t searched very well?

Make the assumption she took the apes away with her, and trace her movements.”

“Right, sir,” Amalfi said. He went out of the office. “You’ll get them, sooner or later,” Bates said. “Yes.” Hasslein’s snarl was savage. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Later. Later we’ll do something about the population explosion. Later we’ll do something about nuclear weapons. We think we’ve got all the time in the world—but how much time has the world got?

How can we buy it more?” Hasslein waved expansively. “Someone’s got to care NOW!”

“Yes, sir,” Bates said woodenly. “Yes, sir. Dr. Hasslein’s fanatical again. Stark raving mad. Bates, do you know that twenty-five years ago they told me that later they were going to do something about Down Syndrome in children?”

“Sir?”

“Forget it. Find those apes.” His voice dropped dangerously low, and he snarled ferally. “Find them, Bates. And tell me where they are.”

* * *

It wasn’t a very large fire, because Zeke didn’t want it seen by anyone. He huddled close to it and watched his stew bubble. It was already cooked, but Mulligan got more flavor the longer it simmered, and Zeke wasn’t in any hurry to eat. He’d had a sandwich for lunch, and there was half a bottle of wine left to drink after the stew. With what he’d drunk before, that was plenty. Zeke was sure he wasn’t a drunk. He liked to drink, and he liked the warm feeling wine gave him, but he didn’t wipe himself out. He ate well, and he was willing to work when he couldn’t find any other way to get a meal. He was thinking about the wine when he saw the chimpanzees. “Jee-sus Christ!” he shouted. “What’re you?”

They looked back at him, two chimpanzees wearing human clothing, one carrying a baby wrapped in a blanket, the other wearing a knapsack on his back and carrying a revolver in his belt. “We won’t hurt you,” Cornelius said. “Great God Almighty!

I’ll never drink another drop,” Zeke shouted. He leaped to his feet to run away, but he slipped in the sand. He scrambled up and slipped again. “If he gets away he’ll tell—” Zira said. “Please!

Stay!” Cornelius shouted. “I won’t tell nothing!

I swear, I won’t ever say nothing to nobody!” This time he made it to his feet. He looked at Cornelius, his eyes staring at the gun. “I promise, nothing, nothing—”

“I told you, we won’t hurt you,” Cornelius said. “Yeah!

Sure!” Zeke shouted. When the chimpanzee did nothing, did not reach for the gun, came no closer, Zeke ran past him and scrambled up the bluff. “Should you let him go?” Zira asked. “How could I stop him?”

“You’re stronger than he is,” she said. “And suppose I hurt him?

As I did that boy?

No, I can’t do it,” he told her. “He promised he’d say nothing. Now let’s find a place to hide.” He led her down to the water’s edge, and across planking to the carcass of the freighter. They clambered aboard the decaying ship. “Even like this, it is magnificent,” Cornelius said. “We never built anything like this. All this, all of it, they have it now,” he said. “Why would they take any chances?

You’d think they’d work and work and work to keep it…”

He led her below to the cabins. There was a stateroom which had once belonged to the old ship’s captain. Tramps had been using it, but they had kept it neat, and there were blankets. “That man we frightened away must have stayed here,” Cornelius said. “Do we dare stay?” Zira asked. “Where can we go?

Lewis said he would meet us here. Without Lewis we can’t escape. There is no place to go.”

“But that man—”

“May not say anything,” Cornelius said. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

* * *

Dawn showed them the entire bay. It was shallow and stagnant, with small patches of oil and dead fish. Zira found a protected spot that could not be seen from the land, and brought the blanket-wrapped baby out to nurse in the warming sun. She waved at the dirty water below. “Did Lewis really play here?” she wondered. “It must have been cleaner then.”

“It stinks of man. Human stench.”

“That’s oil,” Cornelius said. “And dead fish.”

“Is that what man wants oil for?

To kill fish?” The baby made happy sounds as she cradled it. “You don’t like humans, do you?” Cornelius asked. “We’ve met hundreds here, and only three we can trust.” She continued to pet the baby. “I don’t like that cabin, Cornelius. I think there are fleas in there.”

He shrugged. “I’ll see if I can find a better place.” He moved off through the ship graveyard, hoping for a nicer cabin. The human smell had been very strong in the one they were using now. * * *

“How long have you had this man in custody?” Hasslein demanded. “He was picked up about 2:30 this morning,” the deputy sheriff said. He looked at his notebook. “Drunk and disorderly. Suspect was taken to the county lockup to sleep it off. He was babbling about talking apes waving guns at him. The desk sergeant wrote it up, and the lieutenant noticed it coming on duty this morning.”

“Idiot,” Hasslein growled. “Almost nine hours you’ve had him!” He turned to Zeke. “Where did you see them?” he demanded. “I didn’t see anything, sir,” Zeke said. “Honest, sir, I got too much wine last night, and—well, that’s all there was for it.”

“Nonsense,” Hasslein snapped. “You saw two chimpanzees, one carrying a baby chimpanzee or else very pregnant. Both animals could talk, and probably spoke to you. Haven’t you been reading the newspapers?”

Zeke looked surprised. “I haven’t been following them for a while—”

“He’s a common drunk,” the deputy said. “We get him about twice a year. I doubt Zeke can read—”

“I most certainly can!”

“Anyway, he generally doesn’t know what’s going on in the world. Zeke, we keep trying to tell you, those apes you saw were real,” the deputy said. He saw a copy of Time and grabbed it. “Look. Right here, see, that’s their pictures on the cover.”

“I’ll be damned,” Zeke said. “So. You admit you saw them?” Hasslein said triumphantly. “Well—”

“Where?” Hasslein demanded. “Where?

WHERE?”

“Don’t shout at me. I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

“Promised whom?”

“Uh—them, cap’n. The ape had a gun in his belt, and they was talking about not letting me go—so I promised I wouldn’t tell about them.”

“But you already have,” Hasslein insisted. He got silence. “Do you know who I am?”

“No, Cap’n.”

“I am the chief science advisor to the President of the United States.”

“Well, smell you!”

The deputy choked back laughter. “Zeke, what he means is he can have you put away for a long time. In some awful place, too, I expect.”

“He can?”

“Sure.”

“Oh.” Zeke thought about it for a while. “It was by Point Doom,” he said. “You know, that old ship graveyard?

I been living on one of them ships for a few weeks now. Like a fool, I came ashore to cook my dinner. Didn’t want to smoke up the ship. Besides, they’re all over oil. And I saw those chimpanzees, just like you said. One of ’em was carrying a baby, and the other had on a knapsack, regular backpack thing; and he had a gun in his belt.”

“Thank you,” Hasslein said. “You may release this man, deputy. And get me your superiors. I will want the police to seal off that area.” He stood and put on his lightweight topcoat. It thumped hard against the desk as he did, and Hasslein put his hand into the pocket to check on the automatic. As the deputy led the old wino out, Hasslein nodded grimly to himself. The baby chimp was already born. That changed everything—and made the threat to the human race even greater. “Get me my driver,” Hasslein snapped to the Marine outside his door. “And a squad of your Marines. With a sergeant.”

“Uh—shouldn’t the Lieutenant come with us?” the trooper asked. “No. That won’t be necessary. Just your sergeant. And let’s go!”

The jeep drove swiftly through the oil fields. Hasslein did not wait at locked gates; he had his Marine drivers break through them. The county sheriffs spread out behind them sealing off the area, as Hasslein brought his troops to the small bay. He stood at the top of the bluff and searched through the wrecked ships with binoculars. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Nor me, sir,” Sergeant Meissner said. “But they’d keep out of sight, I reckon.”

“Yes.” Hasslein examined the ridge. “They must have gone down this path. We’ll take the same route. Bring your troops. And remember, Sergeant, those apes have guns.”

“Yes, sir. The Captain said we were to take them alive.”

“Of course,” Hasslein said. “But you wouldn’t want any of your men to be killed. Just be very careful.”

They reached the bottom of the bluff and started across the soft sand, Hasslein and Sergeant Meissner in front, a dozen Marines behind fanned out with rifles ready. “There’s where that wino had his fire,” Meissner said, pointing. “Looks like he took off in a hell of a hurry. He left his stew.”

“Yes. And here!” Hasslein pointed in triumph. “One of them fell here. Slipped in the oil. There is a bare foot print. The foot print of an ape!” They reached the water’s edge and Hasslein looked out at the ships. Where would he hide if he were an ape?

“Sergeant, I’m going out there. You deploy the men around here so the chimps can’t escape, then follow me. “Sure that’s wise, sir?” Meissner asked. “I’m sure it is not, Sergeant. But I’m going all the same.”

“Yes, sir.” Meissner watched Hasslein take his automatic from his pocket and work the slide. The scientist walked gingerly out on the planking leading to the big wrecked freighter in the center of the bay. It bothered Meissner. He wasn’t responsible for Hasslein’s safety, but his officers would have his hide if anything happened to the president’s advisor while Meissner was with him. And what about those apes?

Meissner didn’t trust Hasslein. But the Captain had told him to take Hasslein’s orders—what could he do?

He moved quickly to deploy the men. The sooner he could get out there, the better he’d feel. 22

“It’s no use, Stevie,” Lewis said. “They’re not going, to let us in.” He turned back to the Marines at the gate to the oil field. “Corporal, do you understand what responsibility you’re taking?

Those chimpanzees were put under my care, I know they’re down there and Dr. Hasslein is searching for them—and you won’t let me in!

What if something happens to one of the apes?

Who’ll care for them?”

The Marine stood impassively in front of the gate. “All I know, sir, is the Sergeant told me to wait for an officer and not to let nobody in here until the officer came. I’m doing that.”

“Lewis,” Stevie called from the car. “Does he have a radio?

Can he call someone?”

‘Right,” Lewis said. “Well?

Do you have communications?”

“Well, yes, sir, but I don’t think civilians are supposed to—”

“Corporal, if you don’t use that set to call an officer for me, and anything happens to those chimps while we’re standing here waiting for orders, I’ll do my best to have you shot.” Lewis’s voice was, cold and hard, and he saw he’d gotten to the Marine. “Call the base.”

The Marine nodded. “All right, sir. Who do you want to get?”

“Admiral Jardin. Now!”

“The admiral—” the Marine’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes, sir.” He lifted the microphone from its hook in the jeep and called. Lewis stood and fidgeted. Stevie got out of the car and stood with him. It seemed to take forever. Finally the Marine motioned to them. “Yes, Dr. Dixon?” the admiral’s voice said. Lewis explained the situation. “Hasslein’s down there with a squad of Marines and no officer,” he finished. “I don’t like it, Admiral.”

There was a long silence. “I don’t like it either, Dixon. Corporal!”

The Marine snapped to attention, then looked sheepish and took the mike. “Yes, sir.”

“Let Dr. Dixon and Dr. Branton go through that gate. No. Cancel that. Go with them, Corporal. Do as Dr. Dixon tells you, and when you see your sergeant, tell him that I said he is to take Dr. Dixon’s orders too. Even if Dr. Hasslein orders differently. Is that understood?”

“Yessir. I’m to go with these people and tell the Sarge he’s to do what this man here says.”

“Get moving,” the admiral snapped. “It’ll be faster in my jeep,” the Marine told them. “Sir. Ma’am. Get in.” He turned the jeep and headed over the oil field. As Dixon urged him on, the jeep began to bounce and left behind a cloud of dust. They stopped at the edge of the bluff. Below, Sergeant Meissner had deployed his men around the small cove, and now moved cautiously out on the boards toward the freighter. Hasslein was already on the ship. Lewis and Stevie saw him vanish down a companionway. “Quick,” Lewis said. “We’ve got to get down there!” He took Stevie’s hand and they ran down the pathway, with the corporal scrambling after them. When they reached the water’s edge there was no sign of either Hasslein or Sergeant Meissner. * * *

It was dark in the old ship, and Victor Hasslein wished for a flashlight. He stumbled on something, and caught himself; some small hard object rattled down the stairs and into the rotten hull below. “Cornelius?”

Zira’s voice!

He was certain of it. Hasslein moved toward the sound. “Is that you, Cornelius?”

He heard scrambling. She was leaving her hiding place, moving somewhere, suspicious, but Hasslein did not dare answer. He listened, and moved cautiously, following the sound. She would have the infant with her, and she was separated from the other ape. That should make it easier. She was moving upward, toward the deck, he realized. Quickly he turned back up the stairs and went out onto the deck, moving silently, and crossed over to the other stairway he’d seen. He listened. Yes, she was coming. Hasslein stepped back, away from the cabin entrance, and waited. There she was. Carrying the baby, wrapped in a blanket. He waited until she was completely out of the cabin, out on the deck where she couldn’t escape—“Hello, Zira.”

She screamed. The shrill sound carried all over the shipyard. Then she turned to run. “No,” Hasslein said. “I’ll shoot. Stand where you are—”

She darted around the cabin side. Hasslein ran after her, not in time, as she vanished down into the ship again. He looked around for the first time, to see Dixon and another Marine coming across the boardwalk toward the ship. Now or never, Hasslein thought. Pity it has to be this way. He ran into the interior of the ship. It was silent—and then he heard the cry, the whimper of an infant. He went through the old superstructure, and came out in the open at the ship’s fantail. Zira was there, cornered. “Give me the baby, Zira,” he said. He held the pistol very steady. “Give it to me, now, or I’ll shoot both of you.”

“No. You’ll kill us both anyway—”

“The Commission ordered you sterilized. The same thing could be done with the baby. None of you has to die—”

She turned to run again. Hasslein shouted, “No, wait—” Then he took careful aim and fired. Zira fell to the deck. Hasslein fired again, into the blanketed form she carried. He started toward the two still forms, moving slowly, his face a mask. There was a shot. Victor Hasslein felt it before he heard it—excruciating pain in his chest. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, and every beat of his heart was agony. He turned to see Cornelius, pistol in hand, on the ship’s bridge high above. The ape’s face was twisted with rage. “Zira!” Cornelius shouted. It all seems so trivial now, Hasslein thought. The pain wasn’t so bad, it had been much worse a minute ago. I don’t feel it because I’m dying, he thought. But what happened to Cornelius?

And who is shouting so loud?

There were other shots, and screams, but he no longer heard them. Hasslein fell to the deck and was very still. * * *

Lewis Dixon saw it as a nightmare, the kind in which everything happens in slow motion and there is nothing anyone can do no matter how horrible it is. He ran across the planking toward the ship. He had almost reached it when he heard the first shots. “No!” Lewis shouted. “Sergeant!

I have orders from the admiral!

The chimpanzees are not to be harmed!”

There was another shot. Cornelius stood high above him on the bridge of the ship, and he held the pistol Lewis had given him. He was aiming at someone or something below, and Sergeant Meissner was coming up behind him shouting for him to drop the pistol. Cornelius took careful aim. “God damn you!” the Sergeant screamed. “Drop that—”

Cornelius fired again. And again. Sergeant Meissner screamed wordless rage and triggered his weapon. Cornelius straightened and half turned toward the Marine; then he fell from the bridge onto the fantail, landing in a heap near the motionless form of Victor Hasslein. Nightmare!

Lewis thought. And it was not over yet. Now Zira pulled herself up, holding the blanketed baby, and threw it over the side into the oily water below. “Zira!” Lewis shouted, but she didn’t hear him. Or if she did, she no longer cared what any human had to say. She staggered along the deck until she reached Cornelius, and sank down beside him, her hand in his, her muzzle next to his breast. That was how Lewis Dixon found her; and that was how they were buried, with the infant beside them. 23

“Nearly ready to roll, Armando.”

“Very good. I will not be long, but I wish to see to Heloise and her baby.” The sounds of a circus on the move were around him: grunts and snarls from disturbed animals, the roar of the motors warming up, shouts from the drivers. The dogs barked in excitement—circus dogs, who enjoyed being on the road again. He carried the newspaper to the cage door. Beyond the bars a female chimpanzee fondled a baby. “You will not understand,” Armando said. “But I will tell you anyway. They buried them. A scientist who proposed that they be stuffed and exhibited in a museum barely escaped with his life from his own students, while policemen stood by and did nothing!

They were buried.”

The chimpanzees made contented sounds. The baby nuzzled closer and began to suckle. “You will be fine with Heloise,” Armando said. “And— later, Armando will teach you himself. Armando will teach you everything. Papa Armando and Mama Heloise, eh?

But now you stay with your mama.”

The baby looked up at him with bright eyes. Armando nodded. “Intelligent creature. But then you should be.” He peered into the semidarkness and caught a glint of light from the baby’s breast. “Saint Francis protect you, Milo. St. Francis and Mama Heloise—” He turned away. “Ready to roll!” he shouted to his crew. Behind him the infant chimpanzee toyed with the St. Francis medal on its silver chain around his neck. “Ma-ma-ma?

Ma-ma?

Ma-ma!

Mama!”