Death of the Planet of the Apes

by Andrew E. C. Gaska

  The chamber had two windows—one set high in the wall, the other low and behind Zaius’s—Sabian’s—semicircular desk. An ornate rack containing The Sacred Scrolls had once stood by the door, accompanied by a miniature statue of the Lawgiver. Both had been moved behind the desk to place them easily within the new minister’s grasp.

  To the left was a second, smaller desk, outfitted for a scribe. A female orangutan sat there, working diligently. Where Zaius had kept his office spartan and clean, currently it was cluttered with new shelves. Religious artifacts lined the walls. Indeed, many things had changed.

  Looking quite at home, the wizened Minister Sabian sat behind the desk. He still wore his priestly vestments—something he would likely continue to wear every day, regardless of the task at hand. The desk itself was a mess of partially unrolled scrolls—and judging from the titles Cornelius could read, it seemed as if the High Patriarch was picking and choosing which reforms he wanted to implement.

  “Cornelius,” Sabian greeted him warmly. “Forgive an old ape if I don’t stand—bad back and all.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Sabian motioned to a vacant seat in front of the desk, and Cornelius accepted.

  “Let’s talk about you, my boy,” the holy ape started. “Your career, your aspirations, your skills and talents…”

  “Very good, sir.” So it will be an interview, after all, Cornelius mused. “You may ask anything you like.”

  “Oh, I have your permission, do I?” Sabian peered at his visitor.

  “I, ah…” Cornelius flustered, “I only meant—”

  “Of course you did.” Sabian waved it off. “Of course.” He picked up a scroll—one of many littering his desk. “I see you graduated from the academy in the ninetieth percentile—most impressive.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Of course, your chosen field of expertise is a bit limited. Archeology I can understand—the unearthing of some great tomb, like that of the Unknown Ape. That is something I would love to see. But your focus is on prehistory.” His tone went stern. “Why?”

  “Well, sir,” Cornelius replied, “I have always felt that in order to know where we are going, we must first know where—”

  “There will be no room for radical theories in this administration,” Sabian said.

  “Sir?”

  “I’ll hear no talk of ‘evolution.’ Everything we need to know about the past”—the elder rested his claw on Zaius’s set of The Sacred Scrolls—“is right here.” Then he turned his back on Cornelius, looking out the window. “I hope that is clear.”

  Cornelius twitched his nose.

  “Crystal, sir.”

  “Besides,” the minister continued, “prehistoric archeology hardly fits what we need to do to keep the city running.”

  “Ah, running, sir?”

  “Hmm, yes,” Sabian said. “There will be budget cuts—extensive ones.” He flipped through the loose scrolls on his desk. Picking one, he brought it closer to his eyes. “Tell me, where is this… Dr. Milo? Engineering, physics—he seems like an especially clever ape.”

  And one better suited for this position than me. Cornelius saw what Sabian was driving at, and knew it to be true. Milo was a genius ahead of his time, but Milo wasn’t here and Cornelius was—because Zaius needed him to be.

  He’s out looking for a flying machine, old one, Cornelius mused. Yes, that would be well received. “I, uh, believe he is on an expedition,” the chimpanzee said aloud. “With the academy’s permission, of course.”

  “Of course,” Sabian said. “Well, as soon as he returns, his travel permit is to be revoked. There will be no expeditions outside of Simia proper, not until the army returns triumphant. We can’t have apes accidently shooting at apes.” The elder scribbled something in squid ink. “It’s a matter of public safety. Make it so.”

  When Cornelius nodded, Sabian handed him the scroll and continued.

  “Now tell me, what else do I need to know?”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase, boy.” Sabian again took up Cornelius’s record. “What good are you to me?” His eyes were daggers. “Regardless of your council appointment, tell me why I need you at all, especially during a war.”

  “Ah, well, sir…” Cornelius hopped up from his seat. He trotted behind the minister’s desk to look over his shoulder. “As you will see, I am an ape of many talents. If you look at my credentials…” He leaned over and pointed. “While my doctorate is in archeology, I also have a masters in psychology.” While his heart would forever be digging in the past, those psychology classes were where he had met Zira.

  “I could organize psychological examinations, to help our soldiers deal with battlefield stress.” He became animated. “We can initiate a citizens’ program to help their families cope with the war—”

  “Excellent!” Sabian slammed his palm on the desk. “I want you in the human cages.”

  “Ah, excuse me, sir?” Cornelius didn’t see where this was going. “That would be animal psychology. Perhaps my wife—”

  “I want you there with your wife.” Sabian waved a gnarled finger. “You will be my eyes and ears. Ursus has first pick of any humans he wants to use for war maneuvers, but since you and your mate were able to weed out our last talking human, I want you to see if you can find any more.” The elder peered intently at the chimpanzee.

  He’s suspicious, Cornelius realized. He wants to know if we’re harboring enemies. Besides, putting me in the animal complex keeps me out of his fur, and makes it look as if he’s doing me a favor by putting me with my wife.

  Sabian was indeed a clever ape.

  “As you will, sir,” Cornelius replied. “You can count on us.”

  * * *

  “Get your paws off me, stinky ape!”

  “What did you say?” Zaius had come to see his family before joining the army’s foray into the Forbidden Zone. He had supped with his daughter Senia and shared an after-dinner pipe with his son-in-law Vitus. While he loved them all, it was his granddaughter Celia he had really come to see before marching off into the unknown. She held a special place in his heart.

  While Vitus was Celia’s father, her mother was Zaius’s younger daughter, Valentina. When Valentina had died during childbirth, Vitus then married Senia so that Celia would still have a proper upbringing in the Zaius family. Senia, alas, was barren.

  A local adjudicator, Vitus provided a good life in the far provinces. Their home was open and spacious, overlooking a pleasant glade, and Vitus was a godly ape, concerned with honor and family—both of which Zaius appreciated.

  With Vitus reading in his study and Senia taking care of the washing, Zaius had retired to the fenced-in patio to have playtime with Celia. The little girl had built a fort out of the patio’s cushions and filled it with toys. Deep in play, Celia said it again.

  “Get your paws off me, stinky ape!”

  “What did you say?” he asked again.

  “Not you, Grandfather.” Celia showed Zaius her human doll. A female with a bisque-fired clay head and arms, the doll’s long raven locks were made with real human hair. “Starlight said it.”

  A human doll she calls Starlight. Zaius frowned. A human doll she makes talk.

  “Celia,” he said firmly, “humans cannot speak. They are dumb.”

  “But she can,” Celia insisted. “She’s special, like the human in the marketplace.”

  Marketplace? Zaius was astounded. She picked up a soldier doll and held him beside Starlight.

  “That’s why she wants his stinky hands off.”

  What is this? Zaius was becoming furious. How does my granddaughter know anything about Taylor?

  “Listen here, Celia,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “Humans cannot speak, and pretending they can is… is dangerous.” He didn’t know how else to express it.

  She laughed and raised the doll.

  “That’s silly, Grandfather,” she replied. />
  * * *

  Zao’s bones were white. Picked clean. The White Ones let no morsel go to waste. No sinew, or muscle—barely any of the orangutan’s clothing—remained. In the end, Dinge had scooped out Zao’s brains and devoured them. The others had wanted them, but had respected their brutish leader and kept their distance.

  Mungwortt watched it all. Numbly, he gaped in shock and silence while these things ate his friend.

  Finally, the creatures lounged, sated. They groomed one another, picking bits of flesh from their fur. Mungwortt noticed the dead White One’s bones were stripped as well—they had attacked his corpse with the same abandon they had Zao’s. Dinge rolled over for a nap, placing the orangutan’s immaculate skull on the concrete floor. The skull’s hollow eyes stared at Mungwortt, and he searched for meaning in that grim gaze.

  The giant brains seemed to take no notice. Their tank lights blinked on and off in rapid succession, accompanying high-pitched beeps. Those beeps slowed, and Mungwortt began to hear their thoughts again. They were talking—thinking—about many strange things that made no sense to him.

  Spread across the city as we are is becoming difficult. The gestalt mind is impossible unless the five of us are linked together. A proper gene splice could create a second heterogen that would serve to amplify our signals.

  One that would serve only us.

  Agreed then. The gorilla-chimp hybrid will be sent to Be-Six. Mungwortt’s ears pricked up. They meant him! Its DNA will be useful. Embed a message within the beast’s mind. Be-Six will know what must be done.

  There was a prolonged deet, and as one, the White Ones clambered to their feet and stood at attention, lining up in formation. Several of them marched to a small shed that was labeled with what looked like a stylized lightning bolt, underneath which a word was scrawled in grease pencil.

  PROCESSING

  The beasts unchained the double doors and swung them wide, revealing a staircase that disappeared into the ink of darkness.

  Take the hybrid. Prepare it for processing. The two White Ones nearest him lifted him to his feet and dragged him toward the brains.

  “Wait…” Mungwortt protested, and he struggled weakly. “I’ll be good. Just don’t—”

  Steady him!

  The White Ones held him tightly in grips he couldn’t even begin to break. Mungwortt watched as the three brains swelled and pulsed in their jars, preparing to do… something.

  Then there was a flutter. The lights, the constant mechanical hum, all stuttered. Power in the subterranean city blinked, and in their tanks, the glow illuminating the massive brains flickered.

  Power outage in Sector 14, one of the brains thought. There was a long moment before the next communication. Estimate repairs in two hours.

  Conservation protocol, another commanded. Prepare for hibernation. Before Mungwortt could guess at what that meant, the brains sank to the bottom of their tanks. And just like that, the White Ones were themselves again. Disoriented, the beasts loosened their grip on Mungwortt. Glancing around, he decided to take his chance. The gorilla-chimp hybrid slipped away from the White Ones and dashed for Zao’s skeletal remains.

  “Come on, Zao,” he growled. “We are getting out of here.”

  Scooping up the orangutan’s skull, he held it like a ball and turned to face a horde of angry White Ones. Dinge tried to tackle him, but Mungwortt was too fast. Weaving through the flailing fists of the furious forest of fur, he bolted for the only opening available—the double-doored shed with the yawning abyss.

  “Shut up!” he yelled at the skull. “I don’t see you having any bright ideas!” As Mungwortt leapt down the stairs, the White Ones that were chasing him…

  Stopped.

  Whatever lay that way, the beasts knew better than to risk it.

  * * *

  Celia cried loudly.

  “Stop this, now,” Zaius ordered his granddaughter as he rummaged through the patio pillows. “This is for your own good.”

  “Father!” Senia said, stepping onto the porch. “What are you doing?”

  With the human doll called Starlight clutched tightly under his arm, Zaius was down on all fours, looking for any and all toys that were not simian.

  “I don’t want her playing with human dolls anymore,” he said tersely.

  “Nonsense.” Senia chuckled and reached out for his hand. “Here, Father, let me—”

  Standing away from the cushions with two more human dolls in hand, his eyes were embers of fire.

  “I forbid it!”

  His daughter snatched the two dolls from him. Celia was still crying.

  “Is this why you came here?” Senia yelled. “To bully a little girl?”

  “I came to see my family one last time before facing the unknown,” he replied, “and to set them on the right course, should I not return.”

  She scooped up Celia and held her close. “She’s not your daughter,” she reminded Zaius.

  “She is my granddaughter,” he asserted. “And I still run this family.”

  “Do you?” Senia spat. “You run the Ministry of Science. You run around the Forbidden Zone chasing apostates and talking humans, but you do not run us.”

  Zaius gaped.

  “So it is you who is filling her head with talking humans!” he accused.

  “All of Simia is talking about it, Father,” she said. “Not just the city, not just the provinces. Everywhere.” Zaius crisscrossed the patio now, looking for anything to censor in order to protect his granddaughter. “It’s not some great secret,” Senia continued. “We’re about to go to war over it! The human spoke aloud in a busy market full of farmers and traders from all corners of the land!”

  Senia held out a hand, firmly demanding that he return Starlight.

  “And no one believes the nonsense about that chimpanzee doctor making talking monsters—”

  “Enough!” Zaius bellowed. “I will not have heresy spoken to me by my own daughter!” With that he dashed Starlight across the fence. The doll’s fired pottery head and limbs smashed on impact, inciting new wails from Celia.

  Senia fumed.

  Zaius stood his ground.

  “Apologize,” she demanded. Moving to the patio’s wicket gate with the crying Celia still in her arms, Siena swung it wide. “Or get out.”

  He waved her off. “Rubbish.”

  “Get…” Senia ground her teeth. “Out.”

  Zaius regarded his eldest daughter.

  Coming here was a mistake.

  “Very well.” Zaius walked through the gate and into the road. Still in the gateway, Senia roared after him.

  “I hope you find whatever it is you are looking for out there, Father—” He turned to face her. “—and stay there!”

  The gate slammed shut.

  Vitus appeared, rushing around the side of the house. Falling into step with his father-in-law, he tried to appease the older ape.

  “I’ll talk to her, sir, I—”

  “No matter,” Zaius growled. “You will have no more luck than I would, when I went to task with my beloved Ambrosine.” Senia always had reminded Zaius of his departed wife. He harrumphed, then without losing stride, the minister waved his son-in-law off, as well. “Take care of them, Vitus.”

  Zaius made way for the stable where Aurelios and his wagon awaited.

  * * *

  It was a still a puzzle, but now, he had all the pieces. For the new starship Milo’s team had discovered in the Forbidden Zone was just that—new. It hadn’t been rusting underwater for months, nor had it lain on the desert floor, exposed to the elements.

  No, it was newly crashed, and that was the problem, as well. Engines had exploded. Banks of machinery were burnt out. Like the first space vessel at Dead Lake, the second one would never again fly.

  Combining the two, however, might yield a different story. Fresh parts from the new ship could salvage the old. The prospect thrilled him.

  Doctors Milo and Lykos labored to remove each of the com
ponents they needed to make Landon’s ship right again. Those were transferred via horse-drawn cart, leaving the second ship—Liberty 2—a stripped shell gleaming in the desert air.

  Returning to Dead Lake, the apes labored in shifts, resulting in activity around the clock. While some tended the camp or replaced errant tiles on the ship’s surface, most were busy clearing space and building a stony pathway and ramp. With the proper amount of unobstructed ground on which to gain momentum, Milo was certain the spaceplane could catch the winds and take to the sky. He had done his calculations and instructed his team on the requisite length and width of the pathway.

  Within the belly of the beast Milo, Lykos, and Pinchus worked to install the purloined parts into Liberty 1. It had proven to be an easier task than he had anticipated—the ship’s machinery was designed to be easily removed and swapped out with replacement parts, no doubt in case of system error once the craft was in flight. The first thing they did was reconnect the ship’s batteries and run a line from those to the cockpit controls. In this manner, they could test each device and be certain it was live before moving on to the next.

  Mostly, they had success. The trick, Milo soon discovered, was making sure everything was dry. By trial and error they learned that any errant drop of water would short out a circuit board, and they’d have to start anew.

  They were running out of circuit boards.

  In fact, they were running out of a lot of things. Foremost in Milo’s mind, they needed more tools. In practical terms, though, the expedition team had been in the Forbidden Zone much longer than originally anticipated, and consumables were running light. They had been able to make the water of Dead Lake drinkable, if not palatable, by boiling it and using cloth nets to catch the condensation left by its steam. Food, however, was another matter.

  That, they were mere days from exhausting. Seraph had insisted that, lest they all starve, something be done—and soon. Milo had waved her off, consumed by science, doing his part by barely eating, thus extending the life of the supplies.