Planet of the Apes 01 - Man the Fugitive

by George Alec Effinger

  “Hear that, legs?” asked Burke. “Ten minutes you get, then up and at ’em again. Don’t blame me. Blame the mechanical man, here.”

  “Save it,” said Virdon. The three rested in silence.

  Hooves thundering like the most violent of great storms, broke the gentle quiet of the night. The three gorilla guards rode into the small clearing where Virdon had demonstrated the compass to Galen. Now the trees were lit by blazing torches carried by the mounted apes. Strange, sinister shadows leaped among the branches, and the place that had been so friendly to Burke, Virdon, and Galen, now looked sinister. The gorilla police reined their horses to stop, but the lathered animals wheeled and pranced, their energies difficult to control. They had been ridden hard all day and night, and now they stomped the ground impatiently. The first gorilla leaped to the ground, his torch in his hand. He walked back and forth over the clearing, scanning the area for any sign of the fugitives. After a time, he spotted what were obviously tracks. “Through here,” he shouted. “They’ve been this way!”

  The gorilla climbed back on his horse and the three charged into the night, their torches and the sound of their horses creating an eerie sense of lightning and thunder among the trees. They passed by the same lightning-rent tree trunk, and the garish light from the torches made it look like some wizened, grasping monster of the night.

  Virdon, Burke, and Galen ran through the night as well, unaware of how far behind their trackers might be.

  The three gorillas, intent on closing the distance between themselves and their quarry, urged their tiring horses on into the darkness. The forest through which they were riding seemed to go on forever; each of the gorillas wished for the woods to end, for the landscape to become clear and open once again. They might be able to see the fugitives silhouetted against the sky as the two men and the single ape climbed some rise in the distance. But the gorillas did not get their wish. They rode into a clearing and pausing once again, reined in. They held up their torches, searching the ground for signs. With exasperation, the leader recognized the same gnarled tree trunk on the edge of the clearing. He leaped down and shouted in his anger. “Clouds!” he cried, looking up. “Blasted clouds!”

  The other two gorillas slid from their saddles. “It’s forbidden to travel without the stars to guide us,” said the second gorilla.

  The first gorilla looked at his subordinate with unconcealed scorn. “Nothing’s forbidden when you ride for Urko,” he said, taking out his frustration on his dim-witted soldier.

  The second gorilla had little to say in defense. “Then how come the spirits have pulled our horses’ tails in a circle?” he asked.

  There was a pause. Once more the night smoothed itself with silence in the small clearing. Then the leader of the gorilla force realized the futility of going on any further. He was completely frustrated. He never had to deal with a situation like this before; if it weren’t for the fact that his orders came from General Urko himself, he would have gone back to the rural garrison and forgotten the whole matter. After all, who really cared about two runaway humans and a renegade chimpanzee? But what General Urko wants, he gets! Even if it meant getting lost in the forest, he had his orders. But without the stars to guide them . . .

  “All right,” barked the leader, “all right! We’ll camp here for the night. Get some wood together and make a fire.” He looked up. “Stand watch to see if it chases the clouds. If not,” he said to the second gorilla, “first sight of where the sun rises . . . you ride back to General Urko and report that we are going on. We’re going on until we catch those three!”

  “Yes, sir,” said the second gorilla, impressed with the responsibility his leader was entrusting to him. The poor soldier did not have the imagination to picture what General Urko would say and do when he learned how his three troops had wasted the night and let the fugitives widen the distance between them.

  Virdon, Burke, and Galen were running no longer. It was the middle of the night, and they had come a very long way. The terrain had become very hilly, and there was no light from the sky; the three walked on through the blackest of nights, barely able to see a few feet in front of them. Burke temporarily took the lead, and after a while he stopped, exhausted, to lean against a tree. His breath came in short, painful gasps. “You know,” he said mildly, “I should have bought that nice, quiet little bar in Galveston . . .”

  Virdon walked quickly past him, continuing the journey, and then Galen went by.

  “Come on, Burke,” said the chimpanzee, “we’re following the ‘handicraft’.” Galen ran to catch up with Virdon. Burke watched the ape; they were all so tired that they had to pretend that they had boundless energy; it shamed the others into keeping up. Now it was Virdon’s turn to lead, and Galen was playing the role of the fresh, rested wanderer. Burke couldn’t be fooled. He had seen Galen, just a moment before, panting and clutching a tree to keep from falling in his tracks. The chimpanzee had courage, though, Burke thought; and if Galen and Virdon could keep going, well, then, so could he. Galen’s act was effective. The three of them made a great team.

  “Watch yourself in here, Galen,” called out Burke.

  Galen cavorted around a tree to display how much enthusiasm he still had. He wanted to catch up to Virdon and get ahead of the blond man. Suddenly, Galen slipped.

  Burke saw the dark form of the chimpanzee disappear over the edge of a precipice. He hurried to the edge and looked down. There was a sheer drop down to ragged rocks below. Burke couldn’t see Galen anywhere; Virdon turned back at Burke’s anxious call. All of a sudden they heard a scream of terror from the startled chimpanzee. Burke and Virdon glanced briefly at each other, then they began scrambling down to Galen’s aid.

  Galen, still conscious, moaned in extreme pain. Virdon and Burke half-slid, half-fell the remaining distance to the bottom of the cliff and arrived near their injured friend. They were greatly worried when they heard Galen’s cries; there was a deep and profound note of unbearable agony in the chimpanzee’s voice. He was holding his leg. They picked their way to Galen’s side. “Just take it easy,” said Burke. “Easy there, Galen. We’re here now. Everything will be okay if you just don’t move.”

  “Burke, my friend,” said Galen, still trying to make light of the situation, “I can’t think of a single place I’d like to go right now. I’m very much in favor of staying very still. Ohhh . . .”

  Virdon knelt in the damp ground near him and quickly inspected the chimpanzee. He moved Galen’s arms and the other leg, but they seemed to be uninjured. Then, cautiously, slowly, Virdon inspected the injured leg. There was a look of shock on Virdon’s face when he saw the extent of the wound. The leg had been badly torn on a jagged rock, and the shaggy hair of the ape’s leg was matted with blood. “Lie still,” said Virdon. He turned to Burke, “Need a tourniquet. Hurry!”

  Burke quickly tore a long strip of cloth from the bottom of his roughly knit shirt, rolling up the swath to make a pliable, ropelike tourniquet.

  “Ohhh!” said Galen, moaning. “I’m sorry . . .”

  Burke was very worried, more for his friend the chimpanzee than for what Galen’s injury meant to their chances for escape. In fact, that thought hadn’t occurred yet to either Burke or Virdon. “Hey,” said Burke anxiously. “Be quiet, will you? I’m giving you the shirt off my back, buddy. Just be quiet, there.”

  Burke handed the tourniquet to Virdon, who wrapped it expertly though hastily around the leg above the wound and started twisting. Meanwhile, Burke looked around in the darkness for a strong stick that Virdon could use as a lever. Finding one, he tested it quickly, and broke off a length. He handed it to Virdon, who muttered something that Burke couldn’t hear. The blond man slipped the stick through the knot of the tourniquet and twisted even tighter. Galen clutched one of Virdon’s arms, but he did not cry out.

  “You have a fractured leg,” said Virdon. “A simple fracture, you don’t have to worry about a compound fracture unless you do something dumb right now. I
was afraid the broken bone might have pierced your leg when I saw all the blood, but that’s a surface wound caused by the rocks.”

  “Compound?” asked Galen weakly. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Your ape medicine is a little behind,” said Burke. “Some time when you’re feeling lazy, have Dr. Virdon here explain it to you. It’s something no home should be without.”

  “What?” said Virdon. “An Alan Virdon or a compound fracture?”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” said Burke, sighing.

  “You should be glad,” said the other human.

  “I’m not,” said Burke.

  “Rest easy,” Virdon said to Galen, who was already trying to get up. “We’ve got to be sure that we’ve stopped the bleeding.”

  “It was dark,” said Galen. “I . . . I fell—”

  Burke decided that the best approach was humor. “It wasn’t your fault, Galen,” he said. “That old magic compass is great for back and forth, but it ain’t worth a hoot for up and down.”

  After a time the chimpanzee fell asleep from exhaustion. Burke lay down and made a rough bed for himself from leaves and grass. Virdon, because of his knowledge of first aid, waited up until dawn, in case of some emergency. The remainder of the night passed uneventfully, fortunately enough. When the sun began to rise, Virdon shook Burke awake. Together they gathered strong tree limbs and, tying them together with plaited vines and strips of their clothing, built a crude litter.

  Galen’s face was contorted with pain while the two men lifted the heavy ape onto the litter. Burke had had only two hours of sleep while Virdon had had none; still, they knew that with daylight, their danger increased a hundredfold. They made the best time they could through the forest, carrying their chimpanzee companion. The burden, coupled with the strain of the night’s efforts, had brought the two former astronauts to the point of collapse.

  “Sun’s been . . . up for . . . half hour,” murmured Virdon.

  “Feel like . . . I’ve been up . . . half a year,” answered Burke.

  “Got to . . . keep moving,” said Virdon. “Sitting ducks.”

  “Sitting?” asked Burke. “What’s that? I . . . seem . . . to remember . . .”

  “Need a place . . . to hole up . . . or . . . hey!” said Virdon. It was obvious that he had spotted something. He stopped, so Burke had to, also. The darker man looked in the direction that Virdon indicated.

  Through the trees, in a clearing, there was a cabin. It was better constructed than the mud-brick huts that humans lived in throughout the rural sector away from the central ape city. A good many apes, of course, chose to live away from the city; but, as the rural, outlying districts and the humans and apes who lived there were considered somehow inferior, Burke, Virdon, and Galen often discovered that the country dwellers had, in fact, a saner, more reasonable approach to life. The two astronauts hoped that this would hold true with the farmers here.

  Behind the cabin were outbuildings, and beyond, tilled fields. “An isolated farm,” said Virdon. “Just exactly what the doctor ordered.”

  “Yes, doctor,” said Burke.

  “Will you kindly stop calling me that?” asked Virdon.

  “Yes,” said Burke, “sir.”

  Their conversation was broken up by the distant, mournful mooing of a cow.

  Virdon and Burke raised their eyebrows at the sound. They looked at each other, then turned their attention back to the farm. Burke could almost taste the sight. “Oh, man,” he said, “would you look at that. Chicken and dumplings . . . mashed potatoes and gravy . . . honey-cured ham . . . and steak and eggs for breakfast. You hear that, Galen? Just what you need. Fix you up like that.”

  Galen, like every other ape in his world, was a strict vegetarian; it was one thing that set the apes and humans apart, and always made the apes feel a little superior. “Meat,” said Galen, for a moment forgetting even the intense pain of his leg. “Ugh!”

  “This may be it at last, Pete,” said Virdon wistfully. “Show me a couple of nice, rackety diesel tractors, and it’s home sweet home all over again. Come on.” They laboriously carried the litter with Galen in it closer to the cabin.

  Closer, the hope of a modern farm like those in the world from which Virdon and Burke had come, vanished. The cabin itself was very primitive, and the rest of the farm showed little of the everyday farming sense that even the poorest human farmer had known in the astronauts’ own day. Virdon and Burke came into the yard and paused. They weren’t quite certain how to proceed.

  They set the litter down carefully. Galen was able to raise himself slowly on one arm, in order to watch what happened. Virdon went to the door of the cabin, but Galen couldn’t see. Tiredly, the chimpanzee let himself fall back down.

  Virdon looked back over his shoulder at Burke, who stood to one side. After a moment of hesitation, Virdon shrugged his brawny shoulders. They had come this far and, after all, they did have a badly injured companion. Filled with expectancy, Virdon knocked on the door. There was no reply. Virdon tried again, knocking louder. There was only silence.

  Virdon tried once more. He knocked loudly, so that if there had been anyone in the cabin who had not heard the first two knocks, it was very unlikely that they wouldn’t hear the third. There was a pause . . . and the door was opened slowly, just wide enough to reveal the face of a large ape. He had to study Virdon’s face only a moment. “Get away from here!” he said. “Now!”

  Virdon didn’t move. He was disappointed that the farm wasn’t run by humans, but the ape’s threatening tone wouldn’t make him flinch.

  “I’m warning you,” said the ape, “we have clubs and corn knives.”

  Virdon took a deep breath. He hadn’t said a word, and already he was deep in the hole. “We need help,” he said quietly. “Our friend has been hurt.”

  The ape was adamant. “We don’t help humans,” he said.

  Virdon hesitated briefly, unsure of how to continue. Then he stepped back and gestured toward Galen, who was invisible from the door of the cabin. The large farmer, evidently the head of the farm family, opened the door wider and cautiously looked beyond Virdon. He saw the two other figures waiting in the yard. The ape turned back into the cabin and spoke to someone there. “Stay back,” he said.

  As the ape stepped from the house, more figures pressed themselves against the door. Virdon gave them only a glance as he followed the ape to where Galen rested. The farmer walked the few steps to Galen and Burke with caution, as though he expected to be ambushed and pounced on. He stopped at the litter and took a quick look at Galen.

  Meanwhile, the four other figures came out of the door and stood outside the cabin. The force of curiosity had been irresistible. There was a woman, evidently the farmer’s wife, a large and strong son, carrying a corn knife, a younger son, and a daughter somewhere between the two males in age. All four came to stand near the litter. “What is it, Polar?” asked the farmer’s wife.

  Polar turned around, startled to find his family standing so near. “Jillia,” he said to his daughter, “go back in the house. You, too, Zantes.” He gruffly pushed his wife toward the cabin.

  Jillia, the daughter, retreated a slight distance toward the house, but Zantes, Polar’s wife, knelt quickly at Galen’s litter. She saw immediately how badly hurt the young chimpanzee was. She glanced curiously at the tourniquet, but did not touch it. Polar stood helpless, the failure of his authority noticed only by him.

  “Oh dear!” said Zantes. “This is terrible.” She turned to her daughter. “Jillia, put a kettle of water on the stove. This will have to be cleaned better, at least.”

  Polar tried to reassert his control of the situation. “Just a minute,” he said to Galen. “Who are you?”

  Galen could only answer weakly. “My name is Galen,” he said. “These are my friends . . .”

  The elder son stepped forward. He brandished his machete-like knife aggressively. “Anto,” said Zantes, “stay back. You’re only blocking my ligh
t.”

  The youthful ape paid no attention. “Are you their prisoner?” he asked Galen. “Have they captured you?”

  Galen’s voice was growing weaker with the effort needed to deal with Polar and his family. “No . . . no . . .” he murmured. “Please . . . help us . . .”

  The younger son pushed forward curiously. “Are you rich?” he asked. “They’re your bonded humans. Aren’t I right? Aren’t I, Mom?”

  Zantes looked up at her son. “I don’t know, Remus,” she said. “Why don’t you and Anto go into the house, like your father says?”

  “Why don’t you go into the house,” said Polar to his wife. “This poor ape may be at the mercy of these bonded humans. They may even have hurt him, and they might do the same to you.”

  “No . . . no . . .” said Galen.

  Virdon was on the point of saying something, but Galen suddenly sunk back down, unconscious now from the exertion and his loss of blood. Burke reacted to this serious sign of Galen’s worsening condition.

  “Look,” said Burke angrily, addressing Anto, the elder son, “put that knife away and help him.” Burke turned to the others. “Will you? We’re no danger to you. Do something for him!”

  Zantes looked up at Polar and Anto. “Take him inside. I’ll do what I can.”

  Neither her husband nor her elder son moved; they were both certain that they didn’t want the human friends of the injured ape anywhere near the farm, let alone in their very house. For a moment there was silence.

  During the seconds of strained tension, Zantes had grown angry at her husband’s stubbornness which was only making the poor injured Galen suffer the more. She wondered how her husband, basically a good-hearted ape, could be so blinded by his prejudice of humans to include Galen. “Ask all your questions later,” said Zantes, an unanswerable edge to her voice. “This chimpanzee needs help.”

  Polar was still reluctant, although he could see the sense of his wife’s words. Nevertheless, he genuinely didn’t want the humans around his house, around his wife and daughter. He had only the vaguest, illogical reasons, but to him they were strong. And he was supported by the presence of Anto, who shared his father’s dislike of the humans. Polar had made some loud declarations, which had been ignored; now he tried again to assert his authority. “Don’t order me around, woman,” he said. “I’ve already made up my mind that we should help this unfortunate ape.”