Planet of the Apes

by Jim Beard

  “Meaning?” Virdon asked.

  “I see Sioux, Hopi, Navajo, Cheyenne, Yurok, and other costumes. The faces that go with them seem authentic. Everybody looks like a full-blooded brave of one tribe or another.”

  “Led by a gorilla,” Virdon mused. “What do you make of it?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense, but if they tell us their story, it’s going to be something.”

  Galen was reluctant to join them, but when he finally stumbled up, the chimpanzee had trouble comprehending the nature of the approaching rider.

  “Out of the frying pan into the fire?” he asked, using a phrase he had picked up from his human friends.

  “I don’t think so,” Alan murmured.

  “But we really don’t know,” Pete admitted warily.

  “Those humans do not appear to be slaves,” Galen said uncertainly.

  Apex drew near. Seen up close, he was an imposing sight.

  He rivaled Urko in the power and majesty of his native costume, and out-weighed him by twenty-five pounds. His sunken eyes were sharp and wise. His proud expression was fearless. In a strange way, his heavy face brought to mind the great war chiefs of centuries ago: Geronimo, Red Cloud, and others.

  The human face and the gorilla mask were very different in structure, but the Native American head tended toward broadness, the skin more leathery than that of a civilized European. So, too, did the gorilla countenance. It was disconcerting.

  “Unless basic biology has been completely changed after the holocaust,” Alan told Pete, “it’s impossible for a gorilla and human to mate and produce offspring.”

  “He’s no hybrid,” Pete replied. “This is a gorilla who thinks he’s Sitting Bull.”

  Alan stepped up and introduced himself. “I am Colonel Alan Virdon, and this is Major Peter Burke. This chimpanzee is Galen, who is under our protection.”

  “You are under my protection,” Apex retorted curtly. His windy eyes measured them coldly. “You say that you hold military rank. What army claims you as officers?”

  Alan and Pete exchanged sheepish glances. Virdon spoke up.

  “We are astronauts, not military men.”

  “You might say that we’re the last of our breed,” Pete added.

  “You talk like crazy apes,” Apex grunted. “But I will hear the story of your vanished people later. Gather horses. We ride for the Rez. If the gorillas follow us, we will finish them.”

  “Fine with us,” Pete said. They began rounding up stray horses, and as they did so, the braves who accompanied Apex ranged about, dropping out of their saddles and falling on their apish foes, using their knives with quick, short gestures.

  Everywhere they found a dead or wounded gorilla, they finished him off and sliced off the topmost pelt at the apex of their crowns.

  Securing a mount, Alan urged it over to Pete, and asked, “What are they doing?”

  “Scalping.”

  “They’re only taking a small patch.”

  “That’s what the Indian tribes used to do. They didn’t take the whole scalp—just enough to show that they had defeated a foe in battle.”

  Soon, the braves had surrounded Virdon and the others. They formed an escort, and so rode deeper into the valley, their hulking chieftain in the lead.

  Swaying in the saddle, Apex said nothing. He seemed indisposed to speech.

  Galen tempted the silence by asking, “Where are they taking us?”

  Pete answered that. “The Rez. Short for reservation. We’re bound for their camp.”

  That settled in their minds, they fell into a steady canter as they rolled along, and while the sun set, they kept their mouths shut, only glancing back from time to time to see if Urko’s surviving gorillas were stalking them.

  There was no sign of Urko. None. It wasn’t like the stubborn gorilla, but they were not about to complain.

  * * *

  That night, they all sat around a leaping campfire.

  Apex took the seat of honor in the circle, and the firelight made his face look ancient and unreal.

  Food was passed around—small game garnished with grapes. For the valley protecting the reservation was abundant with wild grape vines.

  Virdon finished telling the story of how they came to this time and place, and of their journey to find an advanced human civilization able to help them. The firelight flickering in Apex’s deep-set eyes failed to disclose whether or not he believed a word of it.

  Instead, the gorilla chief grunted, “You are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish. But we cannot help you with your quest, for we do not know about the white man’s tools of which you speak.”

  “We are grateful for this,” Virdon said. “Now, please, tell us about yourself.”

  “I am Apex, chieftain of this clan.”

  Around the campfire, the other braves nodded while they ate. The women of the tribe did not join the circle; they ate elsewhere.

  “And?” Pete prompted.

  “What more is there to tell? I am Apex, war chief of my tribe.”

  Again, nods and murmurs of assent raced around the circle.

  “Chief Apex,” Virdon pressed. “How did you come to be leader of a band of human braves?”

  “They raised me. I am one of them. Let no one say otherwise.”

  “But you are a gorilla.”

  Reddish faces darkened around the campfire and Apex snarled, baring yellowed fangs, finally barking, “Do not say that! I am chief. Not gorilla. Not ape. I am Apex.”

  Alan Virdon made calming gestures with both hands, saying, “Yes, I understand. Please pardon me. I mean no offense. It’s just that… well, we’ve never encountered anything like this survival of the Native American tribes.”

  “We are at the Tribe of the Last,” said Apex. “The last of all the tribes in this part of the world, gathered at this spot to dwell in peace and harmony on the Red Road.”

  A brave grunted, “And to take the scalps of ugly apes where we can.”

  Laughter raced around the campfire. Apparently, taking such scalps was the chief occupation of the tribe.

  Alan decided to change the subject. “I understand that you and Urko are enemies. Why has he not raided this village?”

  Apex made a careless gesture with one battle-scarred hand. “Urko tried. Long while ago. The battle was bloody. Many fell on both sides. Urko was flung back. He has not returned—until now.”

  “I see. Well, Urko was determined to catch us and kill us. Mark my words, Chief, he will be back.”

  “Mark my words,” retorted Apex. “Urko will not be back. He will not enter the Valley of the Last Tribe. He is afraid of us.” He struck his bare chest. “Of me!”

  Pete ventured, “I’ve never known Urko to be afraid of anything.”

  “He is afraid of Apex. And Apex’s warriors. Now eat! You talk too much.”

  They ate their fill, and when the hour was late, they were escorted to a tanbark wickiup, where they were allowed to retire for the night in privacy.

  There was no light, so they conversed in the dark.

  Alan asked Galen, “What do you know of this?”

  “Nothing, nothing.” The chimp’s dark eyes grew reflective. His tone betrayed his reluctance.

  “Out with it, Galen,” prodded Pete. “You’re holding something back.”

  “Well, let me see. When I was a child, tales were told of a warrior called Apex. Fantastic stories. Some said he was a gorilla. Others claimed that he was a human. Some said he was neither one nor the other, but some mongrel combination of both.”

  “Although he acts like a human being, Apex is clearly a gorilla,” offered Pete.

  Galen said, “Yes, yes, I can see that. Yet I could also see that he and his—did you call them braves?—seem of one mind.”

  Virdon reminded, “Apex says he was raised by the tribe. In his mind, he thinks he’s one of them.”

  Pete offered, “Kind of like Tarzan of the Apes, but in reverse.”

  Galen’s curi
ous voice lifted. “Who is this Tarzan of the Apes?”

  “Long ago,” informed Pete, “a famous writer wrote a book about a man who was orphaned and raised by primitive apes in Africa. Knowing no humans, he believed that he was an ape, and grew to manhood to become the king of his tribe. He was called Tarzan, which means ‘white skin.’”

  “I see,” said Galen in a subdued voice that suggested he did not quite grasp the concept. “It all sounds rather fanciful.”

  Alan spoke up. “I see where you’re going, Pete. Apex thinks he’s of the same blood as his tribe. He doesn’t know gorilla culture, only the one in which he was reared.”

  “Right. He and the others are blood brothers. And one of the reasons Urko and his band are afraid of him is because they don’t understand the bow and arrow. To them, it’s a foreign weapon of war. They only know the brute force of a carbine rifle.”

  Virdon nodded in the dark. “Maybe we could borrow a few for future use. But I think there’s more to this story than we know.”

  Galen piped up. “Talk long ago was that a party of apes was massacred during a journey to Central City from the outpost of Huk. Few survived. The dead gorillas were discovered with their heads so bald that naked bone showed at their crowns.”

  “Scalped!” said Pete and Alan in unison.

  “That cinches it,” Pete added. “This tribe did the deed.”

  Alan turned to Galen. “Were all the apes accounted for?”

  In the dark, the two astronauts could almost hear the chimpanzee shrug his hairy shoulders.

  “There were rumors about that, too,” he said vaguely.

  “What kind of rumors?” pressed Pete.

  “Whispers that one was never found,” said Galen. “But it was forbidden to talk about it. The High Council, in particular, was sensitive about the incident. You can imagine that they would be. Gorillas rule. They are not massacred so barbarously. Not even by other gorillas.”

  Pete mused, “Apex may be one of the survivors of that raid.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know about that,” Galen said hastily. His tone suggested otherwise, but they let it go.

  At last, Alan said, “Okay, let’s turn in. We’ll worry about the future in the morning.”

  * * *

  Security Chief Urko put off sleep that night. He was worried about the future.

  Making camp below the Valley of Grapes, he assembled his surviving gorillas.

  “Our numbers have been cut by one third!” he thundered, wide nostrils flaring. “This is intolerable!”

  One of the apes attempted to make excuses. “Sir, we are the survivors, not the fallen. Blame belongs to—”

  Urko slapped him in the face, and continued his harangue.

  “You have not been in the saddle as long as I have, Mema. The Valley of Grapes is a dangerous place. I was determined to capture the humans before they set foot in the Forbidden Zone. But you all failed me.”

  No gorilla replied to that point. There was no reasoning with Urko when he was enraged. And he was furious now, his deep-set eyes bloodshot.

  “Did you see anything of those who attacked?”

  Hesitation froze the ranks. One gorilla lifted a hand tentatively.

  Urko got in front of him, pressed his pulsing nostrils against the other, demanding, “You! Zilo! Speak up!”

  “I was one of the last to leave the valley, but I saw on the crest of the ridge a figure in a strange uniform. He wore a crown of feathers.”

  “Human?”

  “No, sir. A gorilla, his face marked in fierce colors.”

  Urko said nothing. He stared into the eyes of the other ape, seeking signs of falsehood. He broke away, muttering to himself.

  “He lives. He lives.”

  The assembled apes wanted to know who “he” was. But they dared not ask.

  Urko stalked off to throw himself into a sleeping tent, but he did not rest. Nor did he tell his troops to break formation, and so they stood obediently that way until the sun rose.

  Finally, snorting and breathing heavily, he drifted off.

  At dawn’s break, Urko’s red eyes snapped open, drained of sleep.

  Clambering to his feet, he found his reduced force still in formation and demanded, “What are you fools doing?”

  “Awaiting the order to break formation, sir,” one told him.

  “Had you not the sense to sleep? You will need all your strength, for we are returning to the Valley of Grapes!”

  They waited for the correct order, and finally it came.

  “Break formation! Eat rapidly. Mount up. We ride—we ride hard.”

  * * *

  Breakfast was grapes. Conversation was minimal.

  Alan, Pete, and Galen observed this unspoken convention in silence, the rising sun warming their bones. It had been a chilly night.

  After the breakfast detritus was cleared away, Apex addressed them.

  “I have decided to lead a war party against Urko.”

  Alan asked, “Why?”

  “A scout has informed me that Urko and his apes are camped south of the valley. He should have fled to his brutal masters. This means that he has not given up. I am insulted by this. I do not wish Urko to get away this time.”

  Apex seemed to await some form of response, and Pete offered it.

  “We stand ready to ride with you, then.”

  Apex grunted, then turned away to muster his braves.

  Once he was out of earshot, Galen began putting up a fuss. “Are you mad? Do you wish us all to die?”

  Alan quieted him with a hard glance and asked of Pete, “Why did you volunteer us, Pete?”

  “I could tell that’s what Apex expected of us. But he’s not the type to ask. I just earned us his respect.”

  Galen quivered. “I am not eager to join this insane enterprise.”

  “We’ll protect you,” promised Alan.

  “Be aware, Alan,” warned Pete, “that your light hair probably means that you don’t stand as tall in Apex’s eyes as I do.”

  “Meaning that I’ll have to prove my bravery?”

  Pete nodded. “Over and over. Remember that.”

  Within the hour, they mounted up. Apex was resplendent in his war bonnet, his massive chest and thick features marked with bars and circles of arcane significance.

  Apex gave no orders, but his braves formed a single line behind him and trailed him out of the camp in silence.

  The humans and Galen straggled in the rear, and so they all marched south between the scrub foothills of the lower valley.

  * * *

  A scout rode ahead, was gone nearly an hour, and returned to confer with his simian chief. They palavered but for moments.

  Lifting a feathered staff, Chief Apex shouted, “The enemy rides north to meet us! Let us make them unwelcome!”

  “And hurl them into the laps of their hairy ancestors!” shouted an eager brave.

  No war cry erupted. The tribe simply resumed riding, sun-leathered features stoic.

  “Noisy bunch,” quipped Alan.

  “Native Americans are descended from horse Mongols,” commented Pete. “Genghis Khan and his Golden Horde were famous for riding into battle in silence, too.”

  * * *

  The two war parties came into sight of one another just north of the valley’s entrance, where flies buzzed over the corpses of the dead apes whose scalps lay raw and exposed in the morning sun.

  Lifting an open hand, Apex signaled a silent halt to his column.

  Seeing his formidable foe, Security Chief Urko did the same.

  Without further instruction, both sides formed a fan on either side of their leader. The opposing forces glared at one another, but no one made a hostile move.

  Chief Apex stared without expression, dark eyes boring into Urko’s own. A grape-scented breeze toyed with the feathers of his resplendent war bonnet.

  Finally, Apex spoke. “You are forbidden to enter the Valley of Grapes. Turn about and go.”

  �
��I am under orders to capture the two humans and the fugitive chimp,” returned Urko stiffly.

  “They are under my protection.”

  Urko absorbed the portent of these words, eyes unblinking. “I cannot fail in my duty, brother ape.”

  “I am not your brother.”

  “No, you are not. You are a renegade. It is tragic. I never thought I would see a bull gorilla sink so low. Teaching humans to ride horses. Leading them as if they were your equals.”

  Apex thumped his bare chest once. “Low? You are a mere soldier. I am a great war chief!”

  “You are mad, Apex. And your madness has taken root in your deluded brain so deeply it cannot be uprooted. I see this now.”

  “You have insulted the war chief of the Last Tribe,” intoned Apex. “For that, I will have your scalp.”

  “I will not fight you, brother.”

  “Do not call me that!” Apex snarled. Dismounting, he plucked a stone tomahawk from his saddle and, leading his horse by the reins, advanced on foot in the direction of the mounted gorillas. No fear flickered in his deep-set eyes, only a smoldering resentment.

  Urko kept his saddle. He lifted a broad hand in warning to his horse gorillas.

  “Hold your fire!” he commanded.

  “But, sir,” one soldier pleaded, “he is coming for your head pelt!”

  “I will shoot the first ape who opens fire on that gorilla. This is my affair, not yours. We have come for the humans, nothing else.”

  The mounted apes subsided, but their eyes were uneasy and their fingers drifted to their triggers. The humid air was full of the stink of dead apes. No gorilla wished to die this day.

  Chief Apex crossed half the distance to General Urko, while his braves arrayed themselves in the semi-circle, long bows in hand, arrows nocked, points aimed at gorilla chests.

  One nervous cavalry ape said to another, “We are vastly outnumbered.”

  “We will die if we are not careful. Let them fight it out.”

  Moving with a strange cadence that marked Apex as having learned to walk under human tutelage, the chief of the Last Tribe suddenly found his way blocked by a rider—a human rider.