Planet of the Apes 04 - Lord of the Apes

by George Alec Effinger

  He pointed toward a distant, pointed, oddly shaped hill. Virdon and Galen followed his gaze.

  Virdon thought for a moment. “It does look familiar, I suppose,” he said, “but—”

  “No ‘buts,’ pal. That’s Jennings’ Nose!”

  “That is what?” asked Galen, completely confused and left out of his friends’ conversation. “I beg your pardon, Pete ”

  “Edwards Air Force Base,” said Burke. “And our C.O. was a Major Jennings, and he had a nose on him you could hang laundry on!”

  Virdon laughed. “One of the cadets named that hill after him, in honor of the similarity.”

  “Which,” said Galen sourly, “I would imagine, your superior officer found less than amusing.”

  “True, true,” said Burke. “Commanding officers haven’t changed much in the last few centuries. It’s a good thing that Jennings never found out whose idea it was.”

  Burke’s smile vanished as Virdon chucked a small stone at him. Their merriment lasted a few seconds longer, but ended in a mutual sigh.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it, Alan?” asked Burke.

  “Yeah,” said Virdon, suddenly businesslike again. “Too many things do. Let’s finish up.” They turned back to their chore of camouflaging the cave mouth.

  While Virdin, Burke, and Galen were having their short rest period, Aboro and his men were pounding toward them along the road.

  At the very same moment, some distance away, Mikal and Janor were hard at work also, tending to chores inside their barn. Janor was mending the handle of the crude hand plow used on the farm; Mikal stood alongside him.

  “I know I should have told you, Janor,” said Mikal with a guilty expression, though his voice was ever so slightly defiant, “but it turned out all right. You should have seen the other farmers. If they could vote, they’d elect Virdon and Burke prefects!”

  “Dead prefects, if the apes have anything to say about it,” said Janor unhappily. “Are you sure the gorillas didn’t see you? You’re sure?”

  “Positive!” said Mikal. “There were only the two of them and they were both out cold.”

  Mikal’s words were cut short by the sudden sound of hoofbeats approaching. The noise drew the attention of the brothers. They exchanged looks of apprehension; the horses sounded as if they were in the farmyard.

  Janor and Mikal ran from the barn, but stopped short. There, before them, were five mounted gorillas, all with rifles drawn and pointed at them. There was nothing either human could do. Never before had either man felt so close to death. Aboro and his crew swept down on them, their rifles never wavering.

  As Aboro and Daku reined up, the two humans stiffened. It was their only sensible response. They stood their ground. The three gorilla troopers dismounted, covering Mikal and Janor with their rifles.

  “Aboro?” said Janor with great respect. “What do you want here? Your troops already have all our grain. Ask your lieutenant, Daku.”

  “That is the grain which you took back and have hidden somewhere,” said Aboro in a sinister voice.

  There was a curt gesture from Daku, and a gorilla trooper moved into the barn.

  “There’s nothing in there!” cried Mikal.

  “We’ll find it,” said Aboro coolly.

  “And how we find it is up to you,” said Daku in a threatening manner. The vicious gorilla officer gestured again, and a second trooper dismounted, hurried up behind Mikal, seized the bewildered man’s arm, and twisted it up painfully behind his back. Mikal gave an involuntary cry of pain.

  “Talk!” shouted Aboro, his expression calm and confident, a complete contrast from the near-crazed face of Daku. “Who were the other humans who helped you in the grain theft? I’ll have the truth, one way or the other!”

  Mikal remained silent. It would take more than a twisted arm to make him reveal the names of the other farmers who had had their stolen grain returned. The gorilla twisted Mikal’s arm further. Mikal grimaced, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Still he said nothing.

  “This goes beyond stubbornness,” said Daku with disgust. “This is the kind of stupidity we have come to expect from humans. It would be so easy for this creature to spare himself—”

  Daku was cut off by a wave from Aboro. The police chief was not interested at all in his lieutenant’s speculations. “He will talk. Then he will be shot.” There were a few seconds of sickening tension. “Take him,” said Aboro without raising his voice further. “In fact, take both of them.”

  For the first time, Janor reacted to what was happening in his farmyard. He didn’t believe that active resistance could be of any benefit—and against five armed gorillas, he was probably correct. But now things had taken an unexpected and drastic turn. He leapt for the gorilla who was holding Mikal; with one sharp swing of his arm, Janor had knocked the burly beast to the ground. “Run, Mikal!” cried his brother.

  Mikal took one quick look at the situation and knew that it had become desperate. He had no idea what to do, and his brother’s words activated him. He began running toward the woods. The gorilla whom Janor had flung to the ground rose to one knee, aiming his rifle at Janor. Quickly, the farmer kicked out, just as the trooper was about to fire. The barrel of the rifle jerked away as the shot fired. The noise of the explosion in the quiet country yard startled both Aboro’s and Daku’s horses, which began to rear. The two ape leaders had all they could do to bring their beasts back under control. Janor swung his huge fist again and hit the trooper on the jaw, then grabbed the rifle. With one mighty clout, Janor brought the rifle’s stock down on the side of the trooper’s head. He flung the rifle aside and, like his brother, began running for the woods.

  The sound of the shot and the subsequent fighting had aroused the curiosity of the trooper who had been dispatched to search the barn. He came running out and spotted Janor sprinting for the woods, one of his comrades lying injured on the ground, and his two leaders still having difficulty managing their horses. Without waiting for orders, the trooper took his rifle and aimed at the back of the fleeing Janor. He fired one shot, then another. Janor appeared to be hit by the second; he crumpled to the ground, where he lay motionless.

  Mikal, meanwhile, had been aware of all the battle sounds behind him. The sound of the shots, however, made him stop his headlong flight and look back toward their farmyard. His expression changed to horror as he realized that his brother had been hit. “Janor!” he cried.

  Aboro had finally quieted his horse, which stood placidly beside the body of the fallen gorilla trooper. Calmly, almost without emotion, Aboro drew his pistol from its holster, raised it, aimed, and fired.

  The shot split the silence that had reformed over the countryside. Mikal heard it at the same moment that he felt a horrible pain. He spun around as though he were a puppet jerked on a string. He fell dead, shot cleanly through the chest. Aboro’s expression did not change. He slowly returned his pistol to his holster, giving some thought to the old maxim that said if you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself. Nevertheless, the circumstances here at the human’s farm were an empty victory for the proud gorilla who called himself ‘Lord of the Apes.’ There were apparently two more humans eliminated, but the precious grain that Aboro desired had not been found. There was little more to be done. Aboro kicked his horse and started it walking toward the road. He glanced back over his shoulder to his subordinates. “Burn this farm to the ground. That and the death of these two criminals might teach the other humans.”

  Daku, on his steadied horse, watched as the two troopers lifted the unconscious body of the third gorilla soldier to his horse. Janor and Mikal lay where they had fallen. All else was stillness. The late summer noises of the woods and the farmland returned to lend a false note of peace to the scene.

  A few moments later, that scene was disturbed one last, fearful time. The barn and the house that Mikal and Janor had built and protected so jealously became first smoking torches in the mild breeze, then leaping, raging
blazes that drove the apes away from the heat and smoke. The outlines of the buildings became lost in the turmoil of the conflagration and then the wooden structures succumbed. With loud crashes, the final remnants of the brothers’ lives fell to the ground. Everything was smoking ruin. Aboro allowed himself a small, contented smile. Then the apes rode away on other business.

  Virdon, Burke, and Galen were cautiously making their way up over a rise on their way back to the farm. They had worked hard that day, but their labor had been well-rewarded by the gratitude of the farmers. Now, though, Alan Virdon, who was taking his turn leading the others, stopped, puzzled. He raised an arm to halt his friends; then, without a word, he pointed ahead of their path.

  Smoke in thick ugly clouds was rising above the ridge. From their vantage point the astronauts and the chimpanzee could see nothing else. But their imaginations were working furiously. Without the need for an order, the three ran over the ridge and down toward the farm. At once, everything was visible to them. The smoking farm buildings, now nothing more than blackened ruins, and the two bodies lying in the clearing told the entire tale.

  “Oh, no; oh, my God, no,” whispered Burke. Virdon and Galen were too occupied with their own thoughts to add anything more.

  They increased their pace and in a little more than a minute were at the scene. Virdon and Galen knelt by Janor; Burke examined Mikal. Virdon looked with some degree of expertise at the wound Janor had suffered. There was a nasty-looking crease along Janor’s forehead above one eyebrow. Unexpectedly, as Virdon held Janor’s head, the farmer gave a groan. He wasn’t dead. Virdon’s expression turned to one of shock, then joy. “He’ll be okay,” said the blond man to his ape friend. “We’ll make sure of it. The bullet only grazed his thick skull here, the lucky devil.”

  Janor gave another groan and tried weakly to sit up. Virdon restrained him gently. “Don’t try to move yet, Janor,” he said. “We really don’t know the extent of your injuries.”

  In a weak voice, Janor gasped, “M-Mikal . . .”

  Virdon looked over his shoulder, where Burke was tending Janor’s younger brother. “Pete?” he called.

  Burke looked up, caught Virdon’s eye, and, with a grim expression, shook his head. Mikal was dead.

  Janor did not catch any of this byplay. He had fallen, wounded, before Aboro had so coldbloodedly murdered Mikal. “Where is my brother?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Janor,” said Virdon simply.

  Janor’s face did not change expression for a moment, as though Virdon’s quiet apology were too difficult to understand. Then, slowly, the burly man changed, as hopelessness twisted his features. This emotion was quickly replaced by a desire for vengeance.

  Much later, the grave had been dug. Mikal’s body had been interred without even the comfort of winding sheets or coffin. The dirt and the sod had been carefully replaced, but nothing, not the slightest mound, marked the spot. Janor was on his knees at the grave’s edge. Virdon, Burke, and Galen stood behind him, their eyes downcast, their hands folded in front of them.

  Janor’s hand traveled absently to the crude bandage he wore on his head. “I blame myself, Mikal,” he said, as though there were no others present. “It was I who caused them to shoot. It was I who told you to run, when I should have known those apes would never let you escape. I caused your death.”

  Virdon reacted sharply to Janor’s words. He realized the frame of mind that the farmer was working himself into. “That isn’t so, Janor!” he said urgently. “They would have shot him anyway. And you, too. You know that.”

  Janor, still kneeling, turned a little towards his three friends. But he looked as though he had not heard Virdon’s words. “Did you know when Mikal was very young I played a game with him?” he asked. “A game where he was all grown up and free, where humans, were equal to apes. That game turned into a dream, and like a fool I encouraged that dream. A hopeless dream. A dream that ended here.”

  “Janor,” said Virdon softly.

  Janor again appeared not to hear the astronaut, so caught up was he in his memories.

  “Janor,” repeated Virdon.

  Janor turned and saw the three fugitives, their expressions full of sympathy. Nevertheless, he turned back to the grave without a word to his friends. “I promise you revenge, Mikal!” he cried in a voice suddenly grown hard and cruel. “I promise you Aboro’s life in exchange for yours! At least I can give you that much. At least I can try to make it up to you.”

  Janor bowed his head for a moment. Neither Virdon, Burke, nor Galen said anything, although Janor’s words worried them deeply. Then Janor gave a deep sigh and rose to his feet, turning again toward his friends. His face was still angry.

  “You have been good friends,” said Janor slowly. He did not have the quickness of mind that his dead brother had always shown; it was difficult for Janor to speak his thoughts. “But now I must do what has to be done. Alone.”

  Burke pushed forward slightly, reaching to take Janor’s arm. The farmer avoided him.

  “What are you thinking, Janor?” asked Burke. “Are you trying to make sure that this time you get yourself killed, too?”

  “I will gladly die if I can take Aboro with me.”

  Galen raised a hand and spoke. “There has to be a better way,” he said. “Janor, you haven’t done much thinking about this plan of yours. It is too soon, too soon after Mikal’s death. You should take time, cool off, be thoughtful about what you want to do. It will gain you nothing, or Mikal nothing, or the other human farmers nothing if you waste yourself in a foolish act. Aboro may be police chief here but he doesn’t run the district. Go to your prefect. He’ll see that justice is done.”

  “Ape justice!” cried Janor with utter contempt. There was so much hatred in the word that even Galen felt included. “You’ve seen ape justice at work already, right here. Do you think things will be any different anywhere else? Have they ever been?”

  “Yes, Janor,” said Virdon, remembering some of their previous adventures, “sometimes they are.”

  Janor chose to ignore Virdon’s remark. “Laws are for apes, not humans. If I went to Prefect Augustus, he’d throw me in jail and I’d wind up back in Aboro’s hands. Do I have to paint a picture of what would happen to me then?”

  “Augustus?” asked Galen with some surprise. “Did you say that the prefect of this district is named Augustus?”

  “Yes,” said Janor. “I have never had much to do with him, but he is like all apes. All apes are alike.”

  Galen flinched. “I’m truly sorry you feel that way, Janor,” said the chimpanzee. “But my point is that Augustus is my cousin. More accurately, he’s my third cousin, on my mother’s side. We grew up together. We played together and went to school together. The last that I’d heard of him, he had some minor post in Central City. Well, well.” Galen looked quickly at the members of his group. “Augustus is sure to help us.”

  “Where apes are concerned,” said Janor, “none of them is sure to do anything, except hurt humans whenever possible.”

  “I really hate to remind you,” said Burke with a trace of irritation in his voice, “but the fellow who has just been trying to help you is an ape. A chimpanzee, and a regular nice fellow.”

  Janor was silent for a moment. “I apologize, Galen. I hope you can understand my feelings today.”

  “That’s all right,” said Galen.

  “Look,” said Burke to the chimpanzee, “about this cousin of yours, Augustus. Aren’t you taking a lot for granted? A lot of time has passed since you were children together. And your own situation has changed as much as his, though not for the better.”

  Galen laughed softly. “I know Augustus as well as anyone in the world. I know that his personality will not have altered. Augustus has a highly developed sense of justice. You can trust him, believe me.”

  “I trust no ape—except for you, Galen,” cried Janor. “I think it’s just foolishness for me to place myself in the hands of my greatest enemies. The
re’s only one thing that apes like Aboro understand—death!”

  “Look at it this way,” said Virdon. “If you try killing Aboro and, successful or not, you are identified, the apes will make an example of your whole village and every farm in the district. Their revenge will be too hideous to imagine.”

  There was a long pause while everyone present tried to imagine that unleashed flood of hatred which Virdon had called merely “hideous.” The word was actually mild, compared with what the three humans and the chimpanzee knew would happen. The scene at Janor’s farm would be repeated dozens, scores, hundreds of times across the entire district.

  “Please,” said Galen in a pleading tone, “give us a chance, Janor. Just one chance. There is justice for humans. You’ll learn. Have we done anything to destroy your confidence in us? Will you not accept our advice now?”

  There was another pause, while Janor considered Galen’s proposition. It was evident that Janor was deeply moved by the still-fresh memories of his brother’s death, by his desire for revenge, and by the arguments of his friends. Finally, simply, he said, “Very well.”

  Virdon, Burke, and Galen relaxed visibly. The moment of crisis had passed.

  “Until sundown tomorrow,” said Janor. “More than a full day. That is how much time I will give your ‘justice.’ But at sundown tomorrow if Aboro is still free, I will come looking for him—to bring him my justice.” Janor pounded a fist into his open palm and looked around the group. No one said a word.

  TWO

  The village of Hathor resembled many other villages in its district. Wooden houses, shops, and official buildings lined the dusty street. Apes of all three varieties traveled back and forth on business of their own. Humans, most on errands of their ape masters, hurried by with concerned expressions, careful not to disturb any of their ape superiors.