Leaping to his feet, ignoring the stiffness in his bones, he began slapping and swatting at himself. His awakeners fought back with stings and bites. Fortunately, few had slipped beneath his outer clothing. With hands and face most at risk, he concentrated on those first.
Hyaki blinked sleepily, then gaped at his afflicted friend. "Tell me the tune you're dancing to, Angel. I could use a—" The sudden realization that he had also become unwilling host to a sample of the uninvited sent him rocketing to his feet.
Together, they hopped and flailed at the ants that had invaded their clothing. Cardenas knew all about stimstick abusers, and crunch masters, about life on, above, and under the Strip. Living in the vastness of the Sonoran Desert had not prepared him to deal with the tropics. Had he been more versed in local ecology, he would have known that trees of the genus Cecropia are usually home to a varied assortment of tropical ants who live on and within them, and who do not take kindly to uninvited visitors.
It took twenty minutes of slapping, flicking, and inspecting before both men were reasonably confident they had rid themselves of their tiny but ferocious guests. They were now wide awake—and tired again.
Resignedly, Cardenas started forward down what he hoped was the right road, given the unhelpful angle of the single road sign. Wisps of damp fog clung to the treetops. Hidden birds hollered haunting cries. Within the canopy, unseen residents had commenced their morning commute. If their spinners had not been fried in their barbecue of a 4X4, the two federales could have called for a ride.
"How far do you think it is to the park boundary?" Hyaki found himself wondering if the anticipated ranger station was located on the edge of the Reserva, or deeper within.
Cardenas shuffled along beside his mountainous companion. "I don't remember from the map. Didn't pay much attention to it. Left it to the car's navigation system."
"My navigation system is sputtering." The sergeant gazed longingly into the rainforest, envisioning bananas hanging ripe and heavy from beckoning branches.
The image notwithstanding, he was as startled as his partner when the three uakaris landed in front of them. Both men halted in shock. With their bright, pinkish-red, hairless faces and long white fur, the dog-sized simians resembled nothing so much as a trio of downsized yetis. Adding to the visitors' astonishment was the realization that each of the newcomers carried a simple but undeniably efficient-looking knife and a small backpack.
Men and monkeys regarded one another silently. Then the smallest uakari scampered up into the tree nearest the road, pulled a small communicator from his backpack, and began fingering the front of the device.
"They're from the Reserva." Hyaki kept his voice to a whisper.
It was hardly necessary to point that out, Cardenas knew. The Ciudad Simiano located within the Reserva La Amistad had been created back in the '50s to provide a home for those simians who had been the subject or the offspring of now-banned research in genetic manipulation designed to enhance their intelligence. The focus of more than forty years of fighting between scientific and wildlife organizations, such experiments had also been carried out on dolphins. But while intelligence-enhanced dolphins had oceans in which to roam, no such preserves were available, in a world ever more overrun by humanity, for the altered apes and their relatives. Hence the creation within La Amistad of Ciudad Simiano—the City of Simians.
Knowing this, however, had not really prepared Hyaki and Cardenas for a face-to-face encounter with the inhabitants.
"I read that they moved about freely," the Inspector murmured to his friend, "but I didn't know they were allowed outside the boundaries of the Reserva."
"Did you know they were allowed to carry weapons?" Hyaki was paying attention to the knives. They were made of metal and composite, not hewn from wood or bone. Sensibly, he kept his hands out where they could be seen, and away from his service pistol.
"No, I did not." Cardenas was concentrating on the two uakaris still on the ground, trying to read their eyes and their movements. In the course of his long career he had seen and experienced a great deal, but this was the first time he had ever tried to intuit a monkey.
With a muted crash of branches and leaves, the energetic broadcaster descended from the treetops to rejoin his taciturn, pallid companions. Cardenas smiled and crouched, bringing his line of sight more in line with theirs.
"Look here, hombers. My friend and I are with the Namerican Federal Police. You know—policia? Federales? We are expected."
Two of the uakaris exchanged a glance and palavered softly among themselves. What was their intelligence level? the Inspector found himself wondering. Were they capable of understanding human speech? Or did they communicate only via their traditional chatter? Chimps in the wild had been observed using simple tools like rocks and sticks as long ago as the mid-twentieth century. From carrying a stick to wielding a knife did not require much in the way of a cerebral jump. As for the compact communicator, it might have been preprogrammed to send out one of several compacted signals, a procedure that could easily be taught, and reinforced, with rewards of food.
"Maybe," Hyaki ventured thoughtfully as he listened to the uakaris converse, "the Reserva's rangers have come out to meet us."
"Or maybe it's sheer coincidence." Movement in the trees off to one side drew his attention away from the muttering, energetic monkeys.
Half a dozen veldt baboons came ambling out of the brush. Larger than the uakaris, they carried bigger knives. In the forefront was a single slim, remarkably human-looking chimp. Leather straps crisscrossed his chest, while the ubiquitous pack rode on his back. Unlike his simian companions, he approached on two legs and carried no weapons.
"That's a bonobo," a fascinated Cardenas murmured to his colleague. "They're considered to be the most intelligent and humanlike of all the apes."
"How do you know all this stuff?" Hyaki's attention kept shifting from the bonobo to the far more suspicious baboons.
"I told you." Cardenas waited as the confident chimp drew near. "You need to watch more vit."
Standing, the bonobo was nearly as tall as Cardenas. Its expression was impossible to read. Slowly, it extended one powerful hand toward the Inspector's face. Cardenas tensed but held his ground. Dexterous fingers grasped one side of the human's drooping mustache and tugged gently. Letting go, the bonobo stepped back, scratched pointedly at his own whiskery visage—and grinned hugely. At this, the baboons and uakaris set up a howl of delight.
"Don't," Cardenas whispered tersely to his companion, "say anything."
"Who, me?" Hyaki studiously avoided his friend's stern gaze.
When the general laughter had died down, the bonobo slapped his chest and grunted. "Joe!"
Cardenas and Hyaki duplicated the gesture, following which Cardenas removed his ident bracelet from an inside pocket of his still-damp Willis and Geiger. With the loss of their spinners in the burned-out 4X4, it was all the official identification that remained to him. As a visitor to the CAF, he could carry but not wear it. Would the ape recognize it, and what it stood for?
The bonobo's response was as insightful as it was unexpected. Reaching around into his backpack, he removed a bracelet that was nearly identical to the Inspector's own. The colors and patterns were different, but there was no mistaking the significance.
"I'll be damned," a dumbfounded Hyaki muttered. "A fellow cop!"
"Si—yes," declared the bonobo proudly. Turning, he made an unmistakable gesture for the two men to follow. They did so without hesitation, pleased to see that their intimidating bodyguard of baboons had sheathed their weapons. Having swung effortlessly up into the trees, the uakaris were watching everything from above.
After walking for less than ten minutes, they came upon a small convertible truck. The top was down, exposing both the forward seats and the open bed. An elegant circular emblem on the passenger-side door featured rainforest trees, a floating sun, and an upreaching and distinctively hairy arm and hand. Hyaki kept thoughts of cros
sed bananas with coconuts rampant to himself. Pointing to the vehicle, the bonobo smiled again and indicated they should climb in.
"Sobres—all right!" Unable to fit in the front, Hyaki piled in back. "No more hiking in this humidity!" He plucked dejectedly at the front of his sodden shirt. "Not that we could get much wetter than we already are."
Cardenas slipped into the passenger seat up front. "Wonder where the driver is?"
His question was answered when Joe hopped into the seat behind the wheel. Activated by the broadcast unit that ringed his left middle finger, the engine hummed to life immediately. The truck bounced down the track, and soon picked up surprising speed. In the back, Hyaki found himself surrounded by half a dozen curious baboons whose front canines were longer than knives the sergeant had taken off street-skimming subgrubs. He smiled wanly while hanging on to keep from being jounced out of the vehicle.
Concentrating on his driving, Joe spoke without looking at his guest. "Angel police—Joe police!"
"Yes," Cardenas assented. "So is my companion. You are a policeman in the Reserva?"
"Ranger in Reserva," the bonobo replied proudly. "Policeperson in Ciudad Simiano. Protect and serve." Now he glanced over. "You and big friend have visitor permit?"
"In my pocket," Cardenas assured the driver, greatly relieved to have in his possession actual hardcopy documents. Had the permission to enter the Reserva they had obtained in San Jose been forwarded in purely electronic form, it would have been lost along with everything else on his spinner. Only by good fortune had he absently kept the relevant credentials in the back pocket of his pants.
The bonobo nodded vigorously. "Good! Not many human visit La Amistad. Only scientist, mostly. Even less come to visit Ciudad. We like it that way."
"We'll try to be good guests," Cardenas assured him, "and to leave as soon as possible."
His host shrugged. "You stay is okay with Joe. I like humans." He gestured back toward the bed of the rattling, bouncing truck. "Harder for lower types to make friend. You know history of experiments? Only few of the great apes smart enough to make real use of brain boost. Chimpanzees, mostly. Also orangutans and few more. These guys"—he indicated the baboons and then the uakaris who were following along in the trees—"not real bright, you savvy? Tamarins, squirrel monkeys, colobus—they all pretty simple folk." Changing tack, he asked animatedly, "You like Hundel?"
"You mean Handel? There are a few pieces that—"
Joe interrupted before Cardenas could finish. "Great human composer. Good stuff. We got small choir in Ciudad. Maybe you get to hear howler monkeys do 'Hallelujah, Amen, Amen' from Judas Maccabeus." He chuckled appreciatively. "Pretty special."
The road continued its gentle climb up into old-growth, primary rainforest, Cardenas listening to the spirited patter of their hirsute driver, Hyaki smiling uncomfortably at the sharp-toothed simian sextet with whom he was compelled to share the bed of the truck. Along the way they passed a number of signs. Cardenas remarked on one illuminated floater that dominated a fork leading off to the left.
"Storage facilities." Joe deftly avoided a pothole the size of a small fishpond. "Reserva headquarters ahead. We go to Ciudad." He looked over tentatively. "Unless you no want go now."
"No." Ride this out and see where it took them, Cardenas had long since decided. "The Ciudad is fine."
The bonobo's enormous grin reappeared. "Ciudad is best. Not many human visitors. You talk Sorong."
"Sorry," Cardenas replied. "I don't mean to bore you."
"No, no!" Joe slapped his chest in amusement. "Sorong head of Ciudad. Very bright guy, you see. Genius, some human research folk say. Nice fella, too—even if no bonobo."
It was disconcerting to see a guarded gate in the midst of so much magnificent, undisturbed jungle, but Cardenas supposed it could not be avoided. He remarked on the absence of fencing.
"Reserva," Joe explained as the truck began to slow. "Animals need freedom to move around."
Cardenas nodded. "The local Ticos don't kill them if they wander outside the Reserva boundaries?"
Joe shook his head. "Tourists come to see wildlife. No wildlife, no tourists. No tourists, no money. People know. Even humans understand."
As they approached the gate, the Inspector remembered his history. "They didn't always. Tell me, Joe: are you happy that some human scientists manipulated"—he almost said "monkeyed with"— "the intelligence of your ancestors?"
The bonobo shrugged. "Sure. As means for communication, speaking words beats screaming and throwing your excrement every time. Joe can still ouk-ouk with the best of them, but language better. Feel sorry for the little guys, though." With a jerk of a thumb, he indicated the baboons in back. "They just no get it." He tapped his throat with the back of his free hand. "Anyway, no room in here to lower their larynxes. Larynx stays up, no possible to have real speech. Just like in human babies in first three months."
Cardenas was not sure what to expect as they neared the Simiano compound. An absurdist vision of crenellated battlements manned by armored chimpanzees clutching crossbows and slings harked back to novels of fantasy he had read as a boy. The reality was far simpler and more prosaic. They passed a succession of signs warning travelers that they were approaching a restricted area that could not be entered without prior authorization, then an automatic gate that recognized the truck and rose to let them through, before finally crossing a narrow, well-maintained bridge. The modest river it crossed was no moat, but effectively served the same purpose.
The headquarters compound was no different from what the two visitors might have expected to find in a comparable human zone: small prefab buildings designed to withstand the elements scattered about a trio of slightly larger, more solid, two-story structures. Several were evidently dedicated to ongoing scientific research, though whether these studies focused on the rainforest or the residents of the Ciudad the Inspector did not know. Primates of various species swung above the compound on a network of synthetic fiber ropes. Beneath these aerial pathways, larger apes ambled about.
"Have our own laws and regulations here." Disdaining the door, the bonobo vaulted effortlessly over the side of the truck. Baboons spilled from the rear bed, while Hyaki disembarked more slowly. The rough ride had been hard on his still-healing skin. "Take care of ourselves."
They drew curious stares as they walked toward the main building. Cardenas indicated the nearest research facility. "Who works in there?"
Their host drew his upper lip back to expose teeth in a huge smile. "You mean, humans or us? Mostly humans. No ape got university degree—yet. Have enough trouble trying to get CAF allow us to vote." He spread gray-black arms wide. "You tell me, man. What am I—citizen, or exhibit? Is this town, or zoo?"
"I'm just a guest," Cardenas replied tactfully. "I don't have enough knowledge to even begin to discuss the subject."
Joe executed a perfect backflip, out of which he jabbed a long finger in the Inspector's direction. "Someday humans got to take a stand." He started up the steps. A wide covered porch ran around the building. There were no chairs on the plastic flooring, only lounges, hanging baskets, and a couple of swings made from old truck tires.
There was no receptionist. With its rooms largely devoid of furniture, glassless windows, and open doorways, the entire structure had the air of a jungle hostel. Reaching the rear of the building, they found that they had passed through the entire structure. A second covered porch in back overlooked a steep slope, allowing a view into the rainforest canopy.
"Leave you here now." The bonobo gave them each a hearty slap on the back that jolted Cardenas slightly forward and made even Hyaki wince. "Joe got work to do. You talk to director a while. Get your answers." He winked broadly. "Maybe Joe see you later."
"Wait a minute," Hyaki began—but the chimp had already turned and scrambled off on all fours back into the building. "That's just fine," the sergeant muttered. "What now? Where's this 'director'?"
A gray mountain that Cardenas had as
sumed to be a decorative stone sculpture uncoiled from the far end of the porch and started toward them on all fours.
Both men held their ground. Maybe it was the two hundred kilos of muscle that made him hesitate, or the knowledge that those long silvery arms could pull off his legs as easily as he would remove drumsticks from a Christmas turkey, or the jaws that could crush bone like popcorn, but Cardenas felt that flight was not an option.
The huge silverback gorilla halted less than a meter away. Then it sat down before them, crossed both legs, placed massive hands against one another palm to palm, and inclined its head forward in a terse nod of acknowledgment.
"Welcome to Ciudad Simiano, gentlemen." One hand gestured at a nearby couch, the only article of human furniture in sight. "Please, sit down. I am Sorong, the Director of the simian compound." The other hand extended in the Inspector's direction. Instinctively, Cardenas reached out, and felt his fingers completely enveloped. The grip was firm but controlled, and he withdrew his digits intact.
Sensing their unease, the Director dug into a satchel slung at his side and removed the largest pair of spectacles Cardenas had ever seen. Balancing them on his blunt nostrils and tucking the gripping arms against the sides of his head, the great ape smiled reassuringly.
"One of Joe's askari uakaris informed me via comm of your coming. I understand that you had some trouble with a vehicle? No one walks into the Reserva. He also told me that you are police from Namerica. Doubtless the pair that San Jose informed us several days ago we were to expect. How can we help you?"
The eyeglasses gave the enormous primate the appearance of a squat, furry, and very nude professor of literature. It was a sight to make one smile. Neither federale did so, fearing such a reaction might be taken the wrong way.
But for the first time since the encounter with the Sensemaya on the road, Cardenas felt he could relax.
The Mocking Program Page 15