Planet of the Apes Omnibus 2

by John Jakes

  The kid scrambled up almost as well as a monkey, but even he found the going hard. Bits and pieces of rubble tumbled in his wake as he worked his way higher. The boy seemed fearless, but Davidson found himself holding his breath even so.

  Then Birn reached an upward sloping ledge, one whose lip he couldn’t see beyond until he actually reached it. He was climbing blind, working his way up by feel and luck, when he reached the rocking lip, thrust one hand over it, and grabbed hold of something furry.

  Surprised, he pulled himself up enough to look over the ledge and then up, to find that he was holding on to the foot of the biggest gorilla he’d ever seen, massive arms spread wide, leering down on him with a mouth full of fangs that seemed as long as swords. He let go as if he’d latched on to a red-hot branding iron, threw his arms wide, and began to tumble helter-skelter back down the precipitous rise, bouncing from rock to rock.

  By the time he rolled to the bottom, his terror at the sight of the gorilla, and the pounding he’d taken on the way down, had pretty much scrambled his brains. He struggled reflexively at the arms that wrapped around him, stopping his fall, until he realized it was Davidson.

  Davidson glanced back up the cliff, then down at the boy, and shook his head. “They’re not real,” he told him.

  And indeed, when Birn’s vision cleared and he looked for himself, he could see it was true. All along the top of the crest stood dozens of the things, twelve, fifteen feet high, like gigantic ape scarecrows.

  Their bodies were made of bundles of weathered sticks bound together, impossibly long arms extended up and out from massive shoulders. Draped over these skeletal forms were furs and rotted swaths of cloth that drifted menacingly in the mountain winds. The chests and bellies were sheathed in rusty armor, and on the skull-like heads sat corroded helms from which rose fearsome crests. Flimsy and monumental at the same time, they were kept in constant movement by the wind, simulating life.

  Still, once you saw what they were, they weren’t so scary. Not in themselves. Why they’d been put there, what they meant, that was a different story.

  Daena joined them, also looking up at the line of effigies, a thoughtful, worried expression on her face.

  ‘The apes put them where they don’t want us to go,” she told Davidson. “Crossing means certain death.”

  Davidson thought about how much work it must have been to haul all the materials up here, then put those things together and get them planted.

  “What’s so important on the other side of this hill?” he asked.

  Krull knew the answer. In doom-laden tones he said, “It leads to the ancient ruins at Calima.”

  Which told Davidson exactly nothing. “Calima?” he asked slowly.

  Ari knew some answers, too. She said, “Our holy writings say creation began at Calima. Where the Almighty breathed life into Semos, the First Ape, in the time before time…”

  Krull nodded. “And where it is said Semos will return to us one day.”

  Sounds like he not only believes in the prospect, he’d welcome it, Davidson thought. And who am I to judge? We’ve got religions like that on Earth, too…

  “Of course,” Ari went on, “most educated apes consider such religious notions as fairy tales, metaphors we use to explain our origins. I doubt there ever really was a Semos.”

  Somehow, standing beneath that line of ape effigies twitching ominously in the breeze, she sounded both pragmatic and worried at the same time.

  Daena was staring at the ape scarecrows as well. “His friends aren’t fairy tales. They’re real.”

  Davidson could see where that conversation could lead, and decided to break it up before it could go any further. He pushed on ahead, retracing Birn’s path up the stone wall, until he reached the top, and then, with only a curious glance, passed the invisible line of death that the effigies demarcated.

  Krull gave Limbo a rough shove to get him going. The chimp glanced at Davidson, then glared at Krull in exasperation.

  “Doesn’t he ever stop?”

  Krull didn’t care whether he did or not. He just gave Limbo another push, and off they went.

  The rest of the party came after, making their way up as best they could, until all of them stood just in front of the row of apes, afraid to cross the deadly line.

  Birn was watching Davidson as he trudged slowly onward, beyond the fake apes. He licked his lips, took a breath. Suddenly closed his eyes and bounded forward. As soon as he was past, he opened his eyes again, found Davidson, and loped up to a position near him.

  Daena wasn’t about to have her own courage outdone by a green boy. She followed almost immediately, and behind her, the rest of the group finally conquered their fears to follow as well.

  The crest was only a few hundred yards on beyond the line of apes. Davidson reached it first, along with Birn. He crouched down before he actually topped it, lest he be silhouetted against the dusky, fading evening sky, easy pickings for any ape who happened to be wandering around with a bow and some arrows out there.

  Gingerly, he moved forward until he could peek over, with no more than his head exposed. He could feel Birn moving up beside him, and motioned the boy to stay back.

  He found himself looking down on a narrow valley nestled between two huge peaks, and the river that had cut the valley from the stone in the first place. The floor of the valley was an inviting meadow, green as emeralds in the clear mountain light.

  It would have been a pleasant place, a good spot to lay up for some much-needed rest, except for the cluster of colorful tents arrayed along the edge of the river.

  By Davidson’s earthly standards, the tents looked strange. Dusky rose-red, patterned with blue, they reminded him of miniature circus tents, with high peaks and spear-pointed tent poles. But there was nothing circuslike about the massive, armored apes who tended to their armored warhorses, or ate, or sharpened their weapons, or all the other things soldiers do while in camp. Nor was there anything cheerful about the gorillas, their eyes alert, their weapons ready, who patrolled the pass leading down into the valley.

  As the rest of the party came up, Davidson made sure everybody stayed hidden down in the rocks. Those apes looked like they weren’t in a very good mood, and Davidson doubted that his own people, after days of running, hiding, and climbing, were in any shape to do much about it if the monkeys decided to stage another human hunt. Which was probably exactly why they were camping there in the first place.

  Not for the first time, Davidson inwardly cursed Ari’s old servant, Krull, for smashing the gun that could have given him the advantage over even an entire camp full of apes. It was all well and good to piously rant about terrible weapons the way Ari had, but whether a high-powered explosive bullet or a low-tech bronze spear went through your chest, you were just as dead either way. And the apes had a lot more spears than he did.

  On the other hand, at least Krull had had a reason Davidson understood. He knew the gun was a threat to him personally, and possibly to his mistress as well, so he’d just taken what he’d considered the logical precaution. Understandable, if infuriating. And not much worth getting all upset over at this late date.

  Davidson scratched his chin thoughtfully as he peered over the rocks at the camp below. The apes had penned up their horses in a natural stone corral between their camp and his own position.

  Hmm. Maybe some possibilities with that…

  Daena slithered in next to him, carefully looked down, and then hissed, “Monsters!”

  Davidson turned, stared at her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve heard the apes feed them human flesh,” Gunnar added.

  And even Tival had his own fantastic two cents of myth to toss in the conversational pot.

  “I’ve heard they’re possessed by the spirits of great ape generals,” he said.

  Davidson regarded them all with weary disbelief. They might be his people, they might be human, but they were as primitive as, well, as apes. Mayb
e even more so. He sighed.

  “They’re just horses. They’ll do whatever you tell them to do.”

  He hoped they would, at least. It had been some time since he’d had anything to do with horseflesh, but from what he remembered, horses sometimes had a mind of their own.

  Gunnar was his usual dour, pessimistic self. “We should try to cross the river another way.” He looked around, shrugged. “Over the mountains.”

  Davidson shook his head emphatically, the vision of the messenger’s screen in his thoughts, and those two flashing red dots.

  “I’ve got no time for that. We’ll go through them.”

  He turned and headed back down the hill, not bothering to see if they followed. He knew they would. Where else did they have to go?

  Ari and Krull exchanged worried glances as they scrambled down after him, but Limbo still wasn’t having any.

  “Where should we bury your remains?” he hooted softly after Davidson, then chuckled nastily to himself.

  8

  A brisk and bitter wind blew up from the far end of the valley’s constricted throat, gusting upstream to the ape encampment, ruffling the banners, whipping the sides of the tents with sharp, cracking sounds.

  In the way of soldiers through all time and all places, the apes were hunkered in against the unforgiving weather, glad to be dry, fed, and warm around a crackling campfire.

  In the same way, once their basic necessities were taken care of, they faced the same problem of all garrison troops ordered to spend an indeterminate amount of time performing an indeterminate mission: they got bored.

  But boredom was better than the alternative, at least from a soldier’s point of view, and the military— at least the grunts on the ground—had a time-tested solution for that, as well.

  One of the apes around the fire threw down a large playing card from his hand. The deck was well-used, but the pictures of apes in ancient clothing painted on the card faces were still visible.

  “Semos smiles on me. I win again!” the lucky ape bragged, to the consternation of his mates.

  Crowing with triumph, he stretched out his long arms to gather in the pot of winnings. But one of his fellows, a surly-looking brute with an evil temper, grabbed one arm and stopped him.

  “You win too often,” this one growled. “What have you hidden up your sleeve?”

  The would-be card shark bristled right back. For a moment it looked as if things might come to blows, or worse, but the first gambler, after a quick look around the circle of his opponents, decided that he might get the worst of such a confrontation.

  He relaxed a little, and extended his arms toward his accuser. The second ape pulled back first one sleeve, revealing only a thick, hairy wrist. He got the same results with the other.

  The first ape, his face wreathed in the triumphant grin of the wrongfully accused, reached again for the pot, but once again, before he could rake in his spoils, the second ape stopped him.

  “All of them,” he growled, jerking his fearsome visage at the first ape’s feet.

  The gambler stiffened, but he didn’t have much choice as his tormentor peeled back the cuff of his right pant leg.

  Nothing again.

  The inquisitor reached for the second leg, and the gambler twitched. The second ape grinned an evil grin. He reached beneath that side, groped a moment, and then his grin grew even wider and nastier.

  He pulled up the pant leg to show the first ape’s left foot, and the card still grasped firmly in the long, prehensile toes.

  “Cheater!” the second ape yelled.

  He backhanded the would-be flimflam artist with a clout that knocked him sprawling. That was all it took. Everybody else piled onto the hapless ape as well, kicking, gouging, punching, kicking.

  It might have gone very badly for the first ape, except that his tormentors were interrupted in their carnage by the sound of a commanding growl from above.

  Heads turned, tilted up, and then eyes bulged.

  Commander Attar, astride a gigantic charger, was not ten feet away, glaring down on them as if they were the sorriest excuse for soldiers he’d ever seen.

  For their part, the troopers stared up at him as if they’d just been surprised by their worst nightmares. Which wasn’t far off the mark. Some of them knew who he was. For those who didn’t, the badges of rank gleaming on his armored shoulders told them all they needed to know. More, in fact: every one of them recognized the iron air of command he carried, muffled though it might have been by the hard-riding dust that coated him like a thin gray layer of smoke.

  He spurred his mount closer to the abashed brawlers, leaped down, shattered the card game, and barked, “Who is in charge here?”

  Everybody glanced at one another. Nobody was in any hurry to answer the question. After all, this high-and-mighty commander wouldn’t stay here forever. But their captain would, and he had a long memory for the slights of enlisted apes.

  In any event, they were saved further deliberations by the arrival of the captain himself, hurriedly stumbling from his tent as he struggled to button his uniform.

  “I am, sir,” he stuttered as he got his disarray more or less under control and managed to sketch a halfhearted salute.

  The look Attar gave him was even more ferociously disgusted than the one he’d used on the hapless troops. After all, Attar was no piddling milksop, like some senators he could think of. He’d served all his life, had even once, long before, been one of just such men. If they didn’t fall to brawling every once in a while, especially on remote duty like this, he’d be surprised, and wonder if they’d become soft.

  But that was no excuse for this fumbling, bumbling fool of an officer now trembling before him. The men were one thing. But the people in charge were supposed to set an example.

  “They didn’t tell me you were coming…” the local commander added sheepishly.

  Really? Attar thought sourly. And if they had, I guess I would have found your camp all shipshape and starched, instead of the mess in front of me now.

  For a moment, he thought that maybe he really should spend more time out in the field, inspecting the troops, if this was any example of what was going on. But he shelved the notion for another time. He had bigger rats—or, to be precise, humans—to fry today.

  Although it couldn’t do any harm to make this lump sweat off some of that fat he could see jiggling beneath his pelt…

  “This camp is a disgrace!” he roared.

  The local man flinched as if Attar had whipped him across the face. Already, visions of losing his command—maybe even jail!—were dancing in his skull. Attar’s reputation was not a cheerful one. He had no doubt the famous ape would ruin him without a second thought, and he was terrified.

  He stared dumbly up at Attar, waiting for the ax to fall, but after a long, scornful examination of the errant underling’s person, Attar snorted and climbed down from his horse.

  He tossed the reins to a waiting trooper and stomped toward his cowed underling. “Some humans have escaped,” he growled.

  Faced with an opportunity to redeem himself, the captain visibly pulled himself together, straightened, and said with as much conviction as he could muster, “If they come this way, we’ll crush them!”

  Attar figured that was probably right, at least if it were only humans this buffoon had to deal with, but there were delicate side issues that must be considered, too. Attar hated delicate side issues, but nonetheless, these had to be handled properly, which meant handled in such a way that this idiot couldn’t possibly screw them up. After all, General Thade might be angry at Ari now, but there had been something between them once, and Attar well knew how fickle emotions could be.

  He moved to the captain’s side and let his demeanor soften a bit. He’d scared the fellow enough. Now for a bit of honey.

  “These humans are different,” he said confidentially. “They travel with apes.”

  The captain hesitated. He had no idea what such a ridiculous statement
meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it. He let out an uneasy laugh.

  Attar stiffened. “You find this amusing?”

  His tone announced quite plainly that this miserable excuse for a worm had damned well better not find anything humorous about anything Commander Attar might choose to say to him.

  The captain couldn’t have gotten the message any more clearly if Attar had written it out, wadded up the paper, and rammed it down his throat.

  He blanched. “No, sir.”

  Satisfied, Attar turned and inspected the perimeter of the camp, then looked up at the surrounding mountains.

  “I’m assuming command,” he said abruptly. “I will personally make sure this camp is prepared.”

  And more power to you, you son of a forgotten mother, the captain thought as Attar stomped away. Then if this thing—whatever it is—blows up in our faces, you can assume command of the blame as well.

  He spat, and followed the new commander toward his tent.

  * * *

  At night, in the high mountain valleys, the air was clear and cold and still, and the stars were like thorns of light scratched against the velvet sky.

  Two moons gamboled above the horizon like errant billiard balls. Davidson still couldn’t get used to those moons.

  But now, as he crouched near the natural stone corral where the apes penned their mounts, he was glad of their clear, limpid light, not so much for the illumination, but for the shadows it cast, large enough to conceal his entire party.

  The crystalline mountain air magnified sounds. He could hear the low mutter of ape conversations in the distance, the clink and chink of plates and spoons, an occasional bark of raucous laughter.

  Good. Let the monkeys settle in for the night. The greater the surprise, the more chance he had that this lunatic scheme would actually work.

  He raised one hand and gentled the curving, graceful neck of the huge dun-colored stallion he’d spirited out of the corral. Thank God the apes felt secure enough not to post guards on their animals. Although why would they? Their camp was only a few yards away, and if they’d been told anything about their mission, they knew they had only humans to be concerned with.