Planet of the Apes Omnibus 3

by Titan Books

  “Not a drop,” said the Patrol rider defensively. “It’s just as I say.”

  “All right,” said Barga, trying to keep the discussion going before all the important features blurred irrevocably in his soldier’s weak mind. “I believe that I’ll return with you. How far?”

  The rider was proud of his accomplishment. His officer had taken official notice. “Two hours’ ride,” he said. “The Polar farm. But shouldn’t we wait until dark? If they try to run, humans are easier to see in the dark.”

  Barga stared aimlessly past the rider’s shoulder. “Well,” he said, yawning, “if you’re too tired—”

  “No, sir,” said the soldier, dismissing that possibility from his leader’s mind.

  “Prepare the mounts,” said Barga decisively. “What is your name again?”

  The rider was crestfallen. “Lupuk, sir,” he said.

  “Very good, Lupuk. If farmer… Polar… has been hiding humans, well, I’d like to see him hanging while it’s still daylight!”

  * * *

  The sun had passed zenith and had dropped about halfway down the sky, toward sunset. The Polar farmyard was deserted. No one was bustling about, doing his daily chores; dinner was not being prepared in the farmhouse; the animals had gone unfed. There was no motion to be seen other than the wind-blown leaves in the trees. There were no baking smells from the oven, only the brisk tang of newly-cut hay still hanging in the air. Birds chirped, but other than that the only sound was the slow, steady, almost eternal tolling of the ceramic bell. That chilling sound announced that the tense vigil was still going on inside the barn. Remus kept up the tolling, as his elder brother had ordered.

  The younger son of Polar knelt in the open area of the barn floor, gently ringing the roughly made bell. Galen had hobbled closer to the cow’s stall, near where Anto still held Virdon uncomfortably pinned with the menacing pitchfork. Polar and his wife and his daughter stood back, mute witnesses to the scene of fear, tradition, superstition…

  Virdon, without moving, without antagonizing Anto into a sudden, fatal lunge, spoke out. “Polar,” he said, his voice almost cracked with the strain, “talk sense to him.” Polar, helpless in the situation, waiting with Anto to see what happened with the cow, did not answer. Zantes grasped her husband’s arm tighter, but neither dared speak.

  Burke was the only one who was able to think and act without restraint. It became clearer as the minutes passed slowly by that his friend’s life was in his hands alone; Galen, another ape, closer to Anto than Burke ever could hope to be, had failed in his attempt to reason with the ape youth. Burke spoke to Virdon in a jargon both could understand, but which was completely unintelligible to Polar and his family.

  “Say the word,” said Burke, measuring his words and tone like Virdon had, to preclude the possibility of Anto’s panicking into foolish action. “Just let me know, and I’ll commit such a clipping penalty, we’ll clear the fifteen yards and out the tunnel to the clubhouse.”

  Virdon understood exactly what Burke meant, but there were other things to think about. “What about the line judge?” he asked, meaning Galen.

  Burke thought for a moment. Polar stared at the two of them. The ape’s thoughts were puzzled; how could they carry on such gibberish, while one of them stood until the very real threat of death?

  “Between us,” said Burke. “The old five-legged race.”

  Virdon shook his head very slightly. “No,” he said. “What good is that going to do the cow?”

  Burke could barely believe his ears. He had always admired Virdon’s integrity, sure, but there were limits… “You’re six inches from being skewered, buddy,” said Burke, “I’d let the cow worry about herself.”

  At this point, Polar stepped slowly forward, one hand raised in a calming gesture. Remus stopped tolling the bell at his father’s movement. “Anto,” said Polar, his voice neither as strict as he had been before, nor yet completely acquiescent, “I don’t think that there’s a need for the fork. They will not run.” Polar had comprehended enough of the astronauts’ conversation, particularly the last few exchanges.

  Anto did not share his father’s confidence. “Why won’t they run?” he demanded, not moving the pitchfork away from Virdon.

  Polar indicated the still-injured Galen; the chimpanzee leaned heavily and painfully on his home-made crutch. “Because Galen can’t run with them,” said Polar. “They have a strong feeling for him. Or they would have left him to die.”

  Galen made a weak sign with one hand. “That’s right,” he said. “I’m their… friend.”

  Anto was caught in an intellectual puzzle. Every new development just made his condition worse, his ability to reason more cloudy with doubt and hopelessness. “Very well,” he said, pulling the fork away from Virdon’s throat, stepping back. He spoke with a firm new intent. He turned to Galen, who now looked worried that Anto’s murderous intentions would be directed toward him. Galen’s brow sweated as he imagined the devilishly sharp tines of the pitchfork stabbing the shaggy hide of his own throat…

  “Very well,” said Anto again, “let them run. If anything happens, you will answer for it.” He jabbed at the chimpanzee. Galen-breathed more shallowly, but Virdon sighed with relief. Anto’s change of mind indicated that the ape youth’s thoughts were not organized. With that knowledge, Virdon knew that he could have an insurmountable advantage against Anto. Nevertheless, there was still a good deal of work to do.

  Virdon, freed by Anto’s change of position, took the opportunity to debate with the ape youth once more. He had very little time left. “Look, Anto,” he said, pleading, “I can help the cow live. I’ve seen veterinarians do it a dozen times. If you’ll only let me help.”

  Anto roared his answer. “No!” No one, not Virdon, not Galen, not even Anto’s own family, would come close to the cow, now.

  Virdon turned to Polar, appealing to the father’s sense and his ideals of fairness. “Polar,” said Virdon, “do you want this cow to die?”

  Polar shook his head; of course he didn’t. Besides its sudden symbolic meaning, the cow represented food and money to the family the remainder of the year. “At birthing time, however,” he said sadly, “the fate of the cow is in the hands of the eldest son. I have no say, now.”

  Polar’s wife, Zantes, had listened to about all she wanted to hear. She stepped forward angrily. “Who says that you have no say?” she asked. “Those are old words, words of fathers’ fathers. They have been passed down so long that we don’t even know if they’re right any longer.”

  Polar was amazed to hear what his wife had said. She was not merely questioning, as Virdon, Burke, and Galen had done. Zantes had denied. “Be still,” he said to her. “Don’t say such things in front of the young ones!”

  Zantes, usually so quiet and restrained in front of her husband, was driven by the desperation of the circumstances to behavior peculiar for her. “I won’t be still,” she said. “And it is Remus and Jillia that I’m thinking of.” She turned to Anto. “Listen. You are my firstborn. You have seen these humans show how to keep hills from washing away in the rain. You have seen them create… cropland… from fields an ox would drown in. You want this calf, and the bell asks that it be a bull. Let Virdon help you.”

  Virdon made a turn toward the stall, but once again Anto would have none of it. He raised the fork again. There was nothing that had been said that could get through Anto’s overwhelming fear. “No!” he cried. “They’ve loosened my mother’s tongue with that yellow salve they make by casting spells on milk. You will not do the same to me. You will not touch the cow.” Anto took up a position between the moaning cow and the rest of the group in the barn. He pointed his pitchfork at whomever seemed to threaten him next, human, Galen, or member of his own family.

  Zantes realized that her word had had no effect on Anto, and that, in any case, a woman’s word was useless here. Burke stepped closer to Virdon and conferred with His companion. “Alan,” he said, “what are the odds tha
t you can do it? Are you sure that you can pull this off?”

  Virdon stared at Anto for a moment, considering. In the many weeks since their space vehicle had crashed back on Earth, but so far in their own future, the two humans had been called upon to live by their wits, to recreate so much that they had taken for granted in their own lives before. “No,” said Virdon slowly, “I’m not sure. But I am sure that this expectant mother will die if she isn’t helped.”

  “I like the odds better your way,” said Burke. “Get ready to operate, Doc, I’m taking a hostage…”

  Before Virdon could reply, Burke whirled around. Anto swiveled uncertainly, pointing his fork first at Virdon, then at Burke. Burke spun and grabbed young Remus off the floor in one quick motion. “Come on, bellboy,” said Burke to the young ape. And the dark-haired human lunged to the far side of the area with him, grabbing a corn knife from the wall where he saw it hanging. Burke held the knife to Remus’ throat. There were shrieks of protest from Zantes and Jillia, who were uncertain still of Burke’s intent. Anto started toward Burke with his pitchfork, then held back for fear of his young brother’s life.

  “Good boy, Pete,” said Virdon, wondering whether the ploy would work or not. There were only two of them— Galen was still too weak to be helpful in a fight—against a family of angry apes, each of whom was no doubt stronger than a single human being. If nothing else, Burke had bought some precious time, at least until Polar and Anto realized that there was no genuine threat.

  “Now you just put that pitchfork down, Anto,” said Burke, holding Remus up off the floor, the corn knife pressed tightly against the young ape’s throat. “Or your baby brother is never going to live to see his own baby bull born.” Burke turned to Virdon and nodded. “Get to work, Doc,” he said. “I can’t hold the lieutenant here all night.”

  Anto dropped the fork in temporary defeat, almost numb with anguish. He stumbled back to the bell that Remus had dropped during Burke’s sudden attack; Anto fell to his knees, and picked up the ceramic object. Virdon took a quick survey of the scene; Polar, Zantes, and Jillia were concerned only with Remus’ safety. No one at all was watching the blond human. Virdon hurried into the stall with the cow.

  Galen wiped the sweat from his brow, stinging droplets of which had fallen into his large, intelligent eyes. He felt as though he were about to fall any second, but then Anto or Polar would capture him, and each side would have a prisoner, weakening the chances of the humans and himself. He forced himself to stay erect. He hobbled the few steps to Anto and looked down. “You want it to be a bull, Anto,” he said kindly. “Ring the bell.”

  Galen’s idea was that the rhythmic action would remove hostile thoughts from the young ape’s mind, that Anto would be so caught up in his hopes that he would not do anything to disturb Virdon’s desperate work. Galen discovered that Anto was not so easily distracted. “You won’t get away,” said Anto through clenched teeth. “When this is over, if I don’t kill you, the police will. I won’t lie to them again.”

  And then, slowly, regularly, Anto began the ringing of the bell.

  * * *

  Outside the barn, beyond the limits of Polar’s farm, along a rural road, the galloping horses of the mounted Patrol gorillas, Barga the officer, and Lupuk the soldier, came closer and closer to their goal, riding at ominous speed. They knew what was waiting for them at the end of their journey, and they both knew that it was a rare opportunity for rustically posted guards such as themselves.

  * * *

  Inside the barn, Virdon was discussing the problem with the cow. He pushed gently on both sides of the animal; each time, Virdon received a pain-filled grunt in reply. “I’m sorry, girl,” he said. “Okay, sweetheart, now I’m going to do my best for you. And I want you to do your best for me, eh?”

  Burke held Remus in a bear-hug grasp with arms strong by human standards, but terribly weak according to the physical prowess of the average ape. Even Remus, only half-grown, might well have bested Burke in a wrestling match, if the young ape had thought of it. Only the corn knife at his throat prevented Remus from trying to escape. He did not know that Burke was not actually threatening. “Hey,” said Burke, “come on. Forget the bedside manner. Get to work.”

  Virdon looked up, realizing that everyone else in the barn was involved in the situation, in one way or another. Even worse for the others, they could do nothing but watch and pray.

  Remus looked up at Burke protestingly. He spoke in a soft voice. “Don’t hold me so tight!” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to see!”

  Burke looked down at his young captive with surprise. Remus was much like Burke himself had been as a boy; of course, Burke had forgotten exactly what that had meant, and it made him feel strange to see himself reflected in this shaggy ape youth. “Huh?” asked Burke.

  “I’m on your side, you dumb human,” said Remus in a whisper. “I want to see…”

  Burke felt a sense of guilt over the way he had manhandled Remus just a few moments before; but then, he told himself, at the time it was the only move open to them. Now he felt some responsibility, particularly at the display of trust that Remus had evidenced in him. He tried to cover his emotions with brusqueness. “All right, lieutenant,” he said, “you watch.” Burke turned his own head away. “I get a little queasy in the operating room.”

  Polar motioned for Zantes and Jillia to stay back; he walked to the cow’s stall with cautious curiosity. Virdon was already working. Polar turned to Galen with a worried question. “Do you know if he can do this?” asked the farmer. “Can he instruct the cow in the birthing of her calf?”

  There was a pause; even Galen was a little uncertain about the possibility. But he was wise enough to realize that the thing that was most needed was a little reassurance. “He’s made a needle that can see directions, even on a cloudy night. I think he can… direct a calf into the world.”

  * * *

  On the road that ran by Polar’s farm, in the opposite direction from Barga and Lupuk, two more gorillas, uniformed and fierce, were traveling on horseback at an easy walk. One of these gorillas noticed something interesting ahead of them on the road. He stood in his stirrups for a better look, then pointed one gloved hand. Both gorillas reined up.

  “A mounted Patrol,” said one of the gorillas. “They must be from some outpost nearby.” He was about to kick up his horse to ride to meet the other two gorillas.

  “Stay!” barked the other gorilla, evidently the first soldier’s superior. “Sit erect! You are from headquarters.”

  The soldier was shamefaced. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  The headquarters officer studied the Patrol gorillas as they approached. “Field troops,” he said, musing to himself. “Stupid sort.” He turned to his junior companion. “Straighten that mane,” he ordered. “Hold those reins up.”

  The soldier wanted to say something. but there was nothing to be said—nothing safely, that is, except, “Yes, sir.”

  And then Urko, for that was who the officer from headquarters was, started slowly ahead, followed by his gorilla guardsman. The two moved with a certain air of a general and his aide about to strut commandingly into an infantry outpost at the front.

  * * *

  By this time, Remus was standing a pace away from Burke; the ape youngster was watching the scene in the cow stall intently, craning his head to see better. Suddenly Burke realized that their younger son was holding the corn knife, idly, harmlessly.

  Zantes and Jillia noticed that Remus was free. They sensed that he was never really in danger from Burke. They smiled to each other but said nothing to disturb the uneasy truce. They glanced at Anto, who did not yet realize that his brother was no longer a hostage.

  “How is it?” asked Burke anxiously.

  Virdon’s face was drenched with perspiration, as he labored with his task. “Worse, than I thought at first,” he said.

  “Well, for crying out loud,” said Burke in some exasperation, “how bad is that?”

/>   “Settle for twice as bad,” said Virdon.

  Burke’s face twisted with his own inner pain. He looked like a survivor trapped on a mid-ocean raft that was slowly, inexorably sinking. “Just a quiet little bar in Galveston,” he whispered to himself. He stole a look at Anto. “With a bell over the door…”

  * * *

  Urko and his soldier sat astride their mounts, haughtily awaiting the arrival of the two Patrol riders, who were approaching at a fast gallop.

  As they met, the rural Patrol gorillas reined up, ready with angry words at the two gorillas who dared to block their road. Before their harsh words could be uttered, they recognized the uniforms of their superiors. All at once, they who had almost autonomous control over the country district, became submissive.

  “Sir!” cried Barga.

  “I am Urko,” said the general. “Headquarters.”

  Both of the rural Patrol gorillas became almost rigid with military respect. Their surprise at meeting the supreme commander of all gorilla military and police forces was so great that all they could do was repeat, “Sir!” Urko’s junior officer basked in the reflected glory which was his solely because of his propinquity to the great Urko.

  “Your horses are lathered,” said Urko quietly. “For what reason have they been worked so hard?”

  Barga took the initiative in answering. “Escaped bonded humans, sir,” he said. He nodded to Lupuk. “The Patrol rider here thinks that he spotted one on a farm near here.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Lupuk proudly. “Standing under a stream of water.” A quick glance from Barga told Lupuk that he had spoken out of turn, and Lupuk quieted again, chastened.

  “How far?” asked Urko.

  “We’re almost there now, sir,” said Barga.

  “We’re hunting two escaped humans and a defector,” said Urko casually. “The defector is an enemy of the state, and the humans are dangerous.”