Planet of the Apes Omnibus 3

by Titan Books

  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. A
ugustus 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. There’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.

  2

  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.

  On this day, there was quite a large number of humans about, watched closely by two or three gorilla police who patrolled the village. Into this quiet but subtly tense scene strode Galen, as though he were not a famous fugitive ape, a renegade hunted far and near across the entire landscape of the ape empire. Behind him, their eyes downcast as though they were obsequious servants, walked Burke and Virdon. It was a disguise they had adopted many times in the past.

  Galen stopped abruptly. “There,” he said. “That is the District Headquarters.”

  “Okay,” said Virdon. “Pete and I’ll mingle with the other humans. But we’ll keep as close to your cousin’s building as we can.”

  Galen smiled, gave a half-wave, and continued on toward the headquarters building. Their plan had begun.

  Inside the prefect’s office, Augustus, a chimpanzee like Galen, was working furiously at his cluttered desk. He muttered to himself as he scribbled across page after page of work. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. The sound irritated Augustus slightly, interrupting his work and his concentration. Without raising his head, he said, “Yes, yes! Come in, come in!” His voice was harried, preoccupied, and just a little pompous. The door opened, and Galen entered.

  Augustus still hadn’t looked up. “Yes, yes? State your business, please.”

  “I wish to report a theft,” said Galen. He was half-grinning, anticipating the moment when Augustus would recognize him. “Two apples stolen from a tree belonging to a human farmer. The culprits were seen running from the scene. Two chimp teenagers approximately fourteen years of age—”

  At this point Augustus looked up, and his mouth opened in surprise. He dropped his pen from his shaking hand. “Cousin Galen!” he cried.

  “Cousin Augustus,” said Galen happily. “Or rather, should I say ‘Prefect’ Augustus?”

  Augustus rose from behind his littered desk and came around to meet his cousin. The two relatives clasped hands joyfully in the middle of the office.

  “This is a… surprise,” said Augustus.

  “You mean something closer to shock, don’t you, cousin?” asked Galen. “I’m sure you get simple surprises almost every day.”

  Augustus nodded soberly. “I will confess that I hadn’t expected you to walk in and—” Augustus broke off suddenly, his expression becoming worried. “Galen,” he said, “what were you thinking of, coming in here? A fugitive, with two humans?”

  “We must have a long discussion about all that another. time, cousin,” said Galen wearily. “But right now—”

  “I always told you that your impulsive nature would one day land you in trouble.”

  “That’s funny,” said Galen, smiling. “When you were lecturing me about being impulsive, you never mentioned that time when I allowed myself to be caught by that human farmer so that you could make good your escape.”

  Augustus laughed aloud. “True, true,” he said. “You never once held that against me.” The prefect sighed. “Those were the days, eh, cousin Galen? Carefree, happy.”

  “Yes,” said Galen, “not like now. Which is why I am here. I need your help, Augustus.”

  Augustus slapped his cousin’s shoulder and returned to his seat behind his desk. When he spoke, there was a trace of humor in his voice. “Somehow I didn’t think you had come in here to give yourself up,” he said.

  Galen went straight to the point. He knew that Virdon and Burke were vulnerable outside. “It’s your chief of police, Aboro. Are you aware that he is robbing the district’s farmers on a very regular, monthly schedule?”

  Augustus looked stunned. “No!” he said.

  Galen nodded his head forcefully. “I assure you that it’s true. We’ve watched him in operation. What he does with the grain he takes I have no idea, but he is rapidly reducing the farmers to absolute poverty! That says nothing about the methods he’s using, which are turning the humans of your district into fearful, mindless slaves of Aboro’s terror tactics. And just yesterday he brutally murdered one of them for daring to defy him, while my two friends and I watched him burn their farm to the ground.”

  Augustus shook his head through all of Galen’s speech. This information was new to him and very difficult to accept. “I’m finding this all hard to believe, Galen, as much as I trust you.”

  “There is proof,” said Galen. “The dead man’s name was Mikal.” Galen went on to tell Augustus everything that had occurred during the tragic hour the day before.

  Meanwhile, as Galen tried desperately to convince his cousin of the true situation, Virdon and Burke lounged outside the prefect’s headquarters, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. This was difficult for two humans not on any apparent business.

  “Do you think his old cousin turned against him, Alan?” asked Burke worriedly. “Arrested him, maybe? Maybe we should check—”

  “Oh, oh,” said Virdon. As Burke turned inquiringly, Virdon gestured down the main street of the village. The two men watched for a few seconds as two mounted gorillas, uniformed in black leather, armed with pistols and rifles, rode slowly into town. As they drew nearer, it became clear that the apes were Aboro and his lieutenant, Daku.

  “Yeah,” said Burke. “Oh, oh. Trouble.”

  “There’s not a whole lot we can do now,” said Virdon. “Mainly disappear,” said Burke.

  “Out of sight,” said Virdon. “I’ll have to warn Galen.” Burke moved around the corner of the building and Virdon hurried through the front door.

  Not more than half a minute later, Aboro and Daku, having seen nothing, suspecting nothing, casually dismounted in front of the prefect’s headquarters. They tied up their horses at the hitching post there, surveyed the street with the air of habitual lords among underlings, and swaggered toward the building.

  Augustus was still having his debate with Galen while all of this was occurring. It was so strange to him that he was laboring to understand. “If what you’ve told me pr
oves to be accurate,” he admitted at last, “I can promise you that Aboro will be severely punished, Galen.”

  “Thank you,” said the chimpanzee. “That’s all we were looking for. We promised Janor justice.”

  Both Galen and Augustus turned in alarm as Virdon burst through the door. “What—?” began Augustus, but Virdon, panting, cut him off with a wave of a hand.

  “Is it Janor?” asked Galen. “He promised us more time.”

  “Gorillas!” cried Virdon, almost panic-stricken. “Heading this way! No time!”

  Augustus was, of course, astounded to be addressed in this manner by a human being. Galen introduced the man. “This is my friend, Alan Virdon,” he said.

  Augustus didn’t answer. He was an intelligent ape and he was already reacting to Virdon’s words. He hurried to his window and looked out onto the street. “Aboro!” he cried. “He mustn’t find you here.”

  “That’s a vast understatement,” said Galen angrily.

  “Quickly!” said Augustus. “Behind the curtain. Both of you. It’s not much, but there’s no time for anything else.” He indicated the green curtain drawn over the back part of the office, giving the prefect a small private area in the rear. Virdon and Galen were no sooner behind it, the curtain falling back into place hiding them, when the door of the office opened and Aboro strode in, followed by Daku.

  Augustus rose from his desk again. He was evidently. very nervous and ill at ease. “Well, well,” he said weakly. “Aboro. How… I… well, this is a surprise. I hadn’t expected to see you until your monthly circuit. Come in, come in.”

  Aboro laughed. The sound made Augustus even more uncomfortable, because he had no idea in the world why the police chief should be laughing. “As even you can tell, Prefect,” said Aboro, emphasizing the word in an ugly manner, “I already am in.” Aboro gave another grumbling laugh. “As a matter of fact, I am in, and you are out. Am I not correct, Lieutenant Daku?”