Planet of the Apes Omnibus 3

by Titan Books

  Gathered in the main street of Kaymak, staring back at Virdon through the bars of the cage, was a mass of people. Men, women, children of all ages and sizes regarded him soundlessly. On one side of the crowd stood a gorilla guard, armed with a rifle. He, too, stared at Virdon with mute boredom.

  Virdon was puzzled and somewhat troubled. He had seen many strange sights since his advent in this world, but this was without precedent. He could understand being caged. He could understand the gorilla guard. But Virdon couldn’t understand the silent, almost expectant expressions of the humans who watched him.

  Next to him, Burke moaned in his sleep. Virdon reached over and shook him awake. “Pete,” he called. Burke opened his eyes, glanced at Virdon, and closed his eyes once more. Virdon shook him again. Burke looked up at him, and the blond astronaut gestured toward the street. Burke looked and, as Virdon had before, reacted with a muffled, startled cry.

  “All right,” said Burke. “I give up. What’s going on?”

  “From the look of things,” said Virdon, “we are.”

  Burke just stared for a moment at his friend, but there were no answers coming from Virdon. Both men got to their feet and went to the bars, looking out at the villagers of Kaymak. “What are they going to do to us?” Virdon asked them. “Do you know?”

  There was no response at all from the humans, who continued to stare at the trapped astronauts. The gorilla guard seemed calm and totally unconcerned. There was a touch of tension in Virdon’s voice when he spoke next. “Look,” he cried, “we’re not your enemy.”

  There was no response from the crowd.

  “You don’t seem to be getting through to them,” said Burke.

  Two familiar figures pushed their way through the crowd and came near the bars. It was Tolar and Dalton.

  “Look who’s here,” said Virdon.

  Tolar and Dalton did not acknowledge Virdon’s words. Like the other inhabitants of the village, they stood and observed the two men in the cage.

  “What’s going to happen?” asked Burke. “Don’t you know?”

  Tolar, several inches taller than Burke, stared down at the bewildered astronaut. Then, slowly, almost ritualistically, the huge man bent down and gathered up a handful of dirt. He held the dirt in his hand after he straightened up, looking Burke in the eye, his expression neutral. Without warning, he threw the dirt in Burke’s face.

  This action brought the first reaction from the crowd. A chorus of “Ahhhs” rippled through the mob. Burke jumped to the bars angrily, reaching out with one hand, blindly trying to grab Tolar as he rubbed the dirt from his eyes. “What do you think you’re—”

  “Quiet!” said the gorilla guard in a menacing voice, for the first time making his presence known. The ape intervened swiftly, moving toward the cage, brandishing his rifle. Burke hurried back away from the bars as the gorilla stood there threateningly.

  “Are you all right, Pete?” asked Virdon in a worried voice.

  Burke had regained his composure. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve been this unpopular?” he asked. “The third quarter of the Ohio State game, my junior year.”

  “Quiet!” roared the gorilla.

  Tolar stood patiently watching the reactions of Burke and Virdon. Strangely, he ignored the intervention and presence of the gorilla guard in a way few humans did in that oppressive empire of the apes. This fact was not lost on Virdon, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Tolar treated the gorilla as though the ape did not exist. Tolar seemed uninterested in Burke’s reaction, also, although he watched, like the remainder of the crowd. With a disdainful wave of the hand, Tolar turned deliberately and then walked back among the villagers. The mob parted for him; Virdon noticed that they all wore expressions of admiration as they turned to follow him with their eyes. Then, slowly, the crowd broke up and the humans of Kaymak wandered off, as though their presence were no longer necessary. All of this only served to confuse Virdon and Burke further. The only thing they were certain of was that none of it promised anything good for the astronauts.

  * * *

  Irnar took a large, heavy book from one of the shelves and opened the front cover thoughtfully. He turned the pages, not really looking at the printed words on them. Behind him, Galen was looking worriedly from a window, toward the cage.

  “These books are my closest friends,” said Irnar.

  “Um,” said Galen. “Yes.” He wasn’t paying attention to the prefect’s words.

  Irnar walked toward Galen with the book. Galen was still staring out of the window. “The prisoners,” said the young chimpanzee. “What will you do with them?”

  Irnar ignored the question. “I found this in an abandoned underground shelter many years ago,” he said.

  Galen, in turn, ignored Irnar’s remark. “What about the prisoners, sir?”

  “Why should you care? They’re only human.”

  “They breathe,” said Galen. “They walk. They talk.”

  Irnar laughed cynically. “You sound like a revolutionary,” he said. “They’re humans, my young friend. The only animal on this Earth that makes war on its own kind.”

  “I know,” said Galen, “but—”

  Irnar broke into Galen’s protest with a curt gesture. “Man is by nature hostile and aggressive. You certainly can’t dispute that, even with your limited experience, can you?”

  Galen bristled somewhat at the mention of “limited experience.” He was certain that he had seen a good deal more of the world than this prefect who had been relegated to the village of Kaymak for twenty-five years. “Yes,” said Galen. “I mean, certainly, you’re correct there, but—”

  “Listen,” said Irnar, breaking in again, evidently beginning a lecture on one of his favorite topics. “War and revolution. Destruction and murder. That was always the natural outlet for man’s aggression. It still would continue today; but we can no longer allow that, can we? We, the apes of the world, have a responsibility as man’s natural superiors to guide him away from self-destructiveness, a trait which often endangers ape lives and property. Man must be kept docile and unwarlike. But that is a difficult problem, one which even the Supreme Council in Central City has admitted it has failed to solve. But the solution may be simple enough—merely find a less dangerous outlet for man’s hostility. Do you see? Do you understand what I mean?”

  “What does that have to do with—”

  “They’re thieves,” said Irnar, continuing on his well-worn track, ignoring Galen’s reactions. “They’re vandals. And these two prisoners are just perfect examples of what I call the human impulse. ‘The human impulse.’ Very good term for it, I think. And the prisoners. Finally, they will serve a noble purpose, despite themselves.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Galen.

  There came the sound from some distance away, a mournful note like someone blowing on a ram’s horn.

  “Come,” said Irnar. “I know you’ll find this interesting.” Taking Galen’s arm, he led the young chimpanzee to the door.

  * * *

  Virdon and Burke stood in the cage, just out of reach behind the bars, even though no one had tried to harm them after Tolar’s dirt-throwing of the morning. The gorilla on guard had not moved nor shown any further interest in the prisoners. Irnar moved across the street, still guiding Galen by the arm.

  “I still would like to know what you meant by ‘noble purpose,’” said Galen.

  Irnar laughed loudly. For him, the day was going along in a familiar and pleasant fashion. “Was I really that pompous?” he asked. “Did I really say that? ‘Noble purpose’? I can’t believe it.” The two chimpanzees came near the cage. “You know my fondest wish? To spend the rest of my days here as prefect, with my humans, my books, and my plants.”

  Irnar stopped as they came up to the cage. He wore a studious expression as he examined Virdon and Burke through the bars. Galen stood behind Irnar, also looking at them. As had been the case the night before, none of the trio dared show any sign of r
ecognition. Irnar turned to the gorilla. “Which one?” he asked.

  The gorilla grunted and turned to look at the astronauts. He took a good deal of time making up his mind. With a short gesture he indicated Burke.

  “Good,” said Irnar. “It was Tolar’s choice.” There was a slight pause while the prefect considered some matter unknown to Galen or his human friends. “All right,” announced Irnar finally, “it’s time.”

  The gorilla nodded. Irnar picked up Galen’s arm and their conversation as though the trip to the cage had never been made, as though they had not interrupted a pleasant stroll from the prefect’s house. “A small ambition, I know,” said Irnar, “but its fulfillment would afford me great pleasure.” They continued down the main street, the elder chimpanzee talking endlessly, the younger thinking, plotting hopelessly.

  Meanwhile, the gorilla, his rifle held at the ready, approached the cage. “Get back,” he growled. “Both of you.”

  Virdon and Burke stepped back further from the door. The gorilla opened it and gestured to Burke. “You,” said the ape. “Come.” Burke looked at the gorilla, but didn’t move. The guard gestured angrily with his rifle. “Come!” This time Burke exchanged helpless glances with Virdon and started toward the open door of the cage.

  * * *

  A villager with a ram’s horn stood outside the stone building on the outskirts of Kaymak. He wore a bright sash, the emblem of the official herald. He raised the horn to his lips and blew another mournful note.

  The herald’s call was hardly needed. Already, the entire population of Kaymak was heading into the stone amphitheater, talking among themselves, laughing, and carrying on in a festive manner. The calls of the ram’s horn cut through the noise of the crowd, but did nothing to silence it.

  On one side of the amphitheater was a marked-off practice area. Tolar and Dalton were wrestling with each other here, much as they had been in the clearing when Virdon, Burke, and Galen had first discovered them. Both of the large men were perspiring freely; their struggles were punctuated with gasps for breath.

  Irnar and Galen approached them around the corner of the amphitheater: “Here are my prizes,” said the prefect proudly. ‘I’m sure you will appreciate what I am doing here. Perhaps, when you return to Central City, you might indicate to your urban friends that we in the outlying districts sometimes solve their problems with direct action, the sort they’re afraid to take. Ah, Tolar!”

  Almost immediately, Tolar and Dalton stopped wrestling, and walked toward Irnar, their heads bowed in respect. “Prefect,” said Tolar.

  “Tolar, are you ready?” asked Irnar.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And your son?” asked the Prefect.

  “Soon.”

  “Not today?”

  “Please, sir,” said Dalton hurriedly. “Not yet.”

  Irnar glanced at the youth quizzically. “Why?”

  Dalton was uncomfortable. “I… don’t think…”

  Tolar hurried to interject. “His stomach, sir,” he said. “His stomach is… not feeling good.”

  Irnar’s eyes narrowed. “I see,” he said quietly. He took a long look at Dalton. “All right. Not today.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Dalton.

  Irnar only nodded, again taking a thoughtful glance at the younger man. Then the prefect turned and walked away. Galen, still puzzled by all of this, glanced from Tolar to Dalton to Irnar; then he hurried to catch up to the prefect. As the chimpanzees left, Tolar, tense with suppressed anger at his son, came up beside Dalton.

  “When will you stop disgracing me?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” said Dalton, confused. “I… don’t think… I like the games.”

  Tolar grew angrier. “The games are not to like!” he shouted. “They are to do!”

  Irnar and Galen approached the entrance to the amphitheater. There was no one else around; the villagers had all taken their places inside. “The father is a fine human,” said Irnar reflectively, “but the son seems to be a problem. He doesn’t have the proper appreciation for the games.”

  “What are these games?” asked Galen.

  Irnar, with his customary concentration on his own thoughts, ignored Galen’s question. “His attitude will change,” said the prefect. “It will change with his first kill.”

  “‘First kill’?” echoed Galen. “What are these games?”

  Irnar gestured. “This way. Follow me.”

  Galen glanced briefly at Irnar, then entered the amphitheater, more worried than ever. As he entered the stone building, not knowing what to expect, he paused, startled as he looked around.

  He saw the bare ground of an arena and then the rough-hewn rock benches that surrounded the arena, benches on which all the villagers were seated and waiting eagerly and anxiously. Galen, vaguely troubled, looked at the assembled humans.

  Irnar turned and came back to where Galen had paused, wearing a smug smile. “I said you’d find it interesting,” said Irnar.

  After another few seconds, Irnar led Galen to the Prefect’s Box in the amphitheater, which was situated directly opposite the entrance. Galen looked around him with concern and interest. The humans buzzed with excitement, but the young chimpanzee could sense that the energy was only barely controlled.

  Men, women, and children surrounded Galen. All seemed very tense and full of anxiety; they sat murmuring to each other. Every once in a while an impatient human would shout, “Come on!” It occurred to Galen that never before in his life had he been in the midst of so many humans in so close an area. His sensitive nostrils were filled with their vaguely unpleasant odors. He felt oddly fearful. “They seem so tense,” murmured Galen.

  Irnar was pleased to see that Galen seemed suitably impressed by the spectacle. The sight of a stone amphitheater in a village as remote as Kaymak was a wonder in its own right. “They’re waiting for blood,” said Irnar. “It’s their nature. Human nature.”

  Not all humans,” said Galen, shaking his head.

  “All humans,” said Irnar in his lecturing voice. “And I give it to them here, in the arena, normally, with a challenger from the village. They work off all their aggression here. And after the game, they live quietly and peacefully—until the next game.” He smiled. “That’s the secret, my young friend. All the human hostility in my village is used up right here. Nowhere else.”

  There came a final note from the herald’s ram’s horn.

  “It’s time for me to go through the usual nonsense,” said Irnar, sighing. “But they seem to expect it. And it does seem to help.” Irnar rose from his seat, raising his arm high above his head. The villagers in the amphitheater fell silent when they saw the prefect standing in the Prefect’s Box, his arm raised for their attention. “Welcome to your games, humans of Kaymak!” cried Irnar. “Welcome to your hero, the greatest fighter of Kaymak. Welcome to Tolar!”

  As if on cue, Tolar strode proudly into the amphitheater. His fellow villagers went wild with their welcome. They shouted, jumping to their feet. They screamed Tolar’s name. They clapped and whistled. Tolar was, indeed, their hero. He was the very personification of what little remained of human dignity and pride.

  Some distance away, in the cage, Virdon moved closer to the bars, his curiosity and anxiety piqued by the distant screams of the crowd.

  Tolar strode directly to a point below the Prefect’s Box, bowing his head to his village’s master. Irnar produced a ceremonial sword and held it high above his head in a ritual gesture. “All honor to the man who will challenge death,” said Irnar in a loud voice.

  Once again, the crowd screamed its approval. Irnar had worked out the mechanics of the pageant on his own; he had found exactly the right psychological triggers for his own purposes. He knew how to use them well. He brought the sword down suddenly, and the screams stopped. “Bring in the opponent!” shouted Irnar.

  Four gorillas marched in, surrounding Burke. This time, the reaction of the humans was vastly different than it was to T
olar. They rose to their feet again, yelling insults, threats, and imprecations. Galen watched Burke, totally dismayed. Burke was marched to a position directly beside Tolar, below the Prefect’s Box. The gorillas then departed. When they reached the entrance, they split into two pairs. Two of the gorillas stood guard by the entrance. The other two mounted into the stands, crossing toward the Prefect’s Box. En route, they passed Dalton, who sat in the stands, watching impassively. While all around him people were standing and booing Burke, Dalton sat ignoring the tumult.

  Burke and Tolar stood before the Prefect’s Box, neither having moved at all, Tolar stood proud and straight. Burke was puzzled, still wondering what everything was all about. He had not been told.

  Irnar raised the sword again. The shouts and catcalls stopped. There was dead silence. “The game will begin!” he cried. “To the winner… life! To the loser… death!” On the word “death,” he brought the sword down sharply.

  In that instant, the amphitheater fairly rocked with the mad screams of the villagers.

  In that instant, Tolar suddenly whirled on Burke, who had just caught an inkling of what was happening. “Hey!” he cried to Tolar, recalling the uneven fight in the clearing. “Now wait a minute!”

  Tolar jumped for him and knocked him down instantly. The crowd sighed, a slight disappointment that the match would be ended so quickly. But there the fight just began. Realizing that he was fighting for his life, Burke tried nevertheless to stay on the defensive. In the clearing, neither he nor Virdon had wanted to kill. Both astronauts had been well-trained in many sophisticated forms of hand-to-hand combat that would have defeated several antagonists like Tolar simultaneously and fatally. Now in the arena, Burke still had no desire to kill. The decision to stay on the defensive could cost him his life, he realized after a short while. Tolar was much bigger and stronger, with greater endurance and stamina. Burke could keep Tolar from getting a final advantage, at least for a while. But, sooner or later, Burke would tire. And then his reflexes would slow and he would make a mistake. Just one mistake. That would be all that Tolar would need.