Escape from the Planet of the Apes - Pournelle Jerry - Страница 8

“My name is Cornelius. This is Zira, my wife.” The chimpanzee extended his hand. Automatically Lewis took it, as Stephanie shook hands with Zira.

“I’m Lewis. Lewis Dixon. And this is Stephanie Branton. Tell me, uh, Cornelius, where do you come from?”

Cornelius looked helplessly at Zira. She shrugged. He looked back to Lewis and shrugged also. “Dr. Milo knew—”

“Doctor?”

“Yes. And you killed him,” Zira said bitterly.

“Nonsense, dear. The gorilla killed him. Irrational accusations aren’t going to help.” Cornelius’s voice was stern.

Lewis felt sweat break out across his brow. Despite his guaranteed Stay-DriEST deodorant, he did not feel secure at all. He loosened his collar and fanned himself with the lapels of the white lab coat. He was too warm in the coat, but it was his symbol of authority here, and he didn’t want to take it off. Even as he fanned himself he knew he was using the coat as a security blanket and wanted to laugh at himself. “Didn’t Dr. Milo tell you where he thought you came from?” Lewis asked.

The apes looked at each other and said nothing.

“You can trust us,” Stevie said. “Please.”

Cornelius smiled, but it wasn’t a smile of amusement. “From our present—backwards into yours.”

Lewis growled deep in his throat, startling the chimps. His brow wrinkled. “You mean time travel?"

“Yes.”

“Nobody’s going to believe it. I don’t even want to report it.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t anyway,” Cornelius said.

“Nobody’s going to believe any of this,” Stephanie reminded them.

“Any of what?” Zira demanded.

“That primitive apes can talk,” Stephanie said.

“Primitive?” Zira stalked across the cage, stamping her feet. “Primitive!”

“But . . .” Stevie protested.

“What Dr. Branton means,” Lewis said, “is that in our ‘primitive’ civilization, apes just don’t talk. None of them. And I think perhaps it will be best if we arrange it so that when you do talk for public benefit, you do it for the, uh, ‘right people’.”

“I see.” Cornelius laughed softly. “We had something of the same problem in our, uh, time.”

Zira leaned against her husband and looked searchingly at the humans. Finally she smiled. “Can I say something else in confidence?”

Lewis returned the smile. “Certainly. Please do.”

“I like you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“I did from the beginning,” Cornelius said. “Both of you, I hope all humans are as pleasant as you are.”

Stevie looked worriedly from one chimpanzee to the other. “Don’t count on it,” she said. Her pretty mouth was drawn tightly, and her face was a mask. “Don’t count on it at all.”

“What do you mean?” Cornelius asked.

She grimaced. “Wait until you meet the ‘right people’.”

“Stevie,” Lewis protested. “That’s hardly fair. I would prefer you didn’t let your political beliefs intrude in this.”

“Aren’t you letting yours get in the way of your professional judgment?” Stevie asked. “Let’s not fight, Lewis. But I’m scared. I really am.”

SEVEN

Long curling waves rolled onto the white sandy beach outside the Western White House. The blue green of the Pacific and the brilliant white of the sand blended together as the curlers came ashore with crashing foam. Sailboats scudded past far offshore.

The president stood at his window and looked out at the bright sunshine and sea. This view always made him sigh because he couldn’t go out in a small sailboat. The Secret Service men had nearly fainted at the thought, and by the time they had outlined their security provisions, with trailing motor boats, life jackets, a trained Navy diver on the sailboat as crew, and all the rest, he knew it wouldn’t be any fun. The president sighed again and turned from the window to his aide. “You can show them in,” he said.

They filed in: General Brody, White House Chief of Staff; three Deputy Chiefs to represent the Services; his press secretary; the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, who was also his principal political advisor, as the Postmaster General had once been. The president wrinkled his nose in wry amusement and distaste. Everyone was horrified at the idea that the head of the Post Office might be a political hack with no knowledge of the mail, only skill at winning elections, and they had handed the Post Office over to the professionals. Strangely, though, the mails were faster and more efficient, and certainly cheaper, back when the Postmaster General was a politician.

The last man to come in was Dr. Victor Hasslein, Science Advisor. The president didn’t like Dr. Hasslein very much. He was one of those tall, thin, tweedy types, the kind who had intimidated the president when he was at college, and although most professors had changed their image since those years, Hasslein never did. He remained a typical scientist, with little understanding of politics, which, to the president, meant people. That was all there was to politics, so far as he was concerned. A good politician keeps people happy. A bad one has troubles.

“Please be seated,” the president said, but he had to sit before the military people would. He grinned to himself as he thought about that.

“Well,” the president said. “We’ve quite a problem here. General Brody is probably most familiar with the latest details; perhaps, General, you’ll summarize for the others?”

“Yes, sir.” Brody cleared his throat. “As most of you know, we had a Yellow Alert in SAC yesterday. An unidentified object re-entered without previous orbital trace, and impacted about ten miles from here. Naturally SAC didn’t like it and sent out the EWO. However, the object proved to be a United States NASA manned spacecraft, one of the two presumed lost in deep space over a year ago. To be exact, this was the one commanded by Colonel Taylor.”

The press secretary looked up sharply. “Sir?”

“Please wait,” the president said. “General, if you’ll continue.”

“Yes, sir. Well, the spacecraft seemed to be under command. Piloted. The Navy very creditably recovered it after it splashed—good work, Admiral.” There was a pause as everyone nodded at the admiral. “And we recovered the astronauts on board a Navy carrier. They were in good health when we got them.”

“Amazing,” the Army representative said. He looked over at the Air Force deputy. “Zeke, was Taylor alive after all that time?”

“It wasn’t Colonel Taylor,” the president said.

“But, sir, General Brody said all three astronauts were alive—and it was Taylor’s spacecraft— Good Lord! Who are they?”

Brody spoke. “We have only two now. One was unfortunately killed this morning in an accident at the Los Angeles Zoo.”

“Zoo?” Dr. Victor Hasslein had listened patiently, although it was obvious that someone was playing games. Now, however, his patience was exhausted. “Would it be too much to ask what astronauts were doing at a zoo?”

“They were not astronauts,” the President said slowly. “They were apes.”

“Apes?” Hasslein leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He looked around the table. The press secretary was shocked. So was the Army man, but not the other service reps. They had been briefed by their subordinates, which meant that this wasn’t all that secret, and couldn’t be kept secret forever. “Apes,” Hasslein said again. I will not, he thought, let them see they’ve intrigued me. I will give them no points in this silly game.

“Chimpanzees, to be precise,” the president said.

“Ah. Chimpanzees,” Hasslein said, as if that explained everything. Now the others looked curiously at him, but he said nothing else. Inwardly, he smiled.

“General,” the president prompted.

“Yes, sir,” Brody answered. “So. They are, by our preliminary reports, harmless, friendly, and highly intelligent, as one might expect of animals employed in an astronautical experiment. Their clothing and gear is either simply equipment from the Taylor inventory adapted for use by apes, or is of a design and construction we cannot identify. Certainly not standard.”