Conquest of the Planet of the Apes - Jakes John - Страница 30

Basic questions plagued him. Were Kolp, Hoskyns, and their crowd trying to curry Breck’s favor by playing to his paranoia about the potential danger of ape rebellion? Of course the possibility of rebellion was less remote than it had been a few weeks ago. The reports he’d been reading tonight confirmed that. But the answer was less brutality and repression, not more.

MacDonald had already plotted his route to the Mall of the Nations. He led Caesar toward a ramp that rose to a second-level walkway.

Jason Breck had paid two thousand dollars for the chimp. To throw away that kind of investment when the animal had done nothing but behave in the most obedient manner simply didn’t add up. And there wasn’t a trace of evidence to suggest a rebellious streak in Caesar.

As they entered a broad, brightly lit second-level terrace between buildings, MacDonald corrected his last thought. No evidence they’ve told you about.

Somehow, he’d been cut out of the governor’s confidential deliberations. Perhaps the rift had been inevitable. MacDonald had protested the governor’s suspicions from the beginning—argued repeatedly for more humane treatment of the ape population, then openly protested the preparation and use of the Achilles list. No wonder Breck was dealing directly with those police bastards . . .

“Mr. MacDonald. Mr. MacDonald, please.”

The black’s head whipped up as the announcer’s voice interrupted the piped music. “If you are near a public phone, please answer.”

Grimacing, MacDonald headed toward a kiosk in the center of the terrace. Caesar followed. MacDonald pointed to the paving stones outside the kiosk. “Wait.”

Caesar held his spot as MacDonald slipped inside. For the sake of privacy, he touched the button that slid the half-cylinder of transparent plastic in place between himself and the ape. Slinging the cumbersome shackles over his shoulder, he dialed a sequence of digits, said, “This is MacDonald, responding to Governor Breck’s public call.” In a moment, he was connected.

“You’re not in the Command Post?”

“No, Mr. Governor, I’m on my way to locate Caesar, as you instructed.”

“Where the hell did you send him?”

“To Substation Forty. He’s carrying some new procedural material for the watch captains.”

“Well, Kolp, Hoskyns, and the officers are on their way.” MacDonald glanced at his wristwatch. Seven minutes gone already. “You find that damned ape, fast, and turn him over to them at the Mall of the Nations. Then get yourself to the nearest phone and report personally that it’s been done.”

“May I ask whether there’s any special reason for the urgent—”

The rest of it went unsaid. Governor Breck had broken the connection.

MacDonald twisted around in the cramped seat, staring through the transparent plastic. The chimpanzee’s eyes met his, unblinking. All at once those eyes seemed to hold a comprehension far beyond the abilities of even the most intelligent ape.

Or was it only MacDonald’s imagination? Was he too falling victim to the paranoia that somehow drove Breck to his repressive measures?

Dashing sweat from his eyes, MacDonald triggered the opening of the kiosk door, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I wish to God I knew what this was all about. I wish there were some way we could communicate, so you’d understand I don’t want to hand you over—”

The chimpanzee said, “But I do understand, Mr. MacDonald.”

Thunderstruck, MacDonald could only goggle.

The chimpanzee seemed to grow in stature, cast off his slouching posture. He stood nearly upright, looking incredibly human. His eyes darted right, left. A man and woman, arms linked, passed the kiosk. Caesar remained silent until the couple had moved out of earshot. Then he said, “You see, I am the one they’re looking for.”

Still stunned, MacDonald gasped out, “I—I thought about the possibility. Even tonight it crossed my mind. But—I never could bring myself to believe it. I thought you really were a myth.”

The chimpanzee’s face changed, grew ugly. “Now you discover I’m not. But I’ll tell you something that is a myth, Mr. MacDonald. The belief that human beings are kind.”

MacDonald swallowed hard, bolted from the kiosk, nervously surveyed the terrace. “We’ve got to walk—they’re coming for you—”

“Agents of the governor?” Caesar asked as he resumed his shambling posture at the black man’s side. Not sure where he was actually going, MacDonald headed for an up escalator.

“Yes,” he said, “a couple of inspectors from State Security. Somehow they must have found out—”

He clamped his lips shut as a policeman approached. The man gave the black and the chimpanzee a close stare, then recognized MacDonald and touched his helmet respectfully. MacDonald hurried Caesar toward the foot of the escalator, led him around behind it.

Beneath the slanted stair, and screened from the terrace proper by artificial shrubbery, stood a humans-only bench. MacDonald dropped onto it, shaking with tension. “Caesar, what you say about human beings isn’t true,” he gasped. “There are some—”

“A handful!” the chimpanzee snarled, jutting his head forward, his eyes baleful. “But not most of them. And they are the ones who rule. They won’t be humane until we force them to it. We can’t do that until we’re free.”

Still not quite believing that the conversation was taking place, MacDonald whipped up his watch. Barely five minutes left. “And—just how do you propose to gain your freedom with Breck repressing the apes harder and harder?”

“By the only means left to us,” Caesar answered. “Rebellion.”

It was not hard for MacDonald to comprehend the chimpanzee’s vision. Like Breck, he was a believer—now that he had heard the ape speak. And he did understand historical inevitability.

The ape’s eyes burned with a passion that was frightening. MacDonald recalled the mounting incidence of ape insubordination; Caesar’s apparent docility as a servant. Had the ape been tricking them? Pretending to obey while using the cover to forment . . .

The press of time jerked MacDonald back to reality.

“Don’t do it. If you claim intelligence, you’ve got to realize that any try at rebellion is doomed to failure.”

Caesar’s shrug was quick and indifferent. “Perhaps. This time.”

“And the next.”

“Maybe.”

MacDonald felt chilled then. “God help us, you mean to keep trying, don’t you?”

“There won’t be freedom until there is power, Mr. MacDonald. And how else can we achieve that power?” After a pause, the chimpanzee added, “You have been kind. You are one of the very few. In—what must come, I would hope to see you spared.”

“Spared—!” MacDonald roared, grabbing Caesar’s jacket with both hands. The shackles fell from his shoulder. MacDonald jumped at the sudden sound. Caesar smiled.

MacDonald darted a glance across the screen of artificial shrubbery. If they’d been overhead . . .

But the terrace was still empty.

“I should have you killed!” he exploded.

“The way my mother and father were killed?” Caesar asked quietly.

MacDonald looked deep into the glowing eyes, remembering what had been done to Cornelius and to Zira. Despite the personal risks, and the awareness of the harm he might do, his decision, finally, was the only one he could make.

He said, “Go.”

Now it was Caesar’s turn for astonishment. “What?”

“Go on, get out of here. Get away before I change my mind!” MacDonald stabbed a finger toward the mouth of a passageway in the nearby wall. “Go that way, to the next escalator. Try to get down into the service tunnels. Maybe you’ll be safe. Go—” He shoved Caesar, hard.

The chimpanzee did not hesitate. With a last, piercing glance, he spun, ran to the mouth of the passageway, and vanished.