Conquest of the Planet of the Apes - Jakes John - Страница 34

Kolp reacted with a gesture toward the console. “Perhaps a little more persuasion, Mr. Governor—?”

“No,” Breck said, his tone almost mild. He’d checked a major threat to the smooth functioning of his city. He could savor victory.

Circling the table, Breck went on, “He can’t help what he is. Or how he reacts to us. You know, looking at him, it’s almost like looking at a deadly plague bacillus—knowing you’ve got it bottled up where it can’t harm anyone.” With a last, lingering glance that mingled loathing with a certain limited admiration, Jason Breck turned his back. Passing Kolp, he said, “You handle the rest.”

As Breck returned to the first row, Kolp retrieved his briefcase. He pulled a thick document.

“Dr. Chamberlain, as a representative of the agency, I have signed authority for the animal to be destroyed.”

Breck glanced at Caesar. The chimpanzee’s defiance changed to rage.

How had the ape withstood all the pain and come back to react as he was reacting now? Only the strongest, most basic emotions gave a man—or an animal—that sort of strength. Hatred was one such emotion.

“All in order,” Dr. Chamberlain said, refolding the document. “I’ll summon a vet with the proper injection—”

Kolp seemed annoyed. “He’s wired for electrocution, isn’t he?”

“Yes, of cour—”

“Then electrocute him.”

Dr. Chamberlain began, “We do not normally—” He hesitated, looked at Jason Breck.

Beginning to feel truly at ease for the first time in many weeks, the governor nodded.

“Do it now,” Kolp added.

The doctor sat down at the console. He tripped additional switches, rotated two more controls up to maximum. Then he moved the switch to the closed position.

For an instant there was no reaction from Caesar. Then—a howl of hurt. The howl was cut off as the chimpanzee’s jaw clenched shut. His eyes bulged. His back arched so steeply that the curve almost reached the limits of anatomical possibility.

Near the console, someone gagged. Dr. Chamberlain’s fingers began to flutter at his cheek. His lips moved. He seemed to be counting to himself, even while he watched the sweep dial of a timer, set in the console deck.

When the timer passed the ten-second mark, Dr. Chamberlain pulled the switch back.

Caesar hit the table with a thud. His head lolled to one side. An attendant rushed forward, bent down for a moment. Then he straightened.

“Dead.”

Now Jason Breck was all brisk movement, animation. He hurried to the amphitheatre floor to thank Dr. Chamberlain, who looked vastly relieved. Breck also pumped Kolp’s pudgy hand.

“Inspector, once again I congratulate you.”

Kolp smiled. “I’m only sorry Mr. MacDonald wasn’t here for the finish.”

Breck managed a small laugh. “You are a cold bastard, Kolp. But then, that’s why you’re excellent at your job. And successful, eh? I’m afraid Mr. MacDonald’s sensibilities are more tender than yo—ah, but there he is.”

Dr. Chamberlain and the various attendants were departing from the amphitheatre. Still looking shaky, MacDonald had entered at the top of the tiers of seats. Breck mounted the steps quickly, Kolp right behind with the helmeted officers. MacDonald’s eyes drifted past Breck’s shoulder to the still form on the nearer table.

“I gather it’s all over?”

Breck could afford to be magnanimous. Sometimes the whip was required; sometimes the velvet glove. This was an occasion for the latter. After all, MacDonald too was superb at his job, even if he were less realistic than Inspector Kolp. The governor laid his arm over MacDonald’s shoulders, turned him toward the door, saying in a not unkindly way. “Yes, it’s all over. Let’s get back to work running the city, shall we?”

He shepherded MacDonald into the corridor.

Not a little disgusted, Kolp walked after them. The last policeman filed out, leaving the amphitheatre to emptiness and silence.

On the padded table, Caesar’s form remained unmoving.

FOURTEEN

The silence stretched on for thirty seconds, a minute . . . Then a floor-level door opened. A thin attendant reentered, grumbling aloud to show his dislike of the assignment he’d been handed. With obvious distaste, he approached the padded table.

He wiped his fingers on his trousers, then reached down to loosen the electrodes. When he had freed them from Caesar’s temples, he pulled the U-clamp from beneath the hairy head and dropped it to the floor, next to the ape’s green uniform. Moving around the table, the attendant unbuckled and released the straps one by one.

Finishing the last one, at Caesar’s right arm, he started to step back. Suddenly two hairy hands fastened on his throat.

The attendant shrieked but no sound came. Like some apparition, the chimpanzee rose from the waist, his eyes huge, murderous. The attendant clawed frantically at the constricting hands.

Still holding tight, the chimpanzee swung both legs off the table. He used the right one to kick the attendant’s genitals. The man’s body went limp. Breathing loudly, Caesar let go. As the man fell, Caesar’s fist pounded his belly. The attendant reeled, choking. Caesar struck him twice on the back of the neck. The attendant crumpled. Caesar hoisted him onto the table. The dazed man seemed unaware of Caesar slipping the U-clamp over his temples.

Caesar darted to the console, scrutinized it a moment. Then he threw the switch to the on position.

With a little frown of annoyance, he observed that there was no reaction from the semiconscious man. Mr. MacDonald had done his work well, permitting Caesar to feign the agonies of electrocution at the proper moment. But the current had not been restored.

Caesar returned to the table, spotting his green uniform discarded by the pedestal. They must have stripped it from him before clothing him in the hospital gown.

The attendant was struggling to rise on his elbows. He turned his head, saw Caesar watching—and opened his mouth to scream. Caesar delivered a massive blow to the man’s neck. The man reeled backward and sprawled unconscious on the polished floor.

Caesar snatched up his green trousers, pulled them on. He donned his jacket, buttoning it up the front with swift, sure movements. His body still ached from the torture on the table. In spite of that, he felt exhilarated as he studied the various doors by which he might leave the amphitheatre. There were two at floor level, plus the one at the top of the amphitheatre. He chose one at floor level. He must look as if he belonged in the Ape Management Center—as if he were on some sort of official errand—for the time it would take him to begin unleashing what was long overdue.

With an almost jaunty air, he started for the chosen door. There was confidence in his bearing; fierce, hateful pride in his eyes. The time of the masters was finished. The time of the slaves had come.

Approximately five minutes after Caesar’s departure, the opposite floor-level door opened. A white-coated man carrying a black case looked in, said cheerfully, “I’m supposed to certify—”

He saw the contorted body on the padded table; recognized the cruel marks of strangulation. His voice dropped to a whisper as he finished the sentence without thinking, “—a death.”

Then the full impact registered. He whirled in the doorway and screamed, “Security!”

Cautiously, Caesar pushed the service door open. Two floors above, a guard lay dead.

Caesar had encountered the guard on the stairway while hurrying down from the ninth to the third floor. Fortunately the guard was slightly built. Otherwise, when he rounded a landing and gaped at the green-uniformed chimpanzee already leaping down on him, the outcome might have been different.