Conquest Of The Planet Of The Apes (12 page)

MacDonald walked behind the bar, set a decanter of whiskey, a siphon of soda and two glasses on the polished top. To Caesar he said, “Watch.”

The chimp studied MacDonald’s hands as the man poured whiskey into one glass, then squirted in soda, filling the glass about three quarters to the top. MacDonald pointed at the second glass.

“Do.”

With only the slightest hesitation, the chimp closed his fingers around the decanter, tilted it, poured the whiskey. Breck slouched in his chair, continuing to watch through tented fingers. The ape set down the decanter and glanced quickly at the governor.

Breck kept staring, his eyes hooded. A peculiar tension filled him, banishing the dull throb in his temples, the sour taste at the back of his throat. The ape knew he was being closely scrutinized. His hand shook noticeably as he lifted the siphon, pressed down on the top control . . .

Soda began to foam over the lip of the glass, puddle the top of the bar. “No!” MacDonald exclaimed, cuffing the chimpanzee lightly on the hand.

In his alarm, the animal nearly dropped the siphon. Only MacDonald’s deft grab rescued it. “Clean it up.” MacDonald indicated the overflow. “Clean, clean!”

Clumsily, bumping the whiskey decanter and the siphon, the chimpanzee began to mop up the spilled liquid. Slowly, Breck’s tension drained away.

He stood up, smiling as he emerged from behind his desk. “It seems he’s not so bright after all.”

“No—but then—” MacDonald grabbed for the siphon, which nearly went over as the chimp mopped with wider, clumsier motions “—isn’t it true that brightness has never been encouraged among slaves?”

“Stop being so damn touchy, MacDonald!” Breck stabbed his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown, stalking to the windows. “We’ve all been slaves at one time or another. I can trace my family back to Breckland, in Suffolk, England.
We
were the slaves then. To the lord of the manor,” He glanced at Caesar, who was still witlessly mopping the bar with the sopping towel. The ape’s posture and expression registered confusion. “They’re animals,” the governor went on. “What they need is a firm hand. Rub his nose in it so he gets the idea permanently.”

MacDonald was just turning from a small refrigerator, a tray of ice cubes in one hand. For a moment he stared hard at his superior. Breck rankled at the hostility—real or fancied. Then MacDonald smiled politely. “What? And risk having him develop a taste for scotch?”

Breck laughed, as another staff man let himself into the foyer. The man carried a leather-covered binder.

MacDonald emptied the ice tray into an exquisitely engraved silver bucket. He tonged two cubes into the glass he had filled as an example for the ape, handed the drink across to the governor. Then he took the sopping towel from the ape’s fingers and disposed of it below the bar.

As MacDonald again picked up the tongs and began to demonstrate to the animal how cubes were properly dropped into a glass, Breck took a long, soothing swallow and permitted himself a touch of whimsy. “What you suggest might not be a bad idea. Up to a point, alcohol has a tranquilizing effect.” Less amused, he shook his head. “But I imagine their tolerance for whiskey—like their temper threshold—is dangerously low.”

The newly arrived assistant said, “If you feel the ape’s unsatisfactory, Mr. Governor, we can always send him back and insist on a full week’s reconditioning.”

“That’s not necessary,” said MacDonald, fast.

“Indeed it isn’t,” Breck agreed, sipping more of the whiskey. It seemed to be quieting the nervous turmoil of his stomach. “But not because of your soft-hearted reasons.”

The other assistant, looking vaguely annoyed because his attempt to win points had failed, abruptly found himself the subject of the governor’s attention: “That’s always everyone’s first thought—recondition them!” Breck swept his arm out in a broad gesture, spilling some of his drink on the thick carpet.

“Mr. Governor, I only meant—” Sputtering, the flustered assistant turned red. MacDonald handed the silver tongs to the chimpanzee. Clumsily, the ape tried to grasp and lift an ice cube from the bucket. Breck continued.

“If we were to send every lousy ape that muffed an assignment or disobeyed an order back to reconditioning, Ape Management would become impossibly overcrowded!”

A sharp
clack
whirled Breck around. The ice cube had dropped from the ape’s tongs and hit the bar. It skittered off and struck the carpet as the animal stared at the governor again, transfixed with terror—or something else.

Breck slammed his drink on the desk. He reached the ape with two long strides, smacked him in the side of the head. “Clean!” he shouted, pointing at the cube melting on the rug.

The ape cringed, bent over, retrieved the ice and juggled it a moment. Finding no ready receptacle except one, he dropped the cube back in the ice bucket.

MacDonald uttered a small sigh. He retrieved the cube, carpet fibers still clinging to it, and threw it away in the sink under the bar. The ape immediately took another cube from the bucket and tried to hand it to the black. Sadly, MacDonald shook his head. “No.” Gently, he loosened the ape’s fingers, took the cube and disposed of it in the sink.

Having suffered a tactical defeat in front of another staff man, the second assistant tried to recover a little ground. “Mr. Governor, when I mentioned reconditioning, all I meant was, it’s the only thing that seems to have any effect on the rebellious ones—”

“It certainly does have an effect,” MacDonald nodded. “It makes them worse.”

“There, you’re wrong,” Breck countered. “Some of them couldn’t be worse. I’ve been having a comprehensive list compiled—”

All at once he stopped, the nearly empty glass close to his lips. He’d inadvertently revealed a bit of information that was as yet ultraconfidential. Annoyed, he glared at the younger assistant.

“Exactly what was it you wanted, Mr. Pine?”

“Your meeting with the Defense Council’s scheduled for one, sir.” The assistant held out the thick, heavily tabbed binder. “I brought your reference book, and the briefing summary—”

“Well, you go down to the conference room and tell them I’ll be fifteen or twenty minutes late and that you’ve read the briefing material, and be prepared to answer their questions.”

He grabbed the assistant’s shoulders and fairly shot him toward the foyer. As he did so, he was aware of losing his temper—an indulgence he seldom allowed himself.
What was making him so edgy?

His glance fell on the green-uniformed chimpanzee, now poking aimlessly at the ice cubes with the silver tongs. He stormed forward, tore the tongs from the ape’s fingers—“No!”—and hurled the tongs back in the bucket. He was relieved to see the ape avert his eyes and cringe.

Or was the animal playing some kind of game with him?

Breck rubbed his eyes. Christ, he thought, I’m tired.

Dropping the ice cube had been a near giveaway, Caesar realized. But he had been so stunned by the possibilities inherent in Breck’s exclamation about reconditioning that he had completely lost control.

Ever since that moment, he’d been doing his best to rebuild his protective guise, trembling on signal, and appearing less than capable of quick understanding. The effort was doubly difficult because of Breck’s continued presence in the sitting room.

Caesar knew that the governor was an enemy. He couldn’t grasp all the reasons for this, but he guessed that beneath Breck’s bluster there lay a basic fear of the potential for ape rebellion. That fear had surfaced in Breck’s loud remark—which had given Caesar a weapon whose effectiveness he intended to explore . . .

MacDonald remarked: “You’ve begun meeting with the Defense Council, Mr. Governor?” Although polite, the question was a challenge; almost an accusation implying lack of confidence.

Breck nodded. “Mr. Pine’s been handling the details. The nonconfidential ones. Backgrounding, computer studies. As for the rest—never mind, I’ll tell you about it later.”

But MacDonald wouldn’t be put off. “Has this anything to do with the list you mentioned while Pine was here?”

Breck’s frown showed his annoyance. “It has. But I repeat—it’s not your worry. I’ll give you the full details at the proper time.”

A little more conciliatory then, he waved an admonitory finger in Caesar’s direction. “Meantime, I believe we ought to set a good example on this staff. We’ll recondition the ape ourselves. By making sure he does his assigned jobs. And properly.” Breck reached for the whiskey decanter, poured. This time, he added no soda. After a long sip, he said, “He doesn’t have a name yet. I suppose we should give him one—”

The governor carried his drink toward a tall bookcase on an inner wall of the sitting room. He sipped again, tilted his head back to scan the volumes on the upper shelves.

“My late wife inaugurated an amusing little tradition for naming the various apes I’ve bought and sold for personal use. We’ll let him choose his own.” Breck snapped his fingers. “Come!”

Caesar shambled forward. Standing just behind the man’s left shoulder, he watched as Breck set his drink on a small table, reached up to a pair of slim books bound in rare leather with gold spine-lettering. Each volume bore the title
The Meaning of Names.
The first was subtitled
Male,
the second
Female.

The shelf the books occupied was just above Breck’s head. He seemed to be blinking at the titles a bit fuzzily, as if the liquor were affecting him. Finally, he pulled both books down for closer scrutiny.

“Female,” Breck muttered, discarding that volume and picking up his drink for another long swallow.
The man is afraid,
Caesar thought with inward delight.
The man is powerful but he is afraid.

Breck set his drink aside again. “Watch,” he said.

He opened the book of male names at random, stabbed a forefinger at a page. Caesar feigned puzzled interest as the governor snapped the book shut, then repeated his demonstration.

Caesar understood perfectly well what he was supposed to do. But he maintained his look of witless concentration while the governor again selected a name at random.

Passing the book into Caesar’s hand, Breck commanded: “Do.”

Macabre amusement overcame Caesar then. Breck’s back was turned momentarily, as he replaced the other volume on the shelf. Caesar hunched his shoulders, shifted slightly so his body screened the book, and his own hands, from MacDonald. The black man was still at the bar.

Silently, Caesar flipped the early pages of the book till he found the one he wanted. As Breck turned around again, the chosen page lay open. Caesar appeared to pick a name in the manner the governor had demonstrated. Breck maneuvered so he could peer down across Caesar’s hairy forearm to the line where the ape’s finger had come to rest.

“ ‘Caesar’,” Breck read. He pushed the chimpanzee’s finger aside, grasped the book to peer at the definition. Caesar took pleasure in the sudden jump of a muscle in Breck’s temple. “ ‘A king—’ ”

Breck’s head lifted. His unblinking eyes met those of the animal, master and slave standing face to face. And, fleetingly, Caesar saw the fear again.

The governor slammed the book shut, jammed it back in place. When he picked up his drink this time, his deeply tanned hand was shaking.

Nerves—or anger? Caesar wondered. It made no difference. He had achieved the effect he wanted—and kept his cover at the same time. Something hateful spoke in the silence within him.

You will see, Mr. Governor. This is only the start of the repayment you’re owed.

An insistent buzzer broke the tension. MacDonald shifted his hand to depress a switch on the intercom.

“Yes?”

A garbled voice spoke briefly, too far away for Caesar to understand the words. MacDonald said, “Mr. Governor, they’re anxious to have you in the Council Chamber as soon as possible.

Breck’s composure seemed restored. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but he moved decisively to the bar and poured one more shot of whiskey, which he took with him as he strode toward the open door of an adjoining bedroom.

“Tell them to hold the meeting until I get there, and that’s a direct order.”

MacDonald relayed the message into the intercom, snapped it off. Breck paused in the doorway for a last glance at his ape.

“And you can take him and put him to work in the Command Post immediately.”

The governor vanished into the bedroom, slamming the door. Was it coincidence, Caesar asked himself, that Breck had not called him by his chosen name?

With the governor gone, MacDonald seemed to relax. He even smiled as he stepped from behind the bar and headed toward the foyer.

“Come,” he said, gesturing. Caesar followed him out of the penthouse and into the elevators that whisked them to ground level.

Moving from the high rise to the bustle of the Civic Center Plaza reminded Caesar that he still did not know the whereabouts of Señor Armando. What had befallen the kindly circus owner in the past two weeks?

Weaving in and out of the crowds of humans and apes crisscrossing the plaza, Caesar speculated on the significance of the words “command post.” They suggested some kind of important operations center; perhaps a key location for maintenance of order in the city. He was pleased at being taken there, because his mind was opening to more and more possibilities for action. In a relatively short time, he had seen more than enough to fill him with a consuming desire to reverse the balance of power that Breck and his kind maintained. Duty in the command post might further strengthen his capability to do just that.

Concentrating on his new sense of purpose, Caesar gradually and unthinkingly abandoned his shuffling, apelike gait. He walked very nearly upright; proudly, almost like a man. For a moment or so, he didn’t connect this fact with the stares of passing apes.

MacDonald walked rapidly to a stairway leading underground at the side of the plaza opposite the governor’s building. Two state security policemen flanked the head of the stairs. Both wore holstered side arms.

All at once a familiar face appeared, coming up the stairs. It was Aldo, carrying a message pouch. The gorilla’s forehead still showed hairless places where wounds had been stitched. Spotting Caesar, the bigger animal halted abruptly on the top step, then stepped aside. Aldo’s expression was one of puzzled respect and awe.