Escape From The Planet Of The Apes Read online

  “Just be yourself,” Lewis said.

  Cornelius chuckled. He raised his leathery forefinger and shook it at Zira. “Your better self, my dear. Please.” They all laughed.

  “Dr. Dixon,” a speaker overhead called. “The Commission is ready, Dr. Dixon.”

  “Let’s go,” Lewis said. “Stephanie?”

  “Right.” They each lifted a chain: Dixon’s was attached to Cornelius’s collar, and Stevie’s to Zira’s. “Sorry about these,” Stevie said. “They weren’t my idea.”

  “Nor mine,” Dixon added. “But necessary.”

  “Phooh,” Zira snorted. “What do they think we are? Gorillas?”

  “Shhh,” Stevie warned. “OK, let’s go.”

  The stage was large, and they crossed it carefully. The chimpanzees were dressed; business suit for Cornelius, and a lady’s equivalent, knitted skirt suit and blouse, for Zira. The outfits did not match those of Lewis and Stevie, and the apes were as well dressed as the commissioners.

  Four chairs stood at the center of the stage. Lewis led his charges there, and invited them to be seated. Zira and Stephanie sat, after which Cornelius took his seat, then finally Lewis Dixon. They looked around the large hall with curious eyes.

  “My fellow commissioners,” Lewis thought. He knew most of them. Victor Hasslein, the president’s pet warthog—but a damned brilliant physicist and general systems analyst all the same. Dr. Radak Hartley, zoologist and Chairman of the Department of Zoology, Harvard, titular Chairman of the Commission, although Lewis knew that to be a joke. Hasslein would have more power than old Hartley. All Hartley’s work, including his Nobel Prize, was done a long time ago.

  Cardinal MacPherson. Strange name for a Catholic prelate, Lewis thought. No fool, either. Jesuit. The Jesuits almost dominate the biological sciences. And the others, scientists, lawyers, senators and congressmen.

  Beyond the commissioners were seats for other VIP’s. The mayor and city council of Los Angeles. Zoo commissioners. Press people. More congressmen; nearly every local LA state and national legislator had come. Anyone with influence enough to get in was present. There was a murmur of approval from the audience as the chimps sat carefully and watched everything, looked intelligently at everyone. There were also a few nervous glances. These men and women weren’t used to being stared at by anyone, certainly not by apes.

  “You may begin,” Dr. Hartley said. “Are you ready, Dr. Dixon?”

  “Yes, sir.” Lewis stood and addressed the commissioners, but he kept an eye toward the press people out in the audience. They and the VIP’s were together as important as the Commission—perhaps more so—and it was vital that the chimpanzees get sympathetic treatment.

  “My fellow commissioners,” Lewis began. “And ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know me, but allow me to introduce myself anyway.” He saw the cameras above were rolling. The networks hadn’t been permitted in, and these films were going to be enormously valuable. They ought to belong to the chimps—if they didn’t, perhaps they could be used to get some appropriations for UCLA. If Dixon’s department had the money, the chimpanzees would be insured good treatment, even if they legally couldn’t own anything themselves.

  “My name is Dr. Lewis Dixon, and I’m a psychiatrist specializing in animal research. I have been in charge of these two apes since they arrived at the Los Angeles Zoological Gardens five days ago. You all know the spectacular way they arrived.”

  There were murmurs of agreement and a few laughs. Lewis continued quickly while he still had audience sympathy and curiosity. “The young lady is Dr. Stephanie Branton, my assistant. Between us we have made some amazing discoveries about these apes, and we want to prepare you for a shock. Dr. Branton and I will answer any questions you may care to address to us, but I doubt you’ll have many for us. You see, our chimpanzee friends are perfectly capable of answering for themselves.”

  “What . . . Sam, is he serious? . . . You know, I always knew young Dixon was going to flip one day . . . Id-iot . . . Jesus, suppose it’s true?” Lewis heard. There were other murmurs and comments, and a moment of confusion.

  “I assure you it is true,” Lewis said. “They will not answer with signs, or looks, or symbols, or anything of that sort. They can talk. As well as you or I.”

  That got dead silence. Finally, old Dr. Hartley rose from his seat and stared at Lewis. “Young man, I’ve admired your publications—but that does not give you the right to make jokes here. This is a Presidential Commission of Inquiry, and I have no intention of seeing it become a ventriloquist act!”

  “Nor I, sir,” Lewis said quickly. “These apes can speak. Test it for yourself. Ask them something.”

  There was nervous laughter, picked up by the audience until everyone was laughing, but it had a hollow quality. Lewis noticed that Victor Hasslein did not even smile.

  “I take it,” Dr. Hartley said, “that the one in skirts is female?”

  Zira stood and nodded toward the Commission. Hartley frowned. “Did she rise at some cue from you, Dr. Dixon? Or in response to my question?”

  “That is for you to decide,” Lewis said.

  “I see. You, young, uh, female. Have you a name?” Hartley looked as if he’d been sucking lemons. The thought of addressing questions to a chimpanzee upset him; the thought of having people watch him do it was torture.

  “Zira,” Zira answered. She stood, waiting, saying nothing else, as the audience tittered.

  “I see,” Hartley said. “Certainly she can articulate. Better, perhaps, than any chimp I have ever heard. But, Dr. Dixon, are we to infer that, uh, ‘Zira’ is her name, or some word or phrase in her own language that indicates affirmative or negative or some such?”

  “Again,” Lewis said, “I invite you to find out for yourself, Mr. Chairman. And I assure you that she is capable of answering. Perhaps you phrased the question improperly?”

  “Very well. Young female. What is your name?”

  “Zira.”

  “I see. One might as well speak to a parrot. Except that a parrot would answer something else. Polly, perhaps.” Hartley laughed, and the tension broke slightly. Others laughed.

  “Polly?” Zira demanded.

  There was another outburst of laughter. “Well,” Dr. Hartley said. “The mimic power is very well developed, Dr. Dixon. I assume they have a vocabulary of their own, or you wouldn’t have called it speech. Very well developed mimicry. Unique in an ape. Does the other one talk as well?”

  Cornelius stood. “Only when she lets me,” he said carefully.

  Zira laughed and reached for Cornelius’s hand.

  The audience began to applaud. Dr. Hartley sank to his seat, where he sat and stared evilly at Lewis Dixon. I’ve made no friend in him, Lewis thought. Too bad, but I don’t see how it could have been avoided. I tried to warn him. He looked up to see Dr. Hasslein staring at the chimpanzees.

  He knows, Lewis thought. Cornelius’s answer shows everything in one line. Urbane, witty, responsive to a question not directed to him, humor; whatever intelligence is, if you’ve got that much moxy, you’ve got intelligence. Hasslein looks as if he’s swallowed a frog and now has to have at a big spider. What’s so horrible about ape intelligence to him?

  Congressman Boyd stood. “Dr. Dixon, what is the male’s name, please.”

  “Cornelius. Cornelius, this is Congressman Jason Boyd, of the House Science and Astronautics Committee.”

  “I am pleased to meet you, Congressman Boyd,” Cornelius said. “I would offer to shake hands, but the chain is not long enough.”

  There was laughter in the room. Nervous laughter. “Yes,” Boyd said. He rubbed his balding, coal black forehead. “May I say that I apologize for the chains? Dr. Dixon, somehow the sight of chained intelligent creatures disturbs me. It brings memories that perhaps you don’t share, nor do I, directly, but—”

  “They weren’t my idea, Congressman,” Lewis said.

  “Or mine,” Cornelius added. Everyone laughed. “But we understan
d. Where we come from, apes talk and humans are dumb animals. We shouldn’t care to face such creatures unless they were restrained, and we can hardly blame you for having the same prejudices.”

  “Thank you,” Boyd said. “Mister Cornelius, what is your relationship with Zira?”

  Zira answered before Cornelius could speak. “He is my lawfully wedded spouse.”

  “Hmm.” Heads turned toward Cardinal MacPherson. The elderly Jesuit started. “Please excuse me.”

  “Do you find the concept of marriage among apes amusing?” Boyd demanded.

  MacPherson chuckled. “Not amusing, Congressman. Startling, perhaps. Intriguing. After all, there are varying degrees of matrimony, at least varying degrees of recognition of the state. I wonder which concept she means—but later, later. Please continue, Mister Boyd.”

  Boyd obviously would like to start a fight with the Cardinal, Lewis thought. Wonder why? Maybe the Catholics aren’t too popular in Boyd’s district. Wouldn’t be, now that I think of it. They’re mostly Baptists there. But that’s no call to—

  “Mister Cornelius,” Boyd was saying. “Do you or your, uh, wife speak any language other than English?”

  Cornelius frowned. “What is English?” he asked. The audience murmured comments Lewis didn’t hear, and Victor Hasslein frantically scribbled notes. “I speak the language taught me by my father and mother,” Cornelius continued. “They were taught it by their fathers and mothers. This has been the language of my ancestors for at least two thousand years. As to its origins—I don’t know. I am surprised to find that you speak it. Are there other human languages?”

  “Several,” Boyd said drily.

  “Now I am curious,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “And surely you have curiosity?”

  Cornelius nodded. Zira looked at the aged clergyman with interest.

  “Did you never wonder where your language came from?” the Cardinal asked. “I, for one, am very curious as to how a single language, English, became universal among your species.”

  “Not merely our species, sir,” Cornelius said. “Gorillas and orangutans also speak our language. In fact, the gorillas and orangutans in my community believe—believed—that God created apes in His own image, and that our language was given us by Him.”

  The Cardinal is a bit shook by that, Lewis thought. Cagey old bird. Doesn’t show much. But that ought to have got to him. Hasslein’s still making notes. He seemed awfully interested in that hesitation of Cornelius’s. It won’t take him long to figure out where/when they’re from, I suspect.

  “Of course, that’s all nonsense, dear,” Zira said firmly.

  “I’d expect the Cardinal to second that thought,” Congressman Boyd said. He looked puzzled as he examined the apes.

  “I expect you to leave the theology of the Church to the Church’s theologians,” MacPherson snapped. He turned to the apes. “I would keep that opinion on a tight rein, were I you, Cornelius. There are some Fundamentalists who will find it far more upsetting than I will—”

  Zira wasn’t finished. “Chimpanzees are intellectuals,” she said loudly. “And as an intellectual, Cornelius, you know damned well that the gorillas are a bunch of militaristic nincompoops and the orangutans a gaggle of blinkered, pseudoscientific idea-infatuated geese. As to humans, I’ve dissec . . .” she caught herself abruptly. “Excuse me. I have examined thousands of humans and until now I have discovered only two who could talk in my whole life. God knows who taught them.”

  “I expect He does,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “Who were the two humans you knew who could talk? And precisely where is this place, where apes speak, gorillas make war, orangutans dream ineffectually, chimpanzees are intellectuals, and humans cannot speak at all?”

  “That is a very good question, Your Eminence,” Victor Hasslein seconded. “I should like very much to hear the answer.”

  “We aren’t sure,” Cornelius said.

  “But at that place, it is as His Eminence put it in his excellent summation? Apes speak and humans do not?” Hasslein insisted.

  “Yes,” Zira said.

  “But you do not know where this place is,” Hasslein continued. The room was very quiet now. Lewis watched, fascinated, reminded of a serpent stalking a small bird.

  “I’m not sure,” Cornelius said.

  “Dr. Milo was sure,” Zira said. A large tear formed in each eye and she wiped them, furtively.

  “Dr. Milo was a genius far in advance of his time,” Cornelius said. He stood and went to place an arm across Zira’s shoulder, then faced the Commission. “We did not enjoy a mechanically dominated civilization such as yours,” he said. “We did not have the energy sources, for one difference. Certainly there was nothing resembling space flight. Yet, when that spacecraft first landed intact on our seacoast, Dr. Milo was able to salvage it, and through study, repair it. In the end he half understood it.”

  “Half,” one of the commissioners said. “Was ‘half enough?”

  “It was.” Cornelius looked up in anger. His voice hardened. “Enough for us to escape when war became inevitable. Enough to repair the spacecraft and adapt the survival equipment. Enough for us to survive to land here, where he was murdered in your zoo, and enough for us to be standing here where we can be insulted by you. Quite enough, I think.”

  “Please accept our apologies,” Cardinal MacPherson said quickly. “We did not intend to insult you. I wonder if you can understand our surprise, though?”

  “I think so,” Cornelius said. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  “I add my apologies,” Hasslein said softly. “But please, Cornelius, where did you come from? Did none of you know? Not even Dr. Milo?”

  “He knew,” Cornelius said. “He believed we came from—from your future.”

  There was silence. The commissioners stared at each other. Then the audience became restive. There were murmurs and comments, and the chairman pounded for order. Eventually there was quiet again. Dr. Hartley looked at Cornelius and said, “That does not make sense, sir.”

  “It is the only thing that does!” Hasslein smacked the arm of his chair with his open palm. “The only thing!” He looked up, realized the others were staring at him. “Please excuse me.”

  “You spoke of war,” a new voice said.

  “Senator Yancey,” Lewis said. “Armed Forces Committee. Senator, Cornelius and Zira.”

  “Yes. You spoke of war. War between whom?” Yancey insisted.

  Cornelius sighed. “Between our army—all gorillas—between the gorillas and whoever lives—uh, lived—will live? I have trouble with the tenses. Between the army and the inhabitants of the tunnels and caves of the territory next to our.”

  “And you don’t know who they were?” Yancey insisted.

  “No, sir.”

  “Who won that war?” Yancey asked.

  Zira interrupted before Cornelius could answer. “How the devil would we know? Chimpanzees are pacifists. We stayed at home. May I ask you something? Would you care to be here, chained, thirsty, under these very hot lights, watching us drink water while you had none?”

  “Good heavens!” Dr. Hartley exclaimed. He gestured, and two attendants took a pitcher of water and glasses to the chimpanzees. They drank thirstily. Lewis and Stephanie were not offered water, and Lewis winked at Stevie. She winked back.

  “So you don’t know who won the war,” Yancey insisted. “Surely you must have heard reports—”

  “No, sir,” Cornelius said. “We assisted Dr. Milo in his work to repair the spacecraft. Then we left. Somehow we ended here. Now.”

  “Can you explain that?” Hasslein asked eagerly.

  “No, sir. Dr. Milo had a theory, perhaps, but he never explained it to us. I know that before he died that night he was scribbling complex mathematics on the floor of our cage—”

  “Where are those equations?” Hasslein demanded. “Dr. Dixon, were they preserved?”

  “No sir.”

  Hasslein sank into his seat, dejected. Then
, angrily, he said “Why not?”

  “Because,” Zira answered, “we were never given writing materials. Dr. Milo was using his finger and water to write on the cement floor. Naturally the writing wouldn’t last—”

  “Oh,” Hasslein said. He brooded.

  “About the spacecraft,” Senator Yancey said. “It landed in your country. By the sea, you said. What happened to the crew? To Colonel Taylor and his men?”

  Zira and Cornelius looked at each other, then back to Yancey. “I don’t know,” Cornelius said. “The spacecraft was empty when we first saw it.”

  “And did you know Colonel Taylor?” Yancey insisted. “Did you ever meet him?”

  The apes exchanged glances again. “No,” Cornelius said evenly. “Is he a soldier?”

  “He was an officer of the United States Air Force, an astronaut, and a hero,” Yancey said. “And one of the purposes of this Commission is to find out what happened to him.”

  “We don’t know,” Zira said. She looked up helplessly. “We are peaceful creatures. I am a psychiatrist, and my husband an archeological historian. We are very tired, and we have been cooperative, but can’t you now take these chains off and let us rest? Please?”

  There was an instant of silence; then the hall burst into applause. Even Hartley’s gavel couldn’t silence it until Lewis and Stevie, smiling, had unlocked the collars and thrown the chains to the floor.

  NINE

  “You were marvelous!” Stevie said. She threw her arms around Zira. Both laughed as they danced around the hospital wing of the zoo. Stevie halted suddenly and looked around. “I’m sorry you’re still here . . .”

  “It’s as good a place as any,” Cornelius said. “Thank you for the furniture.” He indicated the chairs and tables which had been placed in the cage. There was even a small stove in one corner. The door to the next cage, where the gorilla had been, was now open, and bedroom furniture had been placed inside. Cornelius strolled to the corner and turned on the television. “Is this the right way to work this?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Lewis watched, frowning, as the news programs came on. A local announcer was saying, “Doctor Victor Hasslein had no immediate comment for this reporter, but we understand he will be a special guest on the Big News, in just half an hour. Stay tuned for the Big News. Now—late-breaking sports. The Los Angeles Rams have—”