Escape from the Planet of the Apes - Pournelle Jerry (библиотека книг .TXT) 📗

“Yes, but in another, you may leave here at eight-sixteen, and be perfectly safe,” Hasslein said. “Or the automobile does not leave the parking garage until eight-twenty because the driver received a telephone call. Yet, and this is the important point, each of those futures may be as real as any other.”

“But we wouldn’t experience more than one of those futures, would we, Dr. Hasslein?” the interviewer asked. He was now thoroughly confused.

“Certainly not,” Hasslein said. “Yet, each one would be real to the mythical observer who has achieved infinite regression. Now, I do not find it at all hard to believe that these apes have arrived here from one of the possible futures of this planet. To them, that future was very real. But, and I want to stress this, it need not be real to us. We can, perhaps, change that future. And indeed, I think it important that we do.”

“Well come back to Dr. Victor Hasslein as the Big News continues following station identification,” Walter said. “Now an important message.”

“I wish Milo had been here to explain that,” Zira said. She looked sadly around the cage.

“I am Chiquita Banana, and I’ve come to say, Bananas must be ripened in—”

Cornelius flung himself at the set and turned off the sound.

“That’s all we needed,” Zira said.

“Inappropriate,” Lewis agreed. “I suppose I should have expected it.”

Cornelius took a bunch of grapes from the table and passed them around. “Have some, dear,” he said. He gave Zira most of them. They ate in silence until the commercials were over, and Cornelius turned the sound back on.

“The Big News continues. This reporter will confess that he was impressed by the Ape-onauts, and I certainly applaud the president’s decision to transfer them from the Los Angeles Zoo to a hotel. They are no danger to us, and from what I’ve seen, they will be our friends.

“In other late breaking stories, criminals struck at a Los Angeles Savings and Loan for the third . . .”

Lewis switched off the set. “Congratulations,” he told them.

Zira and Cornelius smiled happily. “We won’t be sorry to leave,” Cornelius said. He looked around the cage, and at the place where Milo died. “We won’t be sorry at all.”

TEN

Lewis Dixon found the next week unbelievably hectic. First, there was the escorted ride to the Beverly Hills Hotel. The Navy had locked the chimpanzees into a zoo. Now that they were released, Admiral Taylor had been determined to make amends.

He had persuaded a wealthy retired admiral friend to come for the chimpanzees in a chauffered Mercedes. The City of Los Angeles had provided a motorcycle escort. Navy Intelligence provided a bodyguard. And the general public had provided the crowds.

Not only was attendance at the Los Angeles Zoo twice the previous record crowd on the day the chimpanzees were to move, but the whole Griffith Park road system was crowded with sightseers. Los Feliz Boulevard was nearly impassable, so that the motorcade finally had to go out the back way, past Forest Lawn of Hollywood Hills, down Ventura Boulevard and up over Laurel Canyon. These streets were normal enough until the motorcade passed—then people fell in behind, until Dixon and his charges were leading a parade five miles long, and had created the worst clear weather traffic jam in Los Angeles history.

It was as bad at the hotel. Of course the apes weren’t used to automobiles in the first place, or escalators, or elevators, or automatically opening doors. All these things confused them. So did doormen with their elaborate uniforms and their deferential attitude.

At the registration desk the clerk had asked the apes for their permanent address.

Cornelius shrugged. So did Dixon. Finally Stevie had said, “If you have to write something, put down the Los Angeles Zoo.”

The registration clerk had looked down his aristocratic nose and said calmly, “Madam, the Beverly Hills does not have guests who reside in a zoo.” What he wrote was anybody’s guess, but the clerk was the only one there who didn’t think it funny.

The apes had one of the best suites in the hotel. And that, Lewis thought, was going to be a problem. Sure it was authorized, but it cost more than Dixon’s entire department budget. If Lewis could have thought of a way to transfer any of that money to his research, he would have insisted on the apes taking a less expensive place; but there wasn’t any way to do it. There was money to put the apes into the best suite of the Beverly Hills, but none for a new electron microscope.

One of these days, the Navy was going to decide not to pay for that suite. And then who would be responsible? Lewis wondered. At least it wasn’t a problem now.

There was also the question of the mail and gifts. Hundreds of thousands of letters poured in, and literally thousands of packages. Most of the packages contained toys, balls, art work, decorative jewelry; but they had to be inspected, because some of the people out there had sick minds. Not only were there bombs, but other ugly and disgusting things.

All that mail had to be sorted, and answered, and the people doing that had to be paid. For a while the University of California had undertaken the task, justifying it as a special experimental project; but Lewis didn’t think that would last. He sighed. Well, the apes could afford their own help, of course. They could command their own fees for speaking engagements, and Lewis had arranged a few, along with some appearances on TV programs. The fees went into the UC budget system in a special category, the money reserved for the chimpanzees.

“Is that fair?” Stevie had asked.

Lewis shrugged. He hadn’t known how to answer her a week ago when she asked, and, he thought, I still don’t know. Can chimps legally own money? Would the courts uphold any rights at all? Certainly the university can be trusted to hold onto some of the money for them, and give it to them when they need it. I guess that’ll have to do until we find out what legal status these apes have. It hadn’t satisfied Stevie and it didn’t satisfy him, but it was all the answer Lewis Dixon had.

Lewis had observed the chimpanzees closely as they moved into the hotel. They were obviously unused to technology. The flush toilet had startled Cornelius, and Lewis made a note to inquire what kind of sanitary facilities the apes were used to. The refrigerator had been an even bigger surprise. Cornelius explained that apes packed ice in straw for the winter, much as humans had done when the Americas were first settled. It had been amusing to watch Cornelius play with the refrigerator; he liked to open the door quickly to see if he could fool the light that came on.

“Milo would have been impressed,” Cornelius said.

“I doubt it,” Lewis told him. “Refrigerators are pretty simple compared to spacecraft. If Milo understood the ship, he would have had no problems with this.”

Cornelius shrugged. “Still and all, Lewis, it is a bit overwhelming. Much of this machinery is totally unfamiliar to me, yet I was, after all, an archeological historian. I knew that human civilization had possessed many of these marvels. The humans had also used up nearly all the energy sources so that, no matter how much the ape scientists might know, we simply could not develop a machine civilization again. Not that we really wanted to, you understand.”

“I see.”

“I have not made my point,” Cornelius said. “I meant to say that I am at least not surprised by the existence of all this; but the same is probably not true for my wife. Oh, certainly, we all knew that humans had machines, and I often spoke of my work to her; but I would not be surprised if she found much of this a bit overwhelming.”