Conquest of the Planet of the Apes - Jakes John (читать книги без txt) 📗

Aware that he was still under observation by Morris and the keeper, he nevertheless kept staring at the three chimps. All were huddled by the rear wall. The first one continued to hide his eyes. The other two merely lowered their gazes . . .

Still maintaining his apelike posture, Caesar approached them slowly, peeling the banana. He broke off one third and extended it to the nearest chimp, who snatched and gobbled it. Then, moving still closer to the cowed trio, Caesar broke the rest of the banana in two equal parts and extended those.

The first chimp reached greedily for another share. Caesar glanced at him. The chimp averted his head as the other two seized and ate their even portions. In the corridor, Morris crowed with delight. “Did you see that? I tell you, he’s the smartest animal I’ve ever been assigned!”

All at once Caesar felt apprehension. Had he displayed too much intelligence? It was necessary for his own safety, he felt. Yet perhaps he should have waited till he had no human audience. But if he had done that, the three chimps might have attacked him. And he would not have won them over—won them over so completely that now he could sit down among them with easy confidence, the backs of his hands positioned in deliberate awkwardness on the recently hosed floor of the cage.

He sat close to his own kind and they did not strike at him. Nor did they run away. Caesar felt a strange, totally new sense of power.

“Yeah, I sure did see that,” the keeper was saying. “I’m going to make a note up at the reception station, and keep a special watch on him. The last damn thing we need in here is some kind of leader.”

Leader? The word prickled Caesar’s mind with new and exciting significance. Yes, perhaps that was what he had become—inadvertently, and without any prior plan except his desire to insure his own survival. He glanced from face to hairy face and recognized fear in the eyes of the other animals. But it was fear of a different order than that brought about by the programmed cruelties of those who destroyed the apes’ spirits in order to subjugate their bodies. The fear Caesar saw in the three pairs of chimpanzee was born not only of dread but of respect.

He sat comfortably with his ape brothers, glad he had won a small victory, and a brief respite from the horrors of this unspeakable tower of scientific abuse. If he feigned meekness and servility for a while, perhaps that suspicion would be forgotten.

Dimly, he heard the keeper speaking again. “If he’s that spirited, tomorrow we’ll probably have a hell of a mess on our hands when we lock on the leg shackles and start him through the training classes.”

Leg shackles? Caesar thought numbly. Mustn’t react. Mustn’t protest. Must accept—for a while.

“No, I don’t think so,” Morris said, his voice growing fainter. Chimpanzees in adjoining cages, spotting the keeper on the move, began to gibber. “I don’t think he’ll give you one bit of trouble—”

What touched Caesar’s mouth then might have been mimicry of a human smile. A very cruel human smile. One of the chimpanzees who had been tentatively reaching for Caesar’s arm, as if to signify friendship, drew his hand back with a fearful snort.

The human voices, the gibbering and squealing, the nearer breathing of his trio of companions all faded away, leaving only a single word murmuring in Caesar’s drowsy mind.

Leader . . .

Armando knew the interrogation room was located on a lower floor of the same gaunt, black Civic Center edifice which housed various governmental departments, including Governor Breck’s operations suite. But that was all he knew—except for the fact that hours had passed.

He was ferociously hungry, dangerously tired. His legs had grown numb from standing. That was how they wore him down, the bespectacled Kolp, the lean Hoskyns.

The room was plainly furnished. Windowless, it was filled with harsh artificial light that blurred the concepts of night and day. Kolp and Hoskyns kept going over the same ground, repeating the same questions. Sometimes both were in the room. At other times only one, as the other left briefly, undoubtedly for food or use of a toilet.

Except for a gritty look around the eyes, neither man showed signs of tiring. They actually seemed to enjoy their work.

And why not? They sat down while questioning Armando, but insisted that he remain standing in front of the desk; a simple but effective method of torture.

So far, though, Armando had not broken. Nor shown any sign of his mounting fear.

“You look bad, Senor,” Hoskyns said. “Gray. Washed out. I’m sure a man of your age can’t keep standing in one place indefinitely. Legs hurt?”

Doggedly, Armando shook his head. In truth, his legs alternately trembled with muscle spasms, and took on a boneless, dead feeling. Hoskyns sat in an armchair in the corner, Kolp behind the desk. Now it was the latter’s turn.

“Admit you’re worn out. Cooperate with us. Everything will be much easier. We’ll give you a chair, a good meal—”

“My chimpanzee cannot speak,” Armando said. “I am the one—”

“Yeah, for the hundredth time, you’ve told us!” Hoskyns exploded, half-rising from the chair.

Kolp lifted a plump hand. The other investigator sank back, disgusted.

Armando took a little cheer from that. The men were growing weary.

But it was short-lived comfort. Armando was so drained of strength his own mind didn’t seem to be functioning properly.

“Let’s try another tack,” Kolp said, rummaging in the folder Armando had seen earlier in Breck’s office. Kolp pulled out a glossy photo of a male chimpanzee with an almost human expression in its large, liquid eyes. He slip the photo across the desk.

“Tell me, have you ever seen that ape before?”

Weakly, without thinking, Armando answered, “Isn’t—isn’t that Cornelius?”

Hoskyns came bounding from his chair, grabbed Armando’s shoulder. “I thought you told us you didn’t know him!”

“Know him? Of course I didn’t—” Desperately trying to rally, repair his blunder, Armando spoke much too fast: “I must have seen similar photos twenty years ago. They must have been widely published—”

Hoskyns shook his head. “I don’t believe that was the case. How do you know his name?”

“You must have showed me the photo. Mentioned it—Yes! That tape the governor talked about—he referred to the talking ape who was murdered along with his mate—”

Hoskyns glared. “Be careful, Senor. The term isn’t murdered. The term is executed. And I’m still confused. You know the name. And you immediately connected the name with this private government photo. How? Why?”

Armando sensed a snare somewhere, tried to prepare for it, but couldn’t. Hoskyns’s face blurred in front of him, close and hostile.

Armando’s knees throbbed. His calves and thighs began to tingle with stabbing needles of pain. The room seemed to tilt ever so slightly one way, then another. Armando knew he was close to fainting. He dug his nails into his palms.

But Hoskyns was prowling back and forth between Armando and the desk, tugging something from his pocket. “I have a theory, Kolp. A pretty good theory about why he identified Cornelius so fast. He looked at that picture—and he remembered this one.”

Hoskyns whipped the handbill under Armando’s nose. The familiar, colorful type, with the dim picture of Caesar riding bareback.

“Wouldn’t you say there’s a definite resemblance?” Hoskyns asked.

“No,” Armando breathed, trying to sound emphatic. Hoskyns stepped even closer, insistent. “Like father, like son, wouldn’t you say?”

“No!” Armando cried as his legs began to shake uncontrollably. “No, there’s absolutely no connection, absolutely—no—”

His voice trailed off as he fell, fainting.