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

Caesar continued to pack the items into his hamper. He had to squeeze the lid down to close it on all the groceries. He felt extremely self-conscious carrying the clearly labeled kerosene can out in the open. With his eyes on the pavement, he hurried through the plaza, already a few minutes late.

Angling toward the public washroom where the rendezvous had been set, Caesar suddenly spied one of Aldo’s gorillas. He carried three message pouches.

Caesar caught up with the huge ape and used a series of soft guttural sounds to communicate. The gorilla blinked in response, and moved off toward the restaurant where the busboy had purloined the steak knives.

Quickening his stride, Caesar shortly reached the passageway beneath the sign reading PUBLIC FACILITIES. He approached the third door, the one marked with the drawing of an ape. He hesitated before entering. If things failed at this point, then his vision of communication among enslaved apes in the city—communication for the purpose of organization—would ultimately prove unrealistic. Well, better know it now. He pushed through the door into the ape washroom and took three steps, to a row of cheap metal basins affixed to the inner wall. A single lighting fixture in the ceiling served the entire row.

On his right, Caesar noted a small white table and chair. A female attendant, unseen when he walked in, quickly vacated the chair. She was old, he saw; her shoulders were bent from perpetual labor. She gazed at Caesar with an expression akin to worship. Then, a simple gesture indicated that the chair and the desk belonged to him—at his pleasure.

But what excited him most were the apes emerging from their grumbling parlay in the dark. Three mature female gorillas—and even a female orangutan. Aldo had understood after all. More important, he had remembered, spread the word, and completed the necessary arrangements. The female apes carried red shopping cards. Caesar nodded briefly to indicate his pleasure.

The quartet of females watched him closely. He made his moves deliberate. He placed his hamper of groceries below one of the basins. Then he held the kerosene container in the light and looked inquiringly at the chimpanzee cleaner. She pointed toward the dark rear of the washroom, and Caesar followed her gesture, circling the other apes without so much as a glance. He must show confidence, even a little arrogance, to maintain and build the leadership status he required for his plan.

The cleaning attendant kicked aside some pieces of orange rind lying outside the last of a row of cubicles. She pushed the door inward and held it, standing aside so Caesar could enter. The toilet cubicle was almost pitch black—another splendid example of the amenities the ape masters provided for their slaves!

Caesar placed the kerosene container squarely in the cubicle’s rear corner, between toilet and partition. One container was hardly enough, but soon many others would be stockpiled there.

He marched out of the cubicle and back up the aisle, followed by the attendant. With an air of authority befitting a military officer, he seated himself at the small white table and signaled to the first of the four waiting females.

The orangutan presented her red shopping card. Caesar took his pen from his pocket. After a study of the handwriting on the card, he forged another item—an additional gallon of kerosene.

Returning the card to the orangutan, he said, “Go. Then—” He touched the writing on the card, pointed to the rear cubicle. He repeated this twice. Comprehension dawned in the organutan’s eyes. She clutched the card to her stomach, turned and hurried out of the washroom. She looked happy.

The next two cards gave Caesar the chance to order two more gallons of kerosene. The third gorilla’s card presented an even better opportunity, because the last instruction read: “Collect repaired Colt .45.” Again, imitating the handwriting carefully, he added “100 rounds ammunition for above.”

As he was about to return the card, the washroom door opened. He jumped up, alarmed—but relaxed a moment later. The new arrival was the chimpanzee busboy who had pocketed the pair of steak knives. What pleased Caesar even more was the fact that the messenger gorilla to whom he’d given instructions in the plaza had successfully carried Caesar’s message.

Resuming his seat, Caesar gestured the busboy to the table. He patted the top. From a pocket, the busboy produced his two steak knives. Then, from another pocket, two more. Caesar was surprised and delighted—but the busboy still wasn’t finished. He tugged up the front of his jacket and, from the waistband of his trousers, pulled a large butcher’s cleaver.

He flourished the cleaver with glee. The massive blade caught the light and gleamed as the busboy proudly thunked the weapon down beside the knives.

“Good,” Caesar said. “Very good.”

The sound of Caesar’s voice excited the busboy. He glanced from the cleaver to Caesar with complete understanding. Rising, Caesar scooped up the weapons. “Come.”

The busboy followed him as he paced back into the darkness again, the cleaning attendant at their heels. In the very back corner of the aisle, Caesar had spotted a refuse container. He passed the cleaver and knives to the busboy and carried the container into the cubicle hiding the kerosene. He removed the container’s lid and gestured.

The busboy squeezed by him, following the pointing hand. Carefully, the busboy laid the knives and cleaver on the bottom of the container. He stepped back, lips peeled from his teeth in a grin. Caesar wished Governor Breck might see that kind of grin.

He would. In due time.

Caesar leaned down so that his palm was deep inside the refuse container, just above the weapons. He began to lift his hand slowly, to suggest a rising level. He said to the busboy, “We must have more. Many more. Tell others.”

He restated the instructions in a series of short yips and barks, to be certain the busboy understood. He did and he nodded, his eyes alight with cruel pleasure.

Caesar pushed the container against the cubicle wall, accepted the lid which the attendant handed him, put it on top of the container, and gestured the others out.

In the aisle, he conducted still another demonstration. Pretending to be a new arrival in the washroom—he bent into a caricature of an ape that caused the female gorilla to cover her mouth and gurgle with amusement—he shambled toward the rear cubicle. Abruptly dropping his role, he seized the shoulders of the startled attendant and shifted her so that she blocked the cubicle’s entrance. As if speaking to the new arrival, he said, “No.” He shook his head. “Out of order—not in use—no.”

The cleaning attendant registered comprehension. Satisfied, Caesar walked up the aisle again and spent a long moment in thought. It would not be easy to convert conditioned slaves into fighters, but it would not be impossible. Patience, plus the submerged resentment of the apes themselves, could bring about the transformation. Caesar had convinced himself of that much. And it was accomplishment enough for one day.

With a polite little bow, he indicated that the elderly attendant might have her table again. When she sat down, her shoulders did not slump quite so much. The table had changed from a symbol of servitude to a post of importance.

Caesar picked up his hamper, surveying the dim chamber one last time. Yes, it would serve admirably as an arsenal. He could now begin to widen the scope of his operations and to establish, via instructions to other apes, similar arsenals in dozens of other washrooms throughout the city. With a last, brief nod of approval, he went out into the daylight.

Moving up the passageway, Caesar encountered a gentleman who shoved him aside in his haste to reach the door of the men’s room. He slammed against the wall, infuriated, quickly quelled the reaction. Let them shove and command a little longer. Let them enjoy their fancied supremacy, while their servants armed and prepared for a day that would bring an end to ape slavery in this city. And then, perhaps even . . . No. It was not time to dream of the enormous possibilities. Not yet. The best way to overcome your enemy, he had decided, was to understand him thoroughly, attack him by surprise—and show no mercy.