Momentarily free of his influence, Taylor and Brent tried to shrug off the fog. As they did, Ongaro pulled a jagged mace from a wall rack, opened the cell door, and threw it in. The better for one of them to gain the upper hand. The astronauts rushed him, but they were too slow.
The door clanged shut, but he didn’t even need to latch it. Ongaro closed his eyes and resumed control.
* * *
Eluding the guard, Nova ran up the hallway and reached her goal. Ahead of her, locked in a cell, was Brent—the man who had journeyed with her. He was fighting for his life, and losing.
More than that, he fought Taylor. Her mate, who was alive—but somehow changed. He fought savagely, and the look in his eyes was like Brent’s had been when he had tried to kill her. She remembered the panic she had felt. With it came anger, and determination. Without thinking…
Nova spoke.
“Tay-lor!” she rasped.
The strange man who was their captor opened his eyes. His hesitation was all the men needed. Taylor slammed his fist across their enemy’s jaw. That sent him reeling toward Brent, who brought a weapon bashing down on his shoulder. The force of the blow threw him into the spiked door. As the metal points pierced the man, Taylor and Brent slammed the cage door against the wall, embedding the spikes even deeper in his back.
Nova rushed forward and threw herself on Taylor.
Mortally wounded, their enemy slipped to the floor. The cell door swung with his fall, clanking shut before the men could stop it. There was a loud click, and when they tried to open it, they could not. This time it had latched.
They were locked in.
As Nova watched, horrified, the bleeding man pulled his face from his head, exposing a skinless horror. Gray muscles were crisscrossed with blue and red lines, causing him to look like a living wound. Then the creature spoke.
“Unto God… I reveal my inmost self—”
He stopped speaking, and he stopped breathing.
* * *
His Holiness arrived alone. Ascending the great steps of the cathedral, he was greeted by the omnipresent Verger. Granted entrance, Mendez communicated his request. Nodding consent, the attendant of the Bomb brought Him to the apse at the rear of the church’s chancel.
During High Mass, the floor beneath them had irised open to reveal their Bomb. For the moment, however, God rested peacefully. What interested Mendez instead lay behind the massive pipes of the organ, recessed in the wall beyond. Running his hands past the cooled lava, the Verger pressed his palm on key points, making the sign of the Bomb.
With a resounding click, the wall moved back and slid away on squeaking rollers, revealing a hidden hallway. As throughout the undercity, glowing moss provided illumination within the new chamber, though it was dim when compared to the church proper. Within the chapel stood a modest altar, and on it an ornate golden-crowned box emblazoned with the sign of the Bomb.
This was the Holy Tabernacle.
His Holiness knelt in supplication as the Verger unlatched the vessel for him. Within lay a book—one of the few paper texts that the mutants revered. Their minds fertile playgrounds, their memories sharp, they needed no books for learning. The written form was a tradition reserved for music, prayer, and hymns. None of those things, this book was special indeed.
Dubbed the Holy Codex, the ancient tome’s covers were sheathed in partially melted plastic. Grasping it gingerly, His Holiness took care not to crack its fragile spine. The parchments were held inside by three nickel-plated steel rings. A tarnished mechanism ran along the binding that once had enabled the now rusted rings to open and snap shut again.
The Codex revealed the divine and mystical relationship between numerical patterns. The pages within its covers bore no text—numbers alone were the secret language of God.
His Holiness pored over the ciphers, searching for the combination of integers needed to stave off Assured Destruction. He found a verse marked with the divine symbols.
A Ω
There He divined the digits He sought. His task complete, He returned the Codex to the Verger. All that remained was to deliver the prognostic sequence to God. As the caretaker replaced the holy book within the tabernacle, two words written in the old form adorned its cover, glistening in metallic ink.
LAUNCH CODES
Armed with the knowledge He needed, Mendez would arm their god.
* * *
“What will you do, Holiness?”
“Whatever necessary.”
In that moment, Caspay reflected, a sliver of doubt had entered the eye of Mendez. Caspay had seized it. He had caught a glimpse of His Holiness’s mind, and saw fear.
Fear of the Holy Fallout itself. His Holiness intended to appeal to the apes. Of that Caspay was certain. He would try to reason with them.
He would talk with animals.
Mendez would stall the apes, He would threaten the apes—He might even beg them. Then, and only then, if there were no other choice, He would invoke the wrath of God. The mutant elder was appalled. If His Holiness faltered, the barbaric apes might defile the Almighty Bomb itself.
They might even try to subjugate God.
Assured Destruction was imminent. Feigning supplication, Caspay withdrew to the missile silo beneath the cathedral. Standing in the pulpit of the Holy Sanctum, he pulled two crystalline keys from his robes. Inserting them in two different locks located on either end of the control panel, he reached across as far as he could to grasp them simultaneously.
With a swivel, he turned both at once and was rewarded with the dulcet chirps and melodious tones of Holy Affirmation. Entering a long-forgotten override code that had for generations been held within an ambry, he modified the mechanism, enabling launch control from the pulpit itself.
The missile could still be fired from the prie-dieu above. However, should Caspay choose to assume control, no one in the chancel would be able to stop him.
Not even His Holiness.
The translucent keys began to blink in colors shifting to green, then yellow, and to red, before starting the cycle anew. They would continue until Caspay simultaneously laid hands on them again. Should he do so, the missile would fire.
The ape army would be upon them soon. As far as he was concerned, there were now three possible outcomes. If Mendez XXVI proved His worth, God’s wrath would fall on the apes. Caspay would maintain his station as elder statesman. No one would know of his tampering with the control mechanism.
If Mendez XXVI failed, He would surely be killed by the apes. Caspay would himself launch the Instrument of God. His Glory would still be delivered unto the invaders, but it would be due to the elder statesman’s initiative. He would present himself as having done God’s Divine Will. Mendez’s offspring would then ascend to Holiness, and Caspay would have the child’s ear. He would control the next generation.
Of course, if the entire Mendez family line were slaughtered by simians, Caspay’s intervention would still ensure the Divine Bomb’s wrath. As savior of the Fellowship, he would then assume the mantle of Holiness, and lead his people into a new era. Regardless of which course played out, the Holy Fallout would reign. Assured Destruction would be averted, and his place in history would be ensured.
Pleased with himself, Caspay stepped from the control booth. He would give Mendez the chance to do the right thing. His Holiness had a few scant hours before the slobbering apes arrived. Until then, Caspay would wait with God. The Almighty Bomb towered overhead. Moving closer, he removed his glove and laid his hand on it. God’s metal surface was cool, soothing. Caspay closed his eyes.
Destroy all devils, he prayed. Create angels.
Suddenly an echo in his mind winked out. One of the five was no more. Somehow, a guildmaster had died.
Ongaro?
Behind him, a loose pebble tumbled from the wall. As he turned toward it, a new outcome presented itself, as Caspay was smashed by a fist of fur.
Like a ringing bell, God’s metal hull resounded with anger. Caspay bounced off the Bo
mb and crashed into the stony base of the pulpit. His skull fractured, the elder statesman collapsed in a heap near the control booth. The off-white blur responsible struggled into focus—it was the disgusting creature Dinge that had struck the guildmaster across the face, sending him reeling.
Broken and bloodied, the mutant couldn’t think. His spectacles lay a few feet away from him. While he didn’t need them to see, they helped him to focus his mind. A spiderweb pattern dominated one lens, while the other suffered only a single crack. With a trembling hand he reached for them.
A dirty boot got to them first.
“Hello, Four-Eyes.” The splintered glass grinding on stone accented the greeting. “But I suppose you’re Two-Eyes now,” the voice amended. Caspay couldn’t see the speaker, but he could smell the beast.
Mr. Taylor’s gorilla. The creature called Mungwortt. How? Squinting, Caspay saw red sparks in the shadows of the Sanctum.
Not sparks, he realized. Eyes. A dozen of them. Somehow, the gorilla had made an alliance with the White Ones. Stupid animals, he seethed. Apes, hybrids, humans—all of them.
“Where is Tay-Lor?” the Mungwortt creature demanded.
Burn! Caspay struck out at him, but instead of causing the ape pain, his own mind burst aflame. The damage to his skull was unimaginably painful. His brain was swelling.
The gorilla and the White Ones just stared.
The nauseous Caspay hauled himself to his feet and vomited. Groping for the pulpit, he pulled himself into the glass chamber. He could still lock himself in there, initiate the launch, and await discovery by another master. His movements were jerky, and even the stupid gorilla could see what he was attempting to do.
“Stop him!” Mungwortt cried.
Dinge hurled himself at Caspay. Sinking his fangs into the mutant’s shoulder, he tore him away from the controls before the statesman could initiate the firing sequence—but not before he activated the booth’s heavy shielded door. A slab of metal slammed shut on both, crushing them.
Mangled limbs quivered. The pulpit pooled with blood. The White One’s skull was smashed, Caspay was all but cut in half. Even so, he fumbled for the launch keys. He leaned on one, but pinned as he was, his reach was not great enough to reach the other.
“My inmost—”
He sputtered, spitting blood. On the pulpit’s controls, the lucent keys flashed in sequence—green, yellow, red, repeat.
* * *
The apes had not yet arrived, and already two masters were dead. His Holiness sensed their severance. He could not be certain who, but He suspected it was Ongaro and Caspay. While He could not be certain how, He suspected Mr. Brent and Mr. Taylor of having a hand in their deaths.
Successors would need to be chosen from their guilds, lest the disciplines of intellect and equilibrium diminish. What had once been a balanced spectrum of seven ruling orders was now down to three. Only Blue, Red, and Violet remained fluid. Yellow and Green were in danger of the extinction suffered by Tiger and Indigo. The attendant orders were also in jeopardy. Gray was gone, only Umber, Olive, and Tan prevailed.
Society was unraveling.
If this was not the beginnings of Assured Destruction, if the Fellowship of the Holy Fallout survived the coming calamity, they would need to restructure their community. Every remaining asset must be preserved. To that end, He spoke aloud.
“You are discharged from your duties,” He said to the Verger, “until the current crisis has subsided.” Though hesitant, the Verger nonetheless acquiesced. The dismissal was no reflection of his abilities, or a comment on his years of service. His Holiness needed to protect key resources. Simply put, the Verger was invaluable, and as such had to be sequestered for the good of God.
Mendez XXVI would face the apes in the chancel, alone, and He would do so with God as His witness.
“Find shelter,” He said. “Find solace, and go with God.” He then transmitted the same to Albina and Adiposo. They all had to survive.
With a nod and the sign of the Bomb, the Verger withdrew.
* * *
The gorilla army spilled out of the tunnels and into the streets. General Ursus immediately set his troops upon the enemy, massacring them without hesitation. The soldiers weaved their way through the city, door to door, systematically wiping out anyone who was not an ape.
Zaius noted that these beasts seemed to have no weapons or any way of defending themselves. In general, they seemed shocked at the violence the invaders exhibited. Aside from their cleanliness and the gray, tan, and white garb, these targets were no different from the human herds which ravaged Simia.
Zaius, Ursus, and his commanders convened to confer in the rubble of a building that bore a fallen sign.
RADIO CITY
The general’s scouts provided him with a crude map of the surrounding streets.
He’s nothing if not efficient, Zaius admitted.
“Here.” Ursus stabbed the map. “The fort called Grand Central Terminal. Looks most likely to be their nest.”
Zaius indicated the cathedral a few blocks northeast. “What of the house of worship, here?” It was one of the more intact structures.
“No,” Ursus waved him off. “No, judging from what the scouts reported, there’s something important about that place—no question about it. But they saw no signs of fortifications. No, their leaders are most definitely here, where we’ve observed the greatest concentration of the enemy.” He again indicated the fort.
“We’ll split the company into three units,” he continued. “One led by you, Doctor. I’ll take the second. Major Dangral will take the third.” Ursus addressed the map. “The doctor and I will enter the terminal here… and here. Dangral, you come around through this tunnel… here, and set up your position.” Without giving anyone a chance to offer options, Ursus folded the map and tucked it in his armor. He turned to his major.
“We’ll herd them out, and right into your sights.”
Dangral saluted, and Ursus addressed the other commanders. “We clear out the infested terminal, and then on to the church. Sergeant Duignan, you’re with the doctor,” General Ursus barked. “Lieutenant Aurelios, with me. Move out.”
The gorillas moved to assemble their squads.
Ursus still didn’t trust Zaius—that much was apparent. In taking Aurelios with him, the general could have his own ape—Duignan—watch over his adversary. Zaius would have to keep a tight leash on the sergeant.
This also meant that Aurelios could report back to Zaius.
Two can play at this game.
* * *
As Zaius’s and Dangral’s squads moved out, Ursus inspected his own apes. He would only accept the elite in this vanguard. Looking his commandos over, he realized he was proud to go into battle with these gorillas. Then he noticed one in particular.
“Who is this soldier, Lieutenant?” he called while the rest of the apes continued their preparations. The gorilla in question was an awkward and gangly boy—hardly elite material. “Why is he not bringing up the rear?”
Aurelios snapped to. “By order of Dr. Zaius, General, I—”
Zaius? Ursus put up a hand to silence him.
“You, soldier.” He addressed the boy directly. “You answer.”
“Private Jaffe, General—”
Ursus looked away and sighed. “Present arms, Private.”
Jaffe blinked, stood at attention, and held his rifle tall. “Sir!”
“Jaffe…” Ursus walked a bit away. “Security Chief Marcus had a son by that name.”
“He was my father, sir.”
I suspected as much, Ursus thought. “Marcus was a good friend,” he said aloud. “A good friend.” The general turned to face the boy. “Did you know we often used to debate?”
“No, sir.”
“It’s true,” Ursus said. “A very philosophical ape, your father was. We’d discuss whether we should unite all gorillas, or keep the police and military separate. Whether there should be a separation of Church and
State, or have apes be governed by a singular godly vision. Sometimes we’d even question if unity was dangerous, and that keeping things separate maintained a balance of power.”
“Oh no, sir,” Jaffe said firmly. “All gorillas should be as one. Apes together are strong!” Suddenly, Jaffe remembered who he was talking to. “Sir!”
The general grinned.
“Very good, soldier,” Ursus said. “I agree.” He looked the private up and down. “Have you ever killed a human, son?”
“No, sir, not yet, sir!”
“You will.” Ursus nodded. “Today you’ll have your first kill, and revenge for your father’s death.” He remembered the anger. “You’ll have that kill, if I have to hold the beast down myself!” Regaining his composure, he raised a finger. “You mark my words.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“Very well, Private.” Ursus waved him off. “Carry on.”
He smiled as the boy prepared for battle.
“Company,” the general ordered. “Move out.”
* * *
Caught in the open too far from his private shelter, the fat man had been forced to seek refuge. Ducking into an empty building hundreds of yards from Grand Central Terminal, Adiposo received thought projections from mutants in their shelters all along the invaders’ route.
The enemy had penetrated the city and were making their way toward the terminal. It wouldn’t be long before the slobbering apes found him, and he didn’t intend for them to take him in his right mind. Reaching for his snuffbox, Adiposo prepared yet again for Communion.
Then, he thought he heard a thought. It was primitive—more of an emotion than a notion.
It was hate.
“Who’s there?” he blurted out. Embarrassed, he composed himself as much as he could. Who’s there? he sent.
No answer.
Adiposo sighed. This paranoia would be the end of him, he was certain of it.
Then, there was movement—there in his hiding place. As he watched, horrified, a lone gorilla stood up from behind a petrified counter. The creature was no soldier. Instead, it was dressed in tattered rags, its arm bandaged in cloth.
“Remember me?” the ape asked.
Death of the Planet of the Apes Page 33
