Planet of the Apes 03 - Journey into Terror

by George Alec Effinger

  Behind the stands, almost unable to see the race at all, a small crowd of humans stood by quietly. Among them was a very tall, muscular black man, who was by occupation a blacksmith in the human settlement nearby. These humans were not permitted to gather idly and watch; they were guarded closely by an armed gorilla at all times.

  On the spectator stand, Urko watched the nervous prefect almost as often as he turned his eyes to the thundering horses. He cast an amused smile on the prefect. “Relax,” said Urko. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. You’re an intelligent ape.”

  It was abundantly clear to Urko that the prefect would have liked to relax, but it was just as evident that the chimpanzee couldn’t. “Yes, Urko,” said the prefect unhappily.

  “After all,” said the general, “it’s only a horse race.”

  “Yes,” said the prefect, “with half my horses and half my land bet on the outcome.”

  “Think how rich you’ll be if you win,” said Urko.

  “If,” said the prefect, muttering to himself. He cursed his greed and the circumstances that had almost forced him to enter this foolish race. There was so much risk for the country prefect, and so little for the powerful Urko. “If,” said the prefect, louder. “If!” For another few seconds the prefect added up all of his wealth that he had put on the race. Then he tried to imagine what life would be like without it. That thought made him lose control momentarily. “You insisted on the race,” he cried. “You made the arrangements. You demanded the bet! Have you ever lost a race to a prefect?”

  Urko ignored the outrage of the chimpanzee, preferring, in the generosity of assured success, to forgive the prefect for his breach in manners. Urko had rarely been more supremely confident. “I will admit that I have been lucky,” said the general. “But there’s always a first time . . .”

  The crashing hoofbeats drowned out his final words. Everyone’s attention was drawn entirely back to the race. The two horses jumped a log barrier and pounded on toward the finish line. The gorilla-ridden horse, Urko’s, was slightly in the lead. The two horses neared a spot in the road beside which grew a large tree. The horses sped closer to the tree, the prefect’s horse on the tree side of the road. The prefect’s horse was still a bit behind Urko’s horse, but close enough to make the ultimate victor unsure in the spectators’ minds. The prefect began to gather confidence, too. As Urko said, there was always a first time . . .

  As the horses passed beneath the overhanging limbs of the tree, a gorilla hidden in the leafy boughs waited, carefully appraising the proper moment to perform his duty. He held one of the smaller branches, twisted back under tension. The gorilla was hidden from both the jockeys and the spectators by the foliage. At the critical moment, the gorilla loosed the branch which he was holding. It whipped away and down.

  The freed branch slammed painfully into the face of the rider of the prefect’s horse, the chimpanzee. The poor jockey was almost thrown from the back of his mount. Frantically, the chimpanzee grabbed blindly at the horse’s mane, trying to keep himself from falling to the ground and injuring, possibly killing, himself. The horse was confused and frightened as well, with the branch whistling above its head and the rider on its back sliding and kicking. The horse was thrown off its stride; in a reflex action by the chimpanzee, the horse pulled up and slowed. Urko’s horse charged ahead, gaining an insurmountable lead. At last, the prefect’s horse was brought under control. Its jockey, frustrated, still kicked up the horse again and took off in pursuit of the other.

  The reactions of the spectators were mixed. Those who had bet on the prefect’s horse were disappointed. To them it had appeared that some accident or faulty riding had lost the race for sure. Urko and the prefect watched and waited. Urko stared at the horses, almost oozing satisfaction with the way things were happening. “There!” he cried, pointing at his horse as it neared the finish line. “Ah, well, my friend. Better luck next year.” The prefect watched the horses approaching, his whole attitude eloquent of his sagging spirits.

  The attention of all the apes was commanded by the two horses, as they closed the distance between them and the finish line. There was no talking among the spectators on the raised platform. They watched Urko’s horse, with its commanding lead. The race seemed as good as finished, until the gorilla-ridden horse suffered an accident. The apes saw the horse break stride slightly, and then stumble. The observers with better eyesight saw a horseshoe skidding through the dust, and Urko’s horse favoring its lame leg. The distance between the two horses closed, as the prefect’s jockey had never given up hope.

  On the reviewing stand, there was a complete reversal of attitudes. Urko, who had previously been so sure of himself and arrogantly confident, now fumed helplessly. He was furious. The prefect looked off toward the horses, hardly believing what his eyes were telling him.

  Urko’s horse was limping severely now, unable to regain the quick pace it had set before, despite the cruel and vicious punishment it received from its jockey. The prefect’s horse took advantage of the situation, passing on the outside of the lame horse and thundering by.

  On the stand, Urko watched in a black, silent rage. The gorilla guards with him knew what kind of things happened when Urko worked himself into that mood. They were afraid. The prefect, meanwhile, was oblivious to Urko’s anger; he was ecstatic. The prefect’s horse crossed the finish line and won the race. A short time later, Urko’s injured horse followed. The beast was pulled to a halt by its gorilla jockey.

  The prefect couldn’t contain his joy. He had won; he had put up most of his worldly possessions on the race, and he had multiplied them when it seemed a hopeless situation. He turned to Urko. “You were right,” he said happily. “There is a first time!”

  “Shut up,” said Urko, growling.

  While this short conversation took place, the two jockeys handed their reins to volunteer grooms. The gorilla came up to the raised platform. It was obvious that the jockey was frightened. “The horse threw a shoe,” he said in a quavering voice.

  Urko turned to the uniformed gorilla named Zandar. “Who shod my horse?” he asked.

  Zandar thought for a moment, knowing the fate that Urko had in store for the unlucky person. Still, there was no way to avoid Urko’s command. Zandar pointed into the small huddle of humans, at the tall blacksmith. The man saw what was happening and began to back away in fear.

  Urko seemed almost bored. “Kill him,” he murmured to Zandar.

  Zandar nodded briefly, then turned to the gorilla guards on the platform. He whispered to two of them, and they in turn nodded. They went down the steps and into the crowd of humans. The blacksmith was clearly afraid. The gorillas grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away. Urko watched, frowning. He turned again to Zandar. “There are some things I want you to understand,” said the general in a low voice. “First, have that animal shod for the next race. That will be in the village of Venta. Second, understand that if this happens again, I’ll not only kill the blacksmith, I’ll kill you as well.”

  Zandar stared at Urko without expression. “Yes, Urko,” he said. He moved away to comply with the gorilla’s instructions.

  There was the sound of a long-handled shovel reaching into the heat of the furnace, shuffling the coals around. The man holding the handle of the tool scooped up a white-hot iron horseshoe and pulled it from the flames. He transferred it to an anvil, where he began pounding the iron into shape with a heavy hammer. The sound of iron on iron filled the small room. The smell of the furnace choked the air. It was a pleasant, honest, hard-working man who labored there, and the shop itself reflected these good qualities. The isolated blacksmith establishment was operated by a human named Martin, about forty years old. He enjoyed the ringing of the hammer on the anvil. He loved the tangy smell of the furnace. When he wasn’t working, he missed the waves of heat that rolled over him from the banked coals. He hammered the horseshoe, his face dripping with sweat, his expression happy and serene. He was doing what he
loved, and he was doing it well.

  Nearby, Alan Virdon stood, soothing a horse tied to a post just inside the open front of the blacksmith shop. Pete Burke operated the bellows to heat the fire.

  “It isn’t necessary that you work for the little food I’ve given you,” said Martin. “I know my hospitality is poor, but I’m a poor man.”

  Burke laughed. “In this world, is there any other kind?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t necessary that you give us food, either,” said Virdon, smiling. “You could have sent us away hungry.”

  Martin was not accustomed to such generosity of spirit. He experienced it rarely; certainly never from the apes who ruled the province, and only on widely separated and memorable occasions like this, from his fellow humans.

  Virdon led the horse to Martin, who had completed the horseshoe and was ready to fix it to the animal’s hoof. Against one wall, in the shadow of the furnace, sat Martin’s son, a boy of sixteen. His name was Greger. He sat with Galen; they conversed in animated tones. Greger spoke in a mixture of curiosity, respect, and veiled defiance. While he talked, he braided a whip out of lengths of leather.

  “I’ve never in my life spoken to an ape before,” said Greger, as Galen took the whip from him and braided for a few moments.

  “Really?” asked Galen.

  “Well,” said Greger, “I mean, they’ve talked at me, and given me orders, things like that. But never just like you and I are talking. Saying things you feel like saying.”

  Galen laughed. He could understand what the young human was thinking. “Would you believe that it was years before I talked to a human? Except for giving orders.”

  Greger shook his head. “Why should apes give orders?” he asked. “Why must we obey?”

  “There are two answers,” said Galen. “There is my answer, and the one you’d get from the gorilla police. Mine isn’t enforced, and the police have bullets behind theirs, so you’d better accept the police answer.”

  Suddenly, Galen stopped speaking. He looked up, a frown on his face. He sat motionless for a few seconds, listening. Then he cried, “Alan! Pete!”

  Virdon and Burke reacted violently to Galen’s call. They had come to rely on him in their travels. He had proven time and again that their senses were much duller than his; they needed the chimpanzee to warn them of danger. “Horses,” he said softly. Greger and Martin watched. They, like the two astronauts, could hear nothing yet. Martin looked at Virdon; the blond man nodded. Just then the sound of hoofbeats came clearly to the humans.

  “You’ll be safe behind the barn,” said Martin.

  “Come on,” said Burke, as the two humans and their chimpanzee friend hurried out of the blacksmith shop.

  Along the narrow, tree-shaded road that led from Zandar’s garrison to the shop, two mounted gorilla’s rode. One of the apes was Zandar, the other an armed patrol guard. They were not riding fast, because they led Urko’s race horse, which limped behind them. They stopped in front of Martin’s place.

  Martin came out of his shop, wiping his hand on his apron. He raised one hand to shield his eyes against the sun and looked up at the two gorillas. Greger had moved to his father’s side. Together, they waited for the apes to speak. Martin’s attitude and posture were very deferential, but Greger’s was less so.

  Zandar dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to his gorilla companion. Then Zandar took the reins of Urko’s horse and approached Martin. “This is General Urko’s favorite horse,” said Zandar importantly. “The animal has thrown a shoe. Otherwise, it seems to be unhurt.”

  Martin nodded. “I’ll take care of him well, sir,” he said.

  Zandar laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “Of course you will,” he said. “If you want to go on living. I’ll be back tomorrow. If you’ve done a bad job, I won’t risk Urko’s anger by telling him about you. I’ll have you killed myself.”

  Martin’s face paled under the threat. Shoeing a horse wasn’t a difficult job, under normal circumstances. But even a workman with the experience of Martin could have doubts when presented with Zandar’s threat. “Yes, sir,” said Martin hoarsely.

  Zandar turned, his business with the humans temporarily at an end. He mounted his own horse again; the two gorillas were about to ride off, when the patrol guard raised a hand. Zandar stopped, curious, while the guard addressed Greger. “There have been eyewitness accounts of a young human riding a horse near here,” said the guard.

  Greger stared at the guard unflinchingly. The youth knew the severe penalty for any human caught riding a horse. And Greger knew that, as the son of a blacksmith, he was a prime candidate for those charges. But his words were unwavering, and his voice strong as he answered. “A human riding a horse?” he said in mock surprise. “He must be crazy. Why would anyone take a chance on being shot, just to ride a horse?”

  “Come along, Zilo,” said Zandar impatiently. “We’re wasting time bickering with these humans.”

  The guard prepared to ride off, but he had a final word to speak to Greger. “Perhaps this young human is crazy, as you say,” said Zilo. “In any case, he’ll be dead if he’s caught.”

  Zilo nodded to Zandar, and the two gorillas kicked up their mounts and rode off in the direction they had come. Greger stared after them for a moment in silent thought. Then he took the reins of Urko’s horse from his father and led the horse toward the corral. Martin, concerned over Zilo’s warning, hurried after his son.

  “Greger!” he cried. “It’s just as I’ve been warning you myself. You’ve been seen. Worse than that, someone has reported you to the police. Son, how many times do I have to repeat it? It’s death for a human to ride a horse. The next time, those gorillas might come here bringing me your dead body. What will I do then?”

  Greger dismissed his father’s worries with a wave of his hand. “Father,” he said, “being seen is not being caught. There is no proof that the gorilla’s report meant me. It could be someone else. Don’t worry, Father. I’m careful.”

  Martin shook his head. He wished that he could get Greger to see how terrible the situation might become. It didn’t seem worth it to Martin. He wore a worried expression and moved away from the corral, deep in thought.

  Greger was at the age when he believed that he could govern himself without interference from parent or police. Of course, Martin was very rarely stern with the boy. Martin remembered what it had been like when he was that age. Still, it seemed to him that Greger was not as wise as the boy liked to think he was.

  Martin approached the barn, behind which Virdon, Burke, and Galen were still hiding. He called out softly. “It’s all right,” he said. “They’ve gone.”

  Around the corner of the barn was a tall pile of firewood. Virdon, Burke, and Galen had crouched behind it. They had not seen the gorillas or heard the conversation. Now, at Martin’s call, they stood up. Virdon and Burke walked toward Martin, with Galen behind.

  Martin was still worried about his son, but these guests had become friends in the short time they had known Martin. The blacksmith did not want to burden them with his own worries, so he tried to suppress his concern. “The apes weren’t after you,” he said. “It was something about a horse that had—” Martin was interrupted by a shrill scream.

  The cry had come from nearby, behind Virdon and Burke. They turned to look, and they saw Galen. The chimpanzee was on the ground, crawling toward them. He was looking over his shoulder at something; when he turned to face the astronauts, Galen’s face registered terror.

  Neither Virdon nor Burke could understand what had so horrified Galen. They ran toward him and followed his pointing finger. They saw an evil-looking scorpion crawling away from the pile of firewood, close to where Galen had crouched. “Look at that thing,” muttered Virdon.

  Burke was bending down, trying to get some coherent words from the frightened chimpanzee. “All right,” said the dark-haired man, “What happened?”

  Galen was still too much in shock to speak plainly
. Burke knelt beside him, and Virdon joined him.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Virdon.

  Galen was too weak to answer. He pointed, back in the direction of the woodpile, then collapsed completely. Virdon stood and went to look again. The insect was gone. Virdon looked at Burke, and both men were becoming greatly alarmed.

  “What is it?” asked Martin, who still did not know what the cause of the confusion was. He hurried to Virdon’s side, by the woodpile. He had never before been concerned about an ape, but this friendly chimpanzee was evidently a companion of the two men.

  “It was a tiger scorpion,” said Galen at last. His voice was weak and barely audible. “I tried to get away from it without making any noise. I didn’t want the gorillas to hear me.”

  “I should have warned you that there were scorpions near the barn here,” said Martin regretfully.

  Virdon hurried back to his friend. Burke looked up at Virdon, and suddenly the seriousness of the situation dawned on both of them. Burke ripped the leg of Galen’s trousers, having a difficult time with the heavy leather. Virdon prepared to apply first-aid.

  Galen tried to raise his arm, to make a gesture, but discovered that he couldn’t. He only croaked out a couple of words. “No use,” he said.

  Burke looked frightened. He didn’t like the tone of Galen’s voice. “What do you mean, ‘no use’?”