Planet of the Apes 03 - Journey into Terror

by George Alec Effinger

  Virdon said nothing about how the horse came to be wounded. He felt that if Greger wanted to talk about that, he would. Virdon contented himself for the present with moving to the horse’s head and taking the reins. He led the horse away, toward the barn. Virdon walked the animal slowly, with Greger and Martin following behind. Before the three humans could get the horse safely into the barn, there was the thunderous sound of horses on the road behind them. They turned to look; Virdon felt his blood run cold a second time as he watched Zandar and his companions, on Greger’s trail, ride into the yard. No one said a word. Zandar got off his horse and handed the reins to one of the other gorillas. He walked to Virdon, who was still holding the reins of the wounded horse.

  “Was it you riding a horse?” asked Zandar fiercely. “Do you deny it?”

  Virdon would not be flustered. He had been in worse situations, and Zandar’s aggressive manner did not impress the astronaut. He remained calm, thinking of bluffing through the situation. “I don’t deny anything,” he said. “This horse has been wounded. It must be taken care of.”

  With those words, Virdon moved as though to continue. He turned his back on Zandar and started forward, urging the horse toward the barn. Greger looked at Martin, but the blacksmith had nothing to suggest. The two humans followed Virdon for a couple of steps, until Zandar stopped them all.

  “Halt!” cried Zandar. “Stop right there, or my guards will shoot you down where you stand. We have plenty of horses. A wounded horse is of no importance to me.” Zandar turned to Zilo. “Arrest him!” he said. “Take him to the village. We’ll have to make an example of him.”

  Zilo nodded. He was clearly pleased at having the chance to harass the humans. He gave Greger an ugly look. “I’ll take the son, too,” he said with an evil grin. “He’s probably guilty, too. We have witnesses in town.”

  “You do not!” cried Martin. He was ignored.

  Zilo jumped down from his horse and moved toward the humans, who still faced the barn. They had not moved since Zandar ordered them to remain still. The other two gorillas dismounted as well, and they seized Virdon. Zilo came toward Greger; the youth stepped forward, holding up a hand. “Let him go,” he said. “I rode the horse.”

  The look on Zilo’s face was terrible to see. There was an evil satisfaction, a fulfilled but horrible longing as he stared at Greger. “So it was you, after all,” said Zilo. “I’m glad of that. I told Zandar that it was you. You may win me a promotion. What do you think about that?”

  Virdon and Martin looked toward the boy. Their feelings were complex and painful. “Greger,” said Virdon pleadingly, “don’t do this just to save my neck.”

  “Please,” said Martin. “He’s young. He meant no harm. There was no other way.”

  There was a moment of silence. It was clear to both Zilo and Zandar that the situation had grown better, for the gorillas. Zilo realized that Martin had given the game away. He nodded to Greger. “His own father confirms it,” said Zilo.

  “Let the other go free,” said Zandar.

  Zilo and a gorilla dragged Greger and threw him on a horse. The two apes tied Greger’s hands and ankles. Virdon was released. Zandar stood apart, overseeing the operation. Finally, Greger was a helpless captive, tossed crosswise across the flanks of the horse, unable to move his arms or legs. Zandar mounted and led the group away, pausing only for one last remark to Martin. “Thank you, old man,” he said. “You will be invited to see the execution as part of the celebration, after the race.” Zandar laughed. The gorillas wheeled their horses and galloped out of the barnyard. Virdon and Martin stared disconsolately after them. There was nothing they could do.

  SIX

  The excitement in the village of Venta grew. Business was concluded and humans and apes went home; the evening meal was eaten in a spirit of anticipation. The day of the race was approaching, and that was for many the high point in an otherwise drab daily existence.

  Night fell, and Greger, now confined to the town’s stocks, was alone in his miserable and hopeless gloom. The night was chilly; no one either cared or dared to take pity on the youth, and Greger passed a night filled with discomfort and sorrow. The next morning dawned, and once again the inhabitants of the village poured forth, eager and curious. Zandar, followed by his ubiquitous shadow, Zilo, swaggered down the single main street of the town. Wherever Zandar went, he was greeted by respectful citizens and humans. Zandar reveled in the recognition. He demonstrated his power upon the innocent bodies of human slaves. Zilo encouraged him and applauded him.

  Zandar reached the stocks and stared for a moment at the imprisoned Greger, locked with his head and hands dangling through the wooden barrier. “Did you sleep well, human?” asked Zandar maliciously.

  “Did you expect me to?” said Greger.

  “That problem should cause you no further concern,” said Zandar, stifling a yawn. “After the race, you’ll have no problem sleeping. Ever again.” The gorilla was pleased by his own wit, but he did not laugh. He waited for Zilo to do that for him. Zandar just stood by and accepted Zilo’s appreciative praise.

  At Martin’s house, the atmosphere was anxious and tense. Martin himself was a grief-numbed man. He tried to work at his anvil, but his concentration was disturbed. His actions were almost reflexive, occupying no part of his thoughts.

  From the hut itself, Virdon and Burke walked toward him. He did not notice them until Virdon spoke. “Galen is recovering fast,” said the astronaut.

  Martin looked up and nodded. It was evident that, as much as he liked his guests, he was not really interested.

  Burke understood the problem. “We want to help Greger,” he said. “We owe him that much.”

  “I could be petty,” said Martin. “A small man would say, ‘You got my son in this terrible trouble.’ I admit, I even thought that last night. But there’s nothing to be done.”

  “There is always something,” said Virdon. “Not until Greger, you, Pete, Galen, and myself are dead is there a time to say that nothing can be done.”

  “If there was any way,” said Martin, “anything, would I be standing here, working for the apes?”

  “We can talk to the prefect,” said Virdon. “Greger rode the horse to save an ape’s life.”

  “The prefect won’t listen to a human,” said Martin morosely.

  “Then we’ll try something else,” said Burke.

  Martin considered the words of the two men. He realized what good friends they were, to him; a few days before, they had been total strangers. Now, they were virtually offering up their lives in an effort to help him. “I don’t want you harmed,” he said. “You can’t help Greger.”

  “We’ll just go into town and look around,” said Virdon. “That would be the first step in any event. We need to gather information. We don’t even know where Zandar took your son. Venta isn’t a special production area, is it? We don’t need special identification?”

  Martin shook his head, unable to become enthusiastic over the astronauts’ offer of aid. He had lived in the area too long, he knew what kind of trouble they were courting. “The new prefect, Barlow,” he said. “He lets humans come and go freely.”

  “Barlow?” asked Burke.

  Virdon looked at his friend thoughtfully; the name Barlow had registered on his memory as well as Burke’s. Neither of them could place it immediately, however. Virdon was about to ask Martin some more questions, trying to pin down the identity of the prefect, but he was interrupted.

  “Barlow?” came Galen’s voice, unsteady but much improved. Virdon and Burke turned to see the chimpanzee walking slowly toward them. His movements were still a bit wobbly, but his expression and manner were cheerful. He had returned to his place as a member of their team.

  Virdon walked toward Galen, happy that the ape was feeling better but still concerned for his recovery. “You’re supposed to stay in bed. You remember what Martin said. The serum has done its job, and the rest is up to your body. You should be resting quietly.�
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  Galen looked scornfully at Virdon. “I am quiet,” he said. “At least, I’m as quiet as I ever am.”

  “You were a lot quieter yesterday,” said Burke. “After you passed out.”

  Galen ignored that. He turned his attention to Martin instead. “Was this Barlow the prefect at Cela before he came here?” he asked.

  Martin thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “I think he was.”

  “I thought so,” said Galen.

  Burke interrupted him. “I know what you’re thinking, Galen, my furry friend. But we can talk to him as well as you can. You turn around, head back for the house, and climb back into the sack.”

  “You only think you know what I’m thinking,” said Galen.

  “I’m a match for any sick Galen any day of the week,” said Burke.

  “Barlow is my friend,” said Galen. “He’ll listen to me.”

  “We’ll tell him we’re delivering your message,” said Virdon. “We’ll say that you’re too weak from the scorpion bite to come.”

  “A great idea,” said Burke.

  “A terrible idea,” said Galen.

  “Do you have something better?” asked Virdon.

  “To make it more convincing,” said Galen, “I’ll come along and faint in his presence.”

  “Very funny!” said Burke, shaking his head. “Galen, I wonder how you got along without us before we met.”

  “As I recall,” said the chimpanzee, “life seemed a lot less complicated.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Burke.

  Martin had listened to their banter, and in it somewhere he saw a small glimmer of hope. “Is Barlow really your friend?” he asked. “Would he listen to you? Might he save Greger?” The note of pleading in the man’s voice was terribly poignant, and his three guests were each moved by compassion.

  Galen dropped the light tone he had adopted with Burke, and turned seriously to Martin. “I’ll do what I can, I promise you that,” he said. “You have to remember that we’re fugitives. I don’t know how much my request will be honored.” Galen turned to the astronauts again. “Let’s be on our way,” he said.

  Burke stared openmouthed. He turned to his friend but he couldn’t say anything for a moment. Virdon felt the same thing. “He’s stubborn as a . . . as a—” the blond man had difficulty coming up with a proper comparison.

  “He’s stubborn as an ape!” said Burke.

  Virdon decided to give his argument one last try. “Galen,” he said, “be reasonable. Venta is five miles from here. You’re just not strong enough to walk that far.”

  “You have enough trouble when you’re perfectly healthy,” said Burke. Galen only glared.

  “An ape of my wealth and position, with two human servants, doesn’t walk,” said the young chimpanzee. He adopted a snobbish air. Neither Burke nor Vindon understood what he was hinting at; the two men only looked at each other and shrugged. Galen continued. “May I borrow a horse, Martin?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes!” said Martin.

  “Fine, then,” said Galen, still pretending to be a rich and bored ape from Central City. “You two walk. Maintain a respectful distance behind my horse. After all, even though I enjoy your company, I have to keep up discipline. You humans would be running all over otherwise. It would be chaos.”

  Virdon and Burke could only exchange looks. Galen loved to play roles; now, though, it seemed necessary. To the two astronauts, it was a tiresome repetition. Whenever Galen played a role, Burke and Virdon also played roles. And they were always the same roles. Slaves.

  Some time later, Galen rode into the village on a horse, with Virdon and Burke following meekly on foot, as slaves. Virdon spotted something and gave a small nudge to Burke, who followed his stare. They saw Martin’s son, Greger, locked cruelly in the town’s stocks. Galen gave no sign that he recognized the youth, but that was consistent with the role that the chimpanzee was playing. As they passed, Greger saw them and recognized his father’s friends. He almost called out to them.

  Virdon could see that Greger, in his fatigue and loneliness, was about to spoil their deception. He felt sorry for the youth, but for the eventual success of their plan, there could be no connection between Greger and the ape and his “slaves.” Virdon made a surreptitious gesture to keep Greger from attracting attention. Greger closed his mouth without saying anything, and Galen rode on, past the boy. Virdon and Burke followed, acting as though they had never seen Martin’s son before in their lives. The three fugitives approached the house of the prefect; it had been described to them in detail by the blacksmith.

  Inside, in the office, Prefect Barlow sat at his desk, working. Although the time of the race was rapidly drawing near, the prefect still had the daily routines to follow. The inner door opened, and Barlow, glad of the interruption, looked up to see who it was. His aide, Dath, entered.

  “There’s someone to see you, sir,” said Dath.

  “Who?” asked Barlow.

  “He didn’t give a name, sir.”

  “If he doesn’t have an appointment,” said Barlow, “I’m too busy.”

  Dath persisted. “He says he’s a friend from Cela.”

  Barlow stopped his writing. The name of the prefect’s home village brought a thoughtful expression to his face. He puzzled over the identity of his visitor for a moment, then gestured to Dath to admit the person. Dath stepped back through the doorway. “Please come in,” said the human assistant.

  Dath stepped aside as Galen, followed by the two astronauts, crossed the threshold into Barlow’s office.

  “Thank you,” said Galen importantly. “That will be all. Prefect Barlow will want to speak to me in private.” Dath understood what Galen meant, and closed the door on his way out.

  Barlow immediately recognized Galen and the two humans. He was delighted to have a visit from them, and rose from his chair. He started across the floor toward them, a friendly greeting on his lips, but at the last moment he restrained himself. He waited for a few seconds until he heard Dath closing the outer door; evidently Dath knew when his presence was no longer required, and took the opportunity to go out on some errand of his own.

  “It is better that your aide not know who we are,” said Galen. “This isn’t Cela, after all.”

  “Galen!” cried Barlow, confident that he wouldn’t be overheard. “What are you doing here? You must be mad!”

  “Of course,” said Galen, smiling. “But nonetheless, I had to see you. It was only good luck that you’re prefect here.”

  “I see,” said Barlow, a little of his enthusiasm dropping away. To the prefect, it was the same old story, one that he had experienced too often, first in Cela, then in Venta. He registered his disappointment that the visit was not purely social, that it had been proven once again that no one ever loved a prefect for himself alone. Barlow moved back behind his desk, behind the official symbol of his power and authority. He stood for a moment, uncomfortably shuffling papers on the desk, staring down at the petty matters that were his life. Then he looked up again at Galen. He sighed; then he sat down and folded his hands on the desk top. “I take it that you’re in trouble again,” he said.

  “No,” said Galen, “we’re not.”

  “But a friend of ours is,” said Virdon.

  “Trouble follows you three,” said Barlow. “Or else you drag it around. Who is it? What kind of trouble?”

  “A human,” said Burke. “For riding a horse.”

  Barlow rubbed his forehead and sat back wearily. The day had barely begun, and already he was faced with a difficult problem. It seemed that people always came to him expecting that he could pardon their friends and relatives from the most heinous crimes. “Oh, that one,” he said finally, looking from Galen to Burke to Virdon. “I know the case. Yesterday, wasn’t it? He’s in the stocks now. That was Zandar’s doing. I’m not one for locking someone up in those torture devices, myself.”

  “He’s a good boy,” said Virdon.

  “I don’t doubt it,
” said Barlow. “Young Greger. It’s a pity that he’s your friend.” Barlow shook his head with finality. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “But he saved my life!” cried Galen.

  “What do you mean, there’s nothing you can do?” asked Burke.

  Barlow looked at Burke silently for a long moment. He wished that the impetuous human could trade places with the prefect, just for an hour. “I meant what I said,” murmured Barlow.

  “Galen was bitten by a scorpion,” said Burke. “He would have died if Greger hadn’t come into town for the serum. It’s that simple. He broke a law to save an ape’s life.”

  Virdon came up to Barlow’s desk. “He did it for one of your own kind!” he said. “It isn’t as though Greger stole a horse to go joy-riding around the countryside. This case has too many extenuating circumstances to let the boy die.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Barlow. “I’m helpless against Zandar.”

  “If you explained the situation to Zaius—” said Virdon.

  Barlow interrupted him. “Do you want me to appeal to Zaius on the grounds that Greger saved the life of an outlaw?”

  Burke was becoming impatient. The meeting was not going as he had expected that it would. “You wouldn’t have to tell Zaius that,” he said.

  “You don’t know,” said Barlow. “A case like this, I have reports, documents, things that have to be filled out and filed . . .”

  “You could get around all of that if you tried,” said Virdon.

  “Don’t you think I’d like to?” asked Barlow, with genuine anguish in his voice. “Do you think I enjoy watching justice and decency ignored in favor of order and paperwork?”