by Titan Books
For the moment, Arn didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded. Kraik looked around distrustfully. He was on unfamiliar ground, outside of the city.
“Tomar’s brother—what was his name?” asked Virdon.
“Durlin,” said Arn.
Virdon nodded to Burke and Galen, who immediately headed for the farm as Virdon, Arn, and Kraik watched them for a moment. Kraik looked around uncomfortably. “It’s so quiet,” he said.
“Peaceful,” said Arn.
“You do feel all right coming back here?” asked Virdon.
Arn nodded. “Yes. It’s different, now,” she said. “I can’t explain. Maybe because Kraik’s with me, maybe because I’m not alone, inside myself.”
“Why don’t you stay with us?” asked Kraik, looking up at Virdon.
Virdon hesitated. He made no reply.
“He can’t,” said Arn.
“Why?” asked Kraik.
Arn shrugged, resigned to the situation.
Virdon looked at them both. “You’ll like it here,” he said. “You, too, Kraik. You’ll get plenty to eat.”
“Every day?” asked Kraik, unbelieving.
Virdon grinned. “If you behave yourself.” He glanced off in the direction of the farmhouse. Burke and Galen stepped into view with Durlin, the farmer, and were evidently hitting it off all right. Burke signalled “okay” back to Virdon.
Arn, Kraik, and Virdon saw Burke’s signal. The blond astronaut held out his right hand to Kraik and they shook. “There are two times to shake hands,” said Virdon. “When strangers meet, and when friends say goodbye.”
Virdon put his arm around both Arn and Kraik. “God bless you both,” he said emotionally.
Arn took Kraik’s hand and led him off toward the farm, leaving Virdon alone, watching. Burke and Galen moved away from Durlin, coming back toward Virdon. Durlin took a step to go with them but stopped. At that moment, Arn and Kraik moved into the scene. Burke and Galen smiled at the two and continued walking. Durlin embraced Arn, while Kraik stood by, still slightly uncomfortable.
Galen and Burke joined Virdon by the bridge. They watched until Arn, Kraik, and Durlin had walked out of sight. Virdon was deeply preoccupied. Burke tapped him gently on the shoulder to pull him from his reverie. Virdon nodded, and the three friends prepared to move off. Burke glanced at the rifle he carried, and shrugged ruefully. “Love to keep this,” he said.
“Any ape that sees you with a gun, though—!” said Galen.
“Yeah,” said Burke. “Instead of shooting at a target, I’d be one!” He chucked the rifle into the stream. Virdon paused for a final look at the farm. He showed satisfaction at Arn’s safety, tinged with a small regret. He shrugged then, and gestured to the others that they all start off. They had a long way to travel.
THE HORSE RACE
5
Galen, Burke, and Virdon had no destination in mind. They rarely did. Sometimes in their travels they made friends who suggested others who might be hospitable. But more often, the three fugitives took their chances with luck and fate, keeping their eye open to danger and taking no unnecessary risks.
But sometimes, even caution was little defense against what the forces of destiny planned for them.
The road from Durlin’s farm ran along pleasant, shady hills, through fresh fields and quiet forests. The skies varied from deep blue to black and stormy. The terrain changed from the soft floor of the woods to the stony, painful footing of a rocky hillside. But these things were details that the two humans and the chimpanzee gladly accepted as part of their burden. They were predictable and natural. It was only the actions and thoughts of human beings and apes that could not be relied upon.
* * *
Along a country road, dusty with the brown layer that spoke of too little rain in recent weeks, ran a ditch, shallow and choked with dead yellow weeds. The ditch was a drainage channel, but it had been a long while since any water had run off the road and collected there.
The road was being used on this particular afternoon. The sun beat down, almost directly overhead. The air was still and stifling. But none of those gathered along the side of the road seemed to notice, although the individuals, all apes, wore heavy leather garments over their thick, shaggy coats of hair. Two horses, one ridden by a gorilla and the other ridden by a chimpanzee, were racing along the road. The horses and their riders were decorated with colors; these were, in the case of the horses, ribbons woven through the manes of the beasts. Their jockeys wore matching sashes that crossed their bodies from shoulder to waist. The riders were not armed, and they crouched over the necks of the horses in familiar racing fashion.
A wooden platform had been constructed the day before to accommodate the simian spectators of the race. Behind it stood a country garrison of gorilla patrol guards. The viewing stand had been put together hastily by these guards of General Urko’s army, and the unimaginative gorillas had not decorated it in any way. There were no seats. The platform was flat, raised, with a railing built around it to keep the spectators from falling. In the front, at the best place to view the race, stood Urko himself, along with the local prefect, a chimpanzee. They both squinted against the sun, trying to get a better view of the race. Just in front of them on the road was the finish line. Urko seemed very confident, and joked and boasted with the prefect and with the other gorillas, chimpanzees, and orangutans who had been invited to join him. Beside Urko, the prefect stood quite a bit more nervously. He did not share Urko’s confidence and easy manner; in fact, the prefect was enormously anxious. The uniformed gorillas behind Urko were enjoying the respite from their military duties. One of these, named Zandar, was speaking in confidential tones to a chimpanzee; the chimpanzee pointed down the road, where the racing horses were raising clouds of dust. Zandar stopped speaking, checked his money pouch, and turned his attention to the race.
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 h
orses 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 hoses 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 oh 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 gorillas 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.
