Escape From The Planet Of The Apes (6 page)

“Hmm.” The phone was quiet for a long period. Finally Brody spoke into the silence. “I’ll tell you this much, doctor. Those apes may be far more intelligent than we thought. That’s all I’ll say.”

“All right.”

“Anything else? Brody out.” The phone went dead.

Victor Hasslein stretched his long thin arm across the room to return the phone to its cradle. He smiled faintly; the action of his arm resembled that of a machine, as did all his precise gestures. Newsmen sometimes called him that, the human computer, and Victor didn’t despise the title; at least they said human. When he was a boy, he had read story after story about computers taking over earth and making mankind useless. He took them seriously, and he had specialized in science; first in computers, then, when he realized that there was something far more basic, in solid-state physics. He knew what made computers tick. He knew how to program them, and how to destroy them. They would not become man’s masters, not so long as men like Victor Hasslein existed.

But it would take work, he knew. Hard work. It would be very simple to allow the machines to design new machines, to let things become so complex that no human understood them; and then? But he understood them now, and he had the most powerful position of any scientist in the world. He guarded the fortress of civilization: for man.

What of the apes? The thought came unwanted, and Victor Hasslein smiled to himself. Chimpanzees. Apes. Hardly a threat to mankind. No matter how intelligent they were, they remained apes. They could not really think. Like computers, they could only be trained.

It was hot in the small anteroom. In the main theatre of the Los Angeles Federal Building, the Commissioners and their assistants, the press, the curious, and those who had found enough influence to gatecrash, were cramming themselves into a room designed to hold fewer than half that number.

The smell of hundreds of humans packed closely together was making the chimpanzees nervous, and that disturbed Lewis Dixon. He looked at Stevie but she could only shrug helplessly. “Turn up the air conditioning, will you?” Lewis asked.

“Sure, Hon.” Stephanie went to the thermostat by the door. She could hear a low murmur outside: people, a buzz of conversation, no single thought coming through. Just people, in masses. She had always been nervous around masses and crowds, and she thought she knew how the chimpanzees must feel. She turned to put a hand on Zira’s. “You’ll be all right.”

“I hope so.” Zira shuddered. “There are a lot of humans out there—”

“And every one of them can talk intelligently,” Lewis said. “Or thinks he can. And most of them, whether they’re intelligent or not, are certainly influential. You ready?”

Cornelius nodded. So did Zira. Stephanie smiled. “You’ll be great.”

“Remember,” Lewis said. “When I give the cue, start slowly with simple answers to what will certainly be simple questions. Let them get the idea themselves. Don’t just shock them with it.”

“All right,” Cornelius said. He smiled in amusement, and looked at his wife.

“And if the questions become less simple?” Zira asked innocently.

“Just be yourself,” Lewis said.

Cornelius chuckled. He raised his leathery forefinger and shook it at Zira. “Your
better
self, my dear. Please.” They all laughed.

“Dr. Dixon,” a speaker overhead called. “The Commission is ready, Dr. Dixon.”

“Let’s go,” Lewis said. “Stephanie?”

“Right.” They each lifted a chain: Dixon’s was attached to Cornelius’s collar, and Stevie’s to Zira’s. “Sorry about these,” Stevie said. “They weren’t my idea.”

“Nor mine,” Dixon added. “But necessary.”

“Phooh,” Zira snorted. “What do they think we are? Gorillas?”

“Shhh,” Stevie warned. “OK, let’s go.”

The stage was large, and they crossed it carefully. The chimpanzees were dressed; business suit for Cornelius, and a lady’s equivalent, knitted skirt suit and blouse, for Zira. The outfits did not match those of Lewis and Stevie, and the apes were as well dressed as the commissioners.

Four chairs stood at the center of the stage. Lewis led his charges there, and invited them to be seated. Zira and Stephanie sat, after which Cornelius took his seat, then finally Lewis Dixon. They looked around the large hall with curious eyes.

“My fellow commissioners,” Lewis thought. He knew most of them. Victor Hasslein, the president’s pet warthog—but a damned brilliant physicist and general systems analyst all the same. Dr. Radak Hartley, zoologist and Chairman of the Department of Zoology, Harvard, titular Chairman of the Commission, although Lewis knew that to be a joke. Hasslein would have more power than old Hartley. All Hartley’s work, including his Nobel Prize, was done a long time ago.

Cardinal MacPherson. Strange name for a Catholic prelate, Lewis thought. No fool, either. Jesuit. The Jesuits almost dominate the biological sciences. And the others, scientists, lawyers, senators and congressmen.

Beyond the commissioners were seats for other VIP’s. The mayor and city council of Los Angeles. Zoo commissioners. Press people. More congressmen; nearly every local LA state and national legislator had come. Anyone with influence enough to get in was present. There was a murmur of approval from the audience as the chimps sat carefully and watched everything, looked intelligently at everyone. There were also a few nervous glances. These men and women weren’t used to being stared at by anyone, certainly not by apes.

“You may begin,” Dr. Hartley said. “Are you ready, Dr. Dixon?”

“Yes, sir.” Lewis stood and addressed the commissioners, but he kept an eye toward the press people out in the audience. They and the VIP’s were together as important as the Commission—perhaps more so—and it was vital that the chimpanzees get sympathetic treatment.

“My fellow commissioners,” Lewis began. “And ladies and gentlemen. Most of you know me, but allow me to introduce myself anyway.” He saw the cameras above were rolling. The networks hadn’t been permitted in, and these films were going to be enormously valuable. They ought to belong to the chimps—if they didn’t, perhaps they could be used to get some appropriations for UCLA. If Dixon’s department had the money, the chimpanzees would be insured good treatment, even if they legally couldn’t own anything themselves.

“My name is Dr. Lewis Dixon, and I’m a psychiatrist specializing in animal research. I have been in charge of these two apes since they arrived at the Los Angeles Zoological Gardens five days ago. You all know the spectacular way they arrived.”

There were murmurs of agreement and a few laughs. Lewis continued quickly while he still had audience sympathy and curiosity. “The young lady is Dr. Stephanie Branton, my assistant. Between us we have made some amazing discoveries about these apes, and we want to prepare you for a shock. Dr. Branton and I will answer any questions you may care to address to us, but I doubt you’ll have many for us. You see, our chimpanzee friends are perfectly capable of answering for themselves.”

“What . . . Sam, is he serious? . . . You know, I always knew young Dixon was going to flip one day . . . Id-iot . . . Jesus, suppose it’s true?” Lewis heard. There were other murmurs and comments, and a moment of confusion.

“I assure you it is true,” Lewis said. “They will not answer with signs, or looks, or symbols, or anything of that sort. They can talk. As well as you or I.”

That got dead silence. Finally, old Dr. Hartley rose from his seat and stared at Lewis. “Young man, I’ve admired your publications—but that does not give you the right to make jokes here. This is a Presidential Commission of Inquiry, and I have no intention of seeing it become a ventriloquist act!”

“Nor I, sir,” Lewis said quickly. “These apes can speak. Test it for yourself. Ask them something.”

There was nervous laughter, picked up by the audience until everyone was laughing, but it had a hollow quality. Lewis noticed that Victor Hasslein did not even smile.

“I take it,” Dr. Hartley said, “that the one in skirts is female?”

Zira stood and nodded toward the Commission. Hartley frowned. “Did she rise at some cue from you, Dr. Dixon? Or in response to my question?”

“That is for you to decide,” Lewis said.

“I see. You, young, uh, female. Have you a name?” Hartley looked as if he’d been sucking lemons. The thought of addressing questions to a chimpanzee upset him; the thought of having people watch him do it was torture.

“Zira,” Zira answered. She stood, waiting, saying nothing else, as the audience tittered.

“I see,” Hartley said. “Certainly she can articulate. Better, perhaps, than any chimp I have ever heard. But, Dr. Dixon, are we to infer that, uh, ‘Zira’ is her name, or some word or phrase in her own language that indicates affirmative or negative or some such?”

“Again,” Lewis said, “I invite you to find out for yourself, Mr. Chairman. And I assure you that she is capable of answering. Perhaps you phrased the question improperly?”

“Very well. Young female. What
is
your name?”

“Zira.”

“I see. One might as well speak to a parrot. Except that a parrot would answer something else. Polly, perhaps.” Hartley laughed, and the tension broke slightly. Others laughed.

“Polly?” Zira demanded.

There was another outburst of laughter. “Well,” Dr. Hartley said. “The mimic power is very well developed, Dr. Dixon. I assume they have a vocabulary of their own, or you wouldn’t have called it speech. Very well developed mimicry. Unique in an ape. Does the other one talk as well?”

Cornelius stood. “Only when she lets me,” he said carefully.

Zira laughed and reached for Cornelius’s hand.

The audience began to applaud. Dr. Hartley sank to his seat, where he sat and stared evilly at Lewis Dixon. I’ve made no friend in him, Lewis thought. Too bad, but I don’t see how it could have been avoided. I tried to warn him. He looked up to see Dr. Hasslein staring at the chimpanzees.

He knows, Lewis thought. Cornelius’s answer shows everything in one line. Urbane, witty, responsive to a question not directed to him, humor; whatever intelligence is, if you’ve got that much moxy, you’ve got intelligence. Hasslein looks as if he’s swallowed a frog and now has to have at a big spider. What’s so horrible about ape intelligence to him?

Congressman Boyd stood. “Dr. Dixon, what is the male’s name, please.”

“Cornelius. Cornelius, this is Congressman Jason Boyd, of the House Science and Astronautics Committee.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Congressman Boyd,” Cornelius said. “I would offer to shake hands, but the chain is not long enough.”

There was laughter in the room. Nervous laughter. “Yes,” Boyd said. He rubbed his balding, coal black forehead. “May I say that I apologize for the chains? Dr. Dixon, somehow the sight of chained intelligent creatures disturbs me. It brings memories that perhaps you don’t share, nor do I, directly, but—”

“They weren’t my idea, Congressman,” Lewis said.

“Or mine,” Cornelius added. Everyone laughed. “But we understand. Where we come from, apes talk and humans are dumb animals. We shouldn’t care to face such creatures unless they were restrained, and we can hardly blame you for having the same prejudices.”

“Thank you,” Boyd said. “Mister Cornelius, what is your relationship with Zira?”

Zira answered before Cornelius could speak. “He is my lawfully wedded spouse.”

“Hmm.” Heads turned toward Cardinal MacPherson. The elderly Jesuit started. “Please excuse me.”

“Do you find the concept of marriage among apes amusing?” Boyd demanded.

MacPherson chuckled. “Not amusing, Congressman. Startling, perhaps. Intriguing. After all, there are varying degrees of matrimony, at least varying degrees of recognition of the state. I wonder which concept she means—but later, later. Please continue, Mister Boyd.”

Boyd obviously would like to start a fight with the Cardinal, Lewis thought. Wonder why? Maybe the Catholics aren’t too popular in Boyd’s district. Wouldn’t be, now that I think of it. They’re mostly Baptists there. But that’s no call to—

“Mister Cornelius,” Boyd was saying. “Do you or your, uh, wife speak any language other than English?”

Cornelius frowned. “What is English?” he asked. The audience murmured comments Lewis didn’t hear, and Victor Hasslein frantically scribbled notes. “I speak the language taught me by my father and mother,” Cornelius continued. “They were taught it by their fathers and mothers. This has been the language of my ancestors for at least two thousand years. As to its origins—I don’t know. I am surprised to find that
you
speak it. Are there other human languages?”

“Several,” Boyd said drily.

“Now I am curious,” Cardinal MacPherson said. “And surely
you
have curiosity?”

Cornelius nodded. Zira looked at the aged clergyman with interest.

“Did you never wonder where your language came from?” the Cardinal asked. “I, for one, am very curious as to how a single language, English, became universal among your species.”

“Not merely our species, sir,” Cornelius said. “Gorillas and orangutans also speak our language. In fact, the gorillas and orangutans in my community believe—believed—that God created apes in His own image, and that our language was given us by Him.”

The Cardinal is a bit shook by that, Lewis thought. Cagey old bird. Doesn’t show much. But that ought to have got to him. Hasslein’s still making notes. He seemed awfully interested in that hesitation of Cornelius’s. It won’t take him long to figure out where/when they’re from, I suspect.

“Of course, that’s all nonsense, dear,” Zira said firmly.

“I’d expect the Cardinal to second
that
thought,” Congressman Boyd said. He looked puzzled as he examined the apes.

“
I
expect you to leave the theology of the Church to the Church’s theologians,” MacPherson snapped. He turned to the apes. “I would keep that opinion on a tight rein, were I you, Cornelius. There are some Fundamentalists who will find it far more upsetting than I will—”

Zira wasn’t finished. “Chimpanzees are intellectuals,” she said loudly. “And as an intellectual, Cornelius, you know damned well that the gorillas are a bunch of militaristic nincompoops and the orangutans a gaggle of blinkered, pseudoscientific idea-infatuated geese. As to humans, I’ve dissec . . .” she caught herself abruptly. “Excuse me. I have examined thousands of humans and until now I have discovered only two who could talk in my whole life. God knows who taught them.”