Escape from the Planet of the Apes - Pournelle Jerry - Страница 29

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TWENTY

“You’re taking a big chance, Armando,” Lewis Dixon said. “Why?”

The circus owner shrugged. “What have they done to deserve death? Imprisonment? Their baby killed? Come, it is nearly time. Stephanie is waiting for you.”

They walked quickly through the circus yards. “In that cage we have Heloise, and her daughter Salome. Our last maternity in this circus. We have had more chimpanzees born here than you have in your Los Angeles Zoo!”

They reached the infirmary tent. “Cornelius!” Armando said. “I told you to wait in my caravan.”

“I had to see Lewis. I didn’t mean to kill that boy, Lewis. I didn’t—”

“I believe you,” Lewis said.

“But will the others? While I waited, I had the most horrible thoughts. Nightmares, but I was fully awake. I thought—that humans would demand the life of my child in exchange for the orderly. I want them to take mine instead.”

“Nonsense,” Armando said. “No one will die for that boy. There was an accident. A very bad thing, but no one should die for it. Now go and wait for us. It is nearly time.”

Stevie looked out through the tent flap. “Yes, hurry, Lewis. Armando. Please.”

“We’re coming,” Lewis said. “Wait here, if you can’t go to Armando’s caravan. But stay out of sight.”

“My people may be trusted,” Armando said.

“Perhaps. But they can’t go to jail for what they don’t know. Or they’ll be less likely to, anyway,” Lewis said. “Now let’s deliver that baby.”

Again Cornelius was alone. He went to the other cage and looked inside. The chimpanzee whimpered at him, and clutched its baby protectively.

“Confused, aren’t you?” Cornelius said. He used soothing tones, knowing the chimpanzee couldn’t speak. “An ape, like you, but wearing clothes, and speaking. Well, you needn’t worry about it. Your child won’t speak. But she’s a fine one, anyway . . .” He paced again, waiting, and it seemed to be hours before he heard a cry from the infirmary.

He rushed to the entrance, but no one came out. He heard more cries from inside, and voices, low, urgent. What was happening? He was reaching for the tent flap when it opened and Stephanie came out.

She smiled. “It’s a boy. A fine healthy one, so far as I can tell. And Zira’s all right. Everything is fine, Cornelius.”

He looked around at the shabby circus wagons, and remembered the soldiers searching for him in the dark. “Sure,” he said. “Everything’s fine.”

Zira lay under blankets on a bed in one of the circus caravans. The baby suckled as she cradled it in her arms.

“What will we call him?” Cornelius asked.

“Milo,” Zira said firmly.

“Milo. Yes, certainly,” he said. “Are you sure you feel all right?”

“I’m fine, Cornelius. But what are we going to do now?”

“Armando goes on tour in a month. We stay with him. Where better for apes to hide than in a circus?” Cornelius said. “We can help him train the others. We can even be performers, so long as we’re careful not to appear too intelligent.”

“It’s not much of a life,” Zira said. “Wouldn’t it be better to go back, now?”

“How?” Cornelius asked. “Even if they would forgive us for the orderly, the Commission gave orders for—for our child to be aborted, and for us to be sterilized.”

“What?” She clutched the infant closer to her. “Savages!”

“They believe they are protecting their race. Would we act differently? I didn’t hesitate to hit that boy over the head—”

“Stop torturing yourself.”

“Yes. Anyway, you see that going back is impossible. And even if we could, we would have to tell where we have been, and Armando would be punished.”

“Then we can’t go back,” Zira said. “We’ll have to stay with Armando. Forever.”

Victor Hasslein’s office had become a command post. It was lined with maps, and his three telephones would reach, through the switchboards in the lobby, every law enforcement unit in Southern California. He stabbed out a cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and looked up at Lewis Dixon in desperation. “She couldn’t have had more than two weeks to go before giving birth, could she?”

Dixon shrugged. “I’d say less time. Certainly no more.”

“Then that definitely limits where they could go.”

“I wonder,” Amalfi said. “It’s been thirty-six hours, Dr. Hasslein. They could be anywhere now.”

“You are implying that someone helped them. Some traitor to the human race drove them away from here.”

Amalfi shrugged.

“I don’t believe it,” Hasslein said. “But—it’s worth checking out.” He lifted a telephone. “Major, find out what automobiles left here on the first night of the escape—and have those automobiles examined by the crime laboratory people. They are to search for signs that chimpanzees traveled in the cars.” He laid the phone in its cradle. “Where? Where would apes go?”

“To other apes?” Amalfi said aloud.

Hasslein looked up with a frown. Then he nodded slowly. “Of course!” He lifted the telephone again. “Major Osgood! Have all units begin a systematic search of every zoo, veterinary office, circus, menagerie—anyplace that would normally shelter apes. Begin with Orange County and then spread out to Los Angeles and San Diego.” He paused a moment.

“Yes, Osgood,” Hasslein said. “All of them. Ask for permission to search, first. If they won’t cooperate because you ask them, remind them that they probably want research grants and this is a federal matter. Tell them the IRS can look into their books. And if that doesn’t get you permission to search, we’ll have a federal judge standing by to issue search warrants . . . Right. Immediately.” He laid the phone down again. “That, gentlemen, may just do it.”

It took Lewis ten minutes to find an excuse to leave Hasslein’s office. He got coffee from a machine in the lobby, and went to a pay telephone when he was sure no one was watching. The phone rang and rang, and he was afraid no one was answering. Finally someone did.

“Stevie?” he asked hopefully.

“Lewis? Darling, are you all right? You sound so—”

“No time,” he said. “Hasslein’s ordered a search of all circuses and menageries. You won’t have long, they’re starting in Orange County. You’ve got to get the apes out of there!”

“But where?” she asked.

“I’ll think of something—just get them out of Armando’s, fast. Take them north, toward Laguna. I’ll meet you at that coffee house south of Laguna. The place where we had lunch last month.”

“Right. I’m on my way.”

“I love you, Stevie.”

‘Yes. Lewis—will it be all right? Can we save them?”

“I wish I knew. We’ll try. I love you.”

“Yes. That helps. I’m going now. I love you too, Lewis.” She hung up the pay phone and left the booth, running to Armando’s tent. He wasn’t there, and she found him in the caravan with Cornelius and Zira. Quickly she explained what Lewis had told her.

“Bastards!” Armando exclaimed. “No, no, Zira, you rest. Cornelius and I will pack what you need. Where will you go?” he asked Stevie.

“I don’t know, yet. Lewis will think of something.”

“It is better that I do not know, anyway. What Armando does not know, Armando cannot be made to tell.” He took out a suitcase and began stuffing it with baby clothes and equipment. As he did, he muttered. “I had planned it all so well! In a month—in just one month—we move on to our tour and eventually to winter quarters in Florida. I could have released you in the Everglades, and you would have lived happily. Or you could stay with Armando! My friends, my dear friends, what can I say? What can I do?”

“You’ve been a saint already, Armando,” Stevie told him.

“No, no, a real saint can work miracles, and Armando has none of those.”

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