Текст книги "Conquest of the Planet of the Apes "

Автор книги: John Jakes

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Moving up the passageway, Caesar encountered a gentleman who shoved him aside in his haste to reach the door of the men’s room. He slammed against the wall, infuriated, quickly quelled the reaction. Let them shove and command a little longer. Let them enjoy their fancied supremacy, while their servants armed and prepared for a day that would bring an end to ape slavery in this city. And then, perhaps even . . . No. It was not time to dream of the enormous possibilities. Not yet. The best way to overcome your enemy, he had decided, was to understand him thoroughly, attack him by surprise—and show no mercy.

TWELVE

Inspector Kolp punched buttons on his desk top for the sixth time—and got exactly the same response. The raw buzzing signal made him slam his fleshy fist on the computer printout lying next to the rows of buttons.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the doorway leading to the terrace where Señor Armando had fallen to his death days ago. Once more Kolp tried calling the number. Once more a busy signal answered him. He was just programming a call to the supervisory center of the phone company when Hoskyns rushed in.

“For God’s sake, what’s going on, a red alert?”

“In a way,” Kolp said curtly. “At least I got hold of you. I’ll be damned if I can get a circuit into Ape Management.”

He shoved the printout across the desk. “That’s a routine report on arriving shipments at A.M. Of course, with the marvels of computers at our command, they’re only weeks late sending copies to our permanent file. A bright kid on one of the intelligence desks caught an intriguing error. See if you can spot it yourself.”

Hoskyns frowned, riffled the accordion-folded sheets, and shook his head. “Check shipment five-oh-seven I-for-Indonesia ex Borneo,” Kolp suggested.

The other investigator found the data, studied it, and still looked puzzled. “A batch of orangutans and a chimpanzee. So?”

“So,” Kolp replied quietly, “my hot shot downstairs remembered an interesting bit of incidental information. There are no chimpanzees in Borneo.”

“No—?” Mouth open, Hoskyns watched Kolp nod slowly.

“I’ve been trying to get a hookup with Ape Management for the last ten minutes,” Kolp complained. “All I get is the busy signal.”

“The operations suite is empty—Breck’s out of the building at another meeting. Why don’t we try the direct video link to the director’s office?”

Kolp’s nod signified his agreement. He and Hoskyns left the office and traveled down several floors, where Kolp let himself into the operations suite with his personal key. Off the main room was a smaller, locked chamber containing communications equipment for the governor’s own use. Kolp punched in the appropriate call digits, drumming his fleshy fingers on the edge of the screen till it lit. A stylish executive secretary appeared.

“Office of the Director. May I help you?”

“Get Dr. Chamberlain on his monitor right away,” Kolp ordered.

“I’m sorry, sir,” replied the secretary. “Dr. Chamberlain is tied up in an urgent staff meeting—”

Kolp hit the signal that activated the lens to transmit his own image. The secretary saw Kolp’s face appear on the monitor at her end of the connection.

“This is Chief Inspector Kolp and I want Chamberlain. Now.”

“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry I—wait, I’ll put you on hold.”

The screen displayed a changing pattern of colored lines while the audio track played soothing string music. Kolp fretted until the hold cleared and the strained face of a scholarly looking man appeared. The man wore a smock whose lapels were edged with blue piping.

“My deepest apologies for the delay, Inspector,” Chamberlain said. “But we’re having hell’s own time out here.”

“I gather,” Kolp answered, sarcastically. “On the audio board, I got nothing but a busy signal. I want your Indonesian file for last month. Specifically, I want the records of disposition of a chimpanzee from five-oh-seven I-for-Indonesia ex Borneo.”

Dr. Chamberlain’s white eyebrows shot up. “Borneo? But there are no—”

“Chimpanzees in Borneo,” Kolp finished. “That’s correct. However, your records show you processed one. It went past your computer experts, everyone at your end, Doctor. We spotted it.” Out of range of the pick-up lens, Hoskyns smiled at Chamberlain’s obvious discomfort. “Please get the file and tell me what happened to that chimpanzee.”

“Yes, immediately.”

Dr. Chamberlain left his desk hurriedly. Kolp and Hoskyns heard him snapping an order out of camera range. Then the director of Ape Management slipped back into his chair. The creases in his forehead indicated his tension. “The file will be here momentarily,” he promised.

“This is Hoskyns, Doctor,” said the other inspector, moving briefly in range of the pick-up lens. “What the hell’s tying up your lines?”

“Overload,” Chamberlain admitted unhappily. “In the past few days, the curve representing apes returned for reconditioning has turned upward alarmingly. In practical terms, that means we can’t handle the work. And no one can explain the reason for the abrupt upswing. But the incidents of ape rebellion have just about quadrupled. Their owners are shipping them back wholesale.”

Kolp’s expression grew more grim. “Doctor Chamberlain, why wasn’t State Security informed about this situation?”

“We’ve been sending through computer reports—”

“Which we’ll be lucky to see by next Christmas! Damn it, Doctor, it’s your responsibility to inform my section directly.”

Chamberlain licked his lips. “I considered it. But I decided against making a personal report since a certain percentage of our overload is directly attributable to Governor Breck’s order for reconditioning of his so-called Achilles list.”

“A certain percentage,” Kolp said. “What percentage?”

Chamberlain swallowed hard. “Forty-one, forty-two, on that order.”

“And the rest represents reconditionings because of acts of rebellion by apes not on the list?”

“That’s correct. We simply haven’t the facilities to cope. We’re sending all shipments elsewhere.”

With a helpless gesture, Dr. Chamberlain looked toward the lens.

“Governor Breck should have been made aware of the situation!” Kolp fumed.

Chamberlain stiffened slightly. “The governor helped cause it!”

“Would you care to have me put that into a memorandum to him?” Kolp challenged, his voice silky and threatening.

Chamberlain began to stroke his cheek nervously. “No, no, certainly not. I—I realize the governor acted because his judgment suggested massive reconditioning of those on the Achilles list was essential. We’re carrying it forward as best we can. But half my staff is ready to resign. Most of them are working two shifts—”

“That’s your problem, and you’d better handle it,” Kolp warned. “From now on I want a direct, daily report on the overload situation. Not through channels, but a written report, from you, via courier. Or else,” Kolp concluded on that silky note, “your lucrative salary may wind up in someone else’s account, Dr. Chamberlain. Do you understand me?”

The scientist looked white around the eyes. “Y—yes, sir.”

Normally Kolp would have been pleased to see a man of Chamberlain’s experience and credentials break under the slightest threat from State Security. But he had no time to be pleased. His mind was racing over the implications of the situation he’d just uncovered. In a way, he was in a spot similar to Chamberlain’s. How should he present the alarming facts to Governor Breck, who reacted with rage—and punitive action—toward anyone who permitted the smooth facade of his personal domain to be ruptured?

Quickly, Kolp’s mind evolved a possible solution. The key was to concentrate on locating the talking ape—an assignment which that black man MacDonald had so far botched. MacDonald had come up with precisely nothing. Thus State Security could take credit . . .

A female hand offered Chamberlain a folder. He riffled through its contents, then sat back with a look of astonishment.

“Gentlemen, according to our records, the chimpanzee in question was sold to Governor Breck himself.”

After getting over the shock, Inspector Kolp finally permitted himself a smile. He thanked Chamberlain in a perfunctory way, broke the connection, and turned to Hoskyns.

“Come on, we’re going to find the Governor.”

“But you said he was locked up in a meeting somewhere—”

“We’ll get him out. This is one success for the Agency we’re going to report in person.”

“Good God!” said Jason Breck. “We’ve had him under our noses all the time.”

Inspector Kolp nodded. He was speaking with the governor in a small but lavishly furnished antechamber adjoining a conference room on the twelfth floor of the building that housed the Urban Health Agency. Windows in one wall showed dusk falling on the city, lights beginning to glow in the towers.

Only moments ago, Kolp and Hoskyns had arrived and interrupted the proceedings of the twenty-man committee meeting inside. Now Kolp polished his spectacles, studying the lenses as he said softly, “There’s no doubt about what must be done, Mr. Governor. I’m quite willing to execute the ape immediately, on your verbal order alone.”

Breck’s hard face grew harder still. “I appreciate the loyalty, Inspector. But I’ll make sure you have the order in writing.”

“Thank you, sir. However, one small possible problem has occurred to me—”

“Problem?” Breck’s pronunciation of the word indicated he didn’t like hearing it.

Kolp, though, had scored sufficiently on behalf of the agency—and himself—so that he didn’t need to be cowed by Breck’s intimidating stare. “Yes, sir. Supposing the ape can talk, but won’t.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hoskyns stepped forward. “What the Chief Inspector means, Mr. Governor, is that we’d still be caught in a situation of doubt. If the ape’s mouth stays shut, the case stays open—at least theoretically. We’d very much like to close the file.”

At that, Breck smiled. “You will, gentlemen. I promise you.”

Kolp’s plump cheeks showed sudden spots of color. He would very much enjoy having a hand in forcing the ape to speak—before the execution.

Hoskyns asked, “Is the ape back at your penthouse, sir?”

The governor thought a moment. “He was this noon. But I believe my steward ran out of things for him to do. The ape cleans the place like lightning—and flawlessly. No wonder, is it? Considering what we know now? Caesar—‘a king.’ He picked that name deliberately, I’ll bet. Laughing at us!” Face flushed, Breck returned to the question with effort. “Caes—the ape was sent back for more volunteer duty in the Command Post. I think Mr. MacDonald’s there too. We’ll contact him from one of the offices.”

Following the governor as he walked rapidly from anteroom to corridor and into the first unlocked, lighted office, Inspector Kolp said in a bland tone, “MacDonald really shouldn’t be blamed for failure to locate the animal.”

“I suppose not,” Breck said absently, hurrying through the secretary’s space into the larger, inner room. He flung himself into the office chair, reaching for the intercom panel. “But he certainly won’t get any credit—or commendations—on his record.” As Breck concentrated on the pushbuttons, Hoskyns and Kolp exchanged quick, pleased smirks.

When the building operator answered, Breck said, “This is the governor. I want a priority circuit to the Command Post at Civic Center. Mr. MacDonald. On scrambler.” Then he sat forward on the chair, tapping the desk and staring at Inspector Kolp, who couldn’t remember ever having seen the governor look so pleased.

After 6:00 P.M., the light level in the underground Command Post was gradually lowered to provide a sense of the time of day for those working the late shifts. As a result, the monitors and sequencing lights glowed all the more brightly. The human staff members and ape volunteers moving along the aisles became little more than silhouettes.

MacDonald sat at a plain, functional desk near the center of the huge chamber. A small lamp shed a brilliant cone of light on the summaries he was reading—disturbing reports of steadily growing incidence of ape insubordination . . .

“Mr. MacDonald?”

His head snapped up. A supervisor, little more than a shadow, hovered at his elbow. MacDonald had sensed urgency in the man’s voice.

“The governor’s calling. Priority. You’ll have to take it on Station M because the governor asked for a scrambler.”

MacDonald nodded, shoved his chair back. Scrambler. What emergency now? He ran up the aisle past the sorting station where several apes, including Caesar, were collecting color-tabbed stacks of file material. Reaching another desk, he grabbed the special phone.

“MacDonald speaking, Mr. Governor.” A pause. “What?”

It was as if the familiar surroundings—the glowing screens, the muted voices, the bells and chattering terminals—had suddenly become the fixtures of a nightmare. MacDonald could barely speak.

“You want me to turn Caesar over to Inspector Kolp?”

From the receiver in his sweating hand, squawking sounds issued.

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to react audibly. But there’s no one in the vicinity—”

Half-turning, he realized it was not true. The apes at the sorting station were within sound of his voice. One had swung around to stare. In the gloom, MacDonald couldn’t tell which one.

“Am I to understand,” he said, “that—the ape in question is now on your Achilles list?”

At once, the squawkings became louder, harsher. MacDonald swallowed, wiped sweat from his chin with his free hand, his mind racing.

“No, sir. No, I’m not questioning the order, but—” He barely paused; his temperament, his heritage, his whole personality pushed him to an instant decision, “—as a matter of fact, the animal is not here. I sent him out on an errand.” He fought to keep his voice steady, continuing, “He should be back momentarily, though. Yes, sir, give me your instructions.”

He listened, then pulled a pad toward him, fumbled for a pen, wrote Urban Building.

“They’re coming directly here? Takes about fifteen minutes, I believe. Yes, I know the route the animal should be taking. I’ll pick him up and meet them on the third level of the Mall of the Nations. No, I don’t think it’ll be necessary for them to bring police off—”

He stopped. The governor had already broken the connection.

Sweat rivered down MacDonald’s face into his collar. He had already lied once—an abrupt, gut reaction. Now he had about fifteen minutes to decide whether to lie again.

The Command Post was no place to make such a decision. Here, he was surrounded; without options . . .

He looked toward the sorting station. Caesar was just returning from the filing room.

MacDonald grabbed the arm of a passing supervisor. “Get me a set of leg shackles right away.”

The supervisor nodded and disappeared. MacDonald remained hunched on a corner of the desk, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his teeth. WHY? That was the tormenting question. Why, without warning, was the chimpanzee to be turned over, not to representatives of Ape Management, but to the police agency? MacDonald almost leaped to a conclusion, but it was so farfetched that he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. He did know one thing. Governor Jason Breck had not confided the reason the ape was going into custody. He had simply barked orders. To MacDonald this indicated a threatening change in his own status.

The supervisor appeared, shackles jingling. MacDonald took them, walked up the aisle to the sorting station just as Caesar picked up his next batch of material. There was apprehension in the chimpanzee’s eyes as MacDonald arrived.

The black pointed to the printouts in Caesar’s hand. “No.”

Caesar cringed and returned the pile to the table. The other apes nearby also cringed at the command—and at the familiar clink of the chains. To Caesar, MacDonald said, “Come.”

His whole nature rebelled at the idea of surrendering the intelligent, docile chimpanzee to Kolp, Hoskyns, and that pack of sadists who staffed State Security. Unhappy, he strode toward the exit stairs, Caesar trotting at his heels.

Basic questions plagued him. Were Kolp, Hoskyns, and their crowd trying to curry Breck’s favor by playing to his paranoia about the potential danger of ape rebellion? Of course the possibility of rebellion was less remote than it had been a few weeks ago. The reports he’d been reading tonight confirmed that. But the answer was less brutality and repression, not more.

MacDonald had already plotted his route to the Mall of the Nations. He led Caesar toward a ramp that rose to a second-level walkway.

Jason Breck had paid two thousand dollars for the chimp. To throw away that kind of investment when the animal had done nothing but behave in the most obedient manner simply didn’t add up. And there wasn’t a trace of evidence to suggest a rebellious streak in Caesar.

As they entered a broad, brightly lit second-level terrace between buildings, MacDonald corrected his last thought. No evidence they’ve told you about.

Somehow, he’d been cut out of the governor’s confidential deliberations. Perhaps the rift had been inevitable. MacDonald had protested the governor’s suspicions from the beginning—argued repeatedly for more humane treatment of the ape population, then openly protested the preparation and use of the Achilles list. No wonder Breck was dealing directly with those police bastards . . .

“Mr. MacDonald. Mr. MacDonald, please.”

The black’s head whipped up as the announcer’s voice interrupted the piped music. “If you are near a public phone, please answer.”

Grimacing, MacDonald headed toward a kiosk in the center of the terrace. Caesar followed. MacDonald pointed to the paving stones outside the kiosk. “Wait.”

Caesar held his spot as MacDonald slipped inside. For the sake of privacy, he touched the button that slid the half-cylinder of transparent plastic in place between himself and the ape. Slinging the cumbersome shackles over his shoulder, he dialed a sequence of digits, said, “This is MacDonald, responding to Governor Breck’s public call.” In a moment, he was connected.

“You’re not in the Command Post?”

“No, Mr. Governor, I’m on my way to locate Caesar, as you instructed.”

“Where the hell did you send him?”

“To Substation Forty. He’s carrying some new procedural material for the watch captains.”

“Well, Kolp, Hoskyns, and the officers are on their way.” MacDonald glanced at his wristwatch. Seven minutes gone already. “You find that damned ape, fast, and turn him over to them at the Mall of the Nations. Then get yourself to the nearest phone and report personally that it’s been done.”

“May I ask whether there’s any special reason for the urgent—”

The rest of it went unsaid. Governor Breck had broken the connection.

MacDonald twisted around in the cramped seat, staring through the transparent plastic. The chimpanzee’s eyes met his, unblinking. All at once those eyes seemed to hold a comprehension far beyond the abilities of even the most intelligent ape.

Or was it only MacDonald’s imagination? Was he too falling victim to the paranoia that somehow drove Breck to his repressive measures?

Dashing sweat from his eyes, MacDonald triggered the opening of the kiosk door, speaking his thoughts aloud. “I wish to God I knew what this was all about. I wish there were some way we could communicate, so you’d understand I don’t want to hand you over—”

The chimpanzee said, “But I do understand, Mr. MacDonald.”

Thunderstruck, MacDonald could only goggle.

The chimpanzee seemed to grow in stature, cast off his slouching posture. He stood nearly upright, looking incredibly human. His eyes darted right, left. A man and woman, arms linked, passed the kiosk. Caesar remained silent until the couple had moved out of earshot. Then he said, “You see, I am the one they’re looking for.”

Still stunned, MacDonald gasped out, “I—I thought about the possibility. Even tonight it crossed my mind. But—I never could bring myself to believe it. I thought you really were a myth.”

The chimpanzee’s face changed, grew ugly. “Now you discover I’m not. But I’ll tell you something that is a myth, Mr. MacDonald. The belief that human beings are kind.”

MacDonald swallowed hard, bolted from the kiosk, nervously surveyed the terrace. “We’ve got to walk—they’re coming for you—”

“Agents of the governor?” Caesar asked as he resumed his shambling posture at the black man’s side. Not sure where he was actually going, MacDonald headed for an up escalator.

“Yes,” he said, “a couple of inspectors from State Security. Somehow they must have found out—”

He clamped his lips shut as a policeman approached. The man gave the black and the chimpanzee a close stare, then recognized MacDonald and touched his helmet respectfully. MacDonald hurried Caesar toward the foot of the escalator, led him around behind it.

Beneath the slanted stair, and screened from the terrace proper by artificial shrubbery, stood a humans-only bench. MacDonald dropped onto it, shaking with tension. “Caesar, what you say about human beings isn’t true,” he gasped. “There are some—”

“A handful!” the chimpanzee snarled, jutting his head forward, his eyes baleful. “But not most of them. And they are the ones who rule. They won’t be humane until we force them to it. We can’t do that until we’re free.”

Still not quite believing that the conversation was taking place, MacDonald whipped up his watch. Barely five minutes left. “And—just how do you propose to gain your freedom with Breck repressing the apes harder and harder?”

“By the only means left to us,” Caesar answered. “Rebellion.”

It was not hard for MacDonald to comprehend the chimpanzee’s vision. Like Breck, he was a believer—now that he had heard the ape speak. And he did understand historical inevitability.

The ape’s eyes burned with a passion that was frightening. MacDonald recalled the mounting incidence of ape insubordination; Caesar’s apparent docility as a servant. Had the ape been tricking them? Pretending to obey while using the cover to forment . . .

The press of time jerked MacDonald back to reality.

“Don’t do it. If you claim intelligence, you’ve got to realize that any try at rebellion is doomed to failure.”

Caesar’s shrug was quick and indifferent. “Perhaps. This time.”

“And the next.”

“Maybe.”

MacDonald felt chilled then. “God help us, you mean to keep trying, don’t you?”

“There won’t be freedom until there is power, Mr. MacDonald. And how else can we achieve that power?” After a pause, the chimpanzee added, “You have been kind. You are one of the very few. In—what must come, I would hope to see you spared.”

“Spared—!” MacDonald roared, grabbing Caesar’s jacket with both hands. The shackles fell from his shoulder. MacDonald jumped at the sudden sound. Caesar smiled.

MacDonald darted a glance across the screen of artificial shrubbery. If they’d been overhead . . .

But the terrace was still empty.

“I should have you killed!” he exploded.

“The way my mother and father were killed?” Caesar asked quietly.

MacDonald looked deep into the glowing eyes, remembering what had been done to Cornelius and to Zira. Despite the personal risks, and the awareness of the harm he might do, his decision, finally, was the only one he could make.

He said, “Go.”

Now it was Caesar’s turn for astonishment. “What?”

“Go on, get out of here. Get away before I change my mind!” MacDonald stabbed a finger toward the mouth of a passageway in the nearby wall. “Go that way, to the next escalator. Try to get down into the service tunnels. Maybe you’ll be safe. Go—” He shoved Caesar, hard.

The chimpanzee did not hesitate. With a last, piercing glance, he spun, ran to the mouth of the passageway, and vanished.

MacDonald pulled out a linen handkerchief and wiped his face. Then he put the handkerchief away, picked up the shackles, and tried to compose himself as he left the secluded area and stepped onto the escalator that carried him upward. The act was done. Right or wrong, it was done. Now he must protect himself as best he could.

The hands of his watch showed him to be a minute late for the rendezvous already. It took him four more minutes to cross another arched bridge on the third level and reach the more crowded Mall of the Nations. There, standing in a tight group away from people queued up for a solido theatre, he spotted Kolp, Hoskyns, and two state security policemen. Kolp charged toward him.

“You’re late, MacDonald. Where’s the ape?”

Trying to sound appropriately worried, he held up the shackles. “I don’t know. I told the governor I’d dispatched him on an errand, and I’ve been searching between here and the police substation where I sent him. I can’t locate him.”

Hoskyns grabbed MacDonald’s arm. “You let him walk out of the Command Post—?”

MacDonald flung off the hand. “I do it all the time!” Kolp said, “Did you ask the substation if they’d seen him?”

“Not yet. I was sure I’d find the chimp wandering somewhere between there and Civic Center, but—”

Kolp’s normally bland face convulsed with rage. “You bungling idiot.”

He dashed toward the nearest phone kiosk. MacDonald closed his trembling hand tighter around the shackles. The piped music played merrily, while people in the solido queue stared.

About half an hour had passed since MacDonald had let him go free. But instead of taking MacDonald’s suggestion about sanctuary in the service tunnels, Caesar had found his way back toward the large plaza.

Certain realities had dictated that he do so. Most important was the fact that full-scale pursuit would very likely be launched soon, and he needed to communicate with his growing network of co-conspirators, in case he was caught or forced to hide for any length of time.

He slipped down a dark passage and into the third and last doorway. The same female cleaning attendant was on duty. She jumped up the moment she recognized him. He ran past her to the last cubicle and stepped inside. He had begun the stockpile with one container of kerosene. Now he counted fourteen. He whipped the lid from the refuse container. It was almost completely full of weapons—everything from steak knives and butcher’s carvers and the cleaver to a number of hand pistols and boxes of ammunition.

With a grunt of satisfaction, he slammed the lid down and sped up the aisle. He astonished the female attendant by hunkering down and gesturing her to his side.

From under the row of cheap basins, he scooped an accumulation of dust and sweepings. He smoothed the debris around and around on the floor. Finally, he had spread it sufficiently so that, by dampening his finger at the bowl, he could trace discernible patterns.

Taking hold of the attendant’s arm, he began to speak to her in a combination of gutturals and words.

First he informed her that he was in danger—that he might be forced to hide for hours or days. In that interval, she and she alone would be his link to the other gorillas, orangutans, and chimpanzees throughout the city who were swelling the ranks of his army-to-be. Word must be circulated. She must tell a few, and the few would have to communicate with others.

Next he traced maps in the dirt, showing where armed groups would assemble, and where they would strike. He paid particular attention to sketching the Civic Center layout, noting the entrance to the underground Command Post. It was a great deal to convey in a short time. But the chimpanzee seemed to understand, nodding and uttering soft barks toward the end.

Abruptly, Caesar looked up. Distantly through the washroom door, he thought he heard a human voice of peculiar timbre, strident, amplified.

An announcement concerning his escape?

He jumped up, wiping his hands on his trousers. He gripped the female chimp’s arms and stared at her intently.

“I will give the signal,” he said. “I will be the one, no other. Do you understand that?”

She nodded.

“Tell them to wait for the signal. Tell them not to be afraid if it takes some time for that signal to be given. It will be given, and we will strike the humans by surprise, and we will win. Understand?”

Again she signified assent. He only hoped she was not doing so just in order to please him.

Once more the voice blared outside. He rushed to the door of the ill-smelling washroom, conscious that he’d expended almost half an hour. But the instructions were absolutely necessary. As he left, the chimpanzee was already hunched down studying the diagrams he’d drawn.

At the mouth of the passage, he drew back suddenly. A state security policeman walked by. The helmeted man did not glance around.

A moment after the policeman had gone, Caesar left the passage and cut to the right, heading toward a somewhat darker street. Along it, he hoped to find one of the access stairs to the tunnels. He’d have to take his chances with the night vehicular traffic down below. Head down, shambling, he hurried. Perhaps twenty paces separated him from the street entrance. The unseen speakers poured a lilting melody over the plaza. Evening restaurant patrons and occasional servant apes continued to crisscross the open area. Only four dozen steps now . . .

A state security policeman carrying a talk-pod emerged from the mouth of the street. The policeman’s eyes flared with recognition.

Caesar spun and started back the way he’d come, quick panic throbbing inside of him.

“All plaza units!” A voice yelled. “I think I’ve spotted him!”

Caesar broke into a run without looking back. The first officer called to the one who had passed the washroom entrance. Caesar saw this second helmeted man double back to intercept him.

He burst through the entrance to a small park and out the other side. There he skidded to a halt. Pedestrians were turning to stare.

He dashed for an avenue opening on his left, reversed his direction when a third policeman appeared there, communicating via talk-pod. Caesar ran toward an escalator leading upward. The trap was closing fast . . .

The delay had been too costly. He knew that now. If only he could outrun them! He straightened up, all semblance of ape posture gone. Loping toward the escalator, he heard one policeman bawl to the others, “No shooting! That order comes direct from the top.”