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?