“Little emergency project with the governor.” MacDonald wondered how steady his own voice sounded. Not very, it seemed from the inner vantage point of his mind. By way of explanation, he added, “Seems to be some trouble with the elevators—”
“It does happen,” replied the guard with a sycophantic smile. He touched his cap. “I’ll have someone check into it.”
“Do that,” MacDonald said over his shoulder, already on his way down to the next landing, and swearing again at the necessity for the time-consuming ruse.
He went down two more flights. An exit door above clanged. He whirled and raced back up. By the time he reached the power room door and twisted the knob, his chest ached from exertion. He slipped inside, latching the door behind him. His eyes went wide at what he saw.
On the tour, he’d had the purpose of rooms like this explained. But the guide hadn’t bothered to conduct the group inside. On his right, a pair of huge, dark, faintly humming cylinders bulked to the ceiling. Other sealed cubes of metal on his left clicked and buzzed. And ahead—that was the source of the interplay of colored lights that dappled the aisle.
He rushed to the wall-sized pane of thick glass at the aisle’s end. The pane comprised an immense circuitry schematic of the eighth through tenth floors. Onto the glass were etched three large circles duplicating the outer perimeter of the ape management tower, A lighted numeral above each identified the floors.
Within each circle was a maze of pulsing, crisscrossing lines of light. They brightened, darkened, changed colors even as he watched. MacDonald’s face reflected the different colors as he punched a frustrated fist against the lower part of the glass.
The glass vibrated faintly. Licking his bruised knuckle, he realized what he’d struck. Not the glass itself but a double row of toggle switches under the center circle. Dazzled by the array of flashing light-stripes, he hadn’t seen the switches at first.
He discovered a similar double bank beneath each of the etched circles. He squatted, face close to the toggles under the circle representing floor nine. Then he uttered a ragged sound of relief.
Along with individual numerical identification for each toggle, groups of them had small embossed label-plates. On the bottom row, above a battery of some dozen switches, a long, narrow plate bracketed the twelve as No. Cond. Amphi.
He ran his index finger across the plates for the individual toggles. Speak. Syst, Ovhd. Lghtng., Cons. Master, Tab. One. Tab. Two. Tab. For table? All right.
He threw both table switches to off position. Parallel yellow green lines near the center of the circle dimmed to darkness.
A moment later he inched the landing door open. All clear. He started down the stairs again, this time more slowly.
His watch showed that almost seven minutes had elapsed since he had feigned illness and left the amphitheatre. That could have been six minutes, fifty-nine seconds too long. All his effort might be wasted. Still, he’d done all he could, short of seizing a policeman’s weapon and blasting everyone in sight. And that would have gotten him shot, and done nothing at all for the chimpanzee.
MacDonald reached the ninth floor, began to walk back toward the intersection that would lead him to No Conditioning. In another minute or two, he’d find out whether he had succeeded or failed. Depressed and weary, he suspected it was the latter. He approached the door to the amphitheatre with hesitation, paused to listen. Inside, he could hear no distinct sounds. With a heavy swallow of dread, he forced himself to tug on the handle, open the door, and enter.
An almost sensual thrill coursed through Jason Breck in those seconds when the supine ape screamed two words in the human tongue. Then he felt a new, euphoric calm.
He need no longer fear his enemy. He could marvel at him.
Breck’s face was almost benign as he dismissed the queasy-looking MacDonald and stepped down from the amphitheatre seats. The police and attendants backed out of his way. Breck approached Dr. Chamberlain, who only now appeared to be returning to a state approaching sanity. On Chamberlain’s smock huge sweat-rings showed beneath the armpits.
“Is he alive?” Breck asked. The ape’s white-gowned chest did not appear to be moving.
Dr. Chamberlain crossed to the table, placed his ear near Caesar’s lips, then listened to his chest. “Yes. Barely.”
“It’s amazing, absolutely amazing!” Breck breathed. “I want to hear him say something else.”
“We may need to stimulate him with a light injection,” Chamberlain said. Breck’s nod gave permission.
An attendant produced a hypodermic, injected Caesar’s arm below the cuff of his gown, stood back. No one in the room spoke. A minute passed. Another.
With a restive groan of pain, the chimpanzee stirred. Shifted his head from side to side. Opened his eyes slowly and blinked once. Then he rolled his head over until his left cheek pressed the table. His eyes were blank, unreadable.
Breck watched with total fascination. “Ask him—” he thought a moment. “Ask if he’s capable of abstract reasoning.”
No one seemed quite certain about who was to pose the question. Inspector Kolp took the initiative, striding to tableside, crimping the chimpanzee’s jaw between thumb and fingers.
“You heard the governor,” he said.
Caesar’s blank expression changed to one of open defiance. Kolp applied more pressure.
“Answer Governor Breck!”
Savagely, Caesar wrenched free of Kolp’s grip. He moved his head to signify refusal. To Breck it seemed a movement of great strength.
Kolp reacted with a gesture toward the console. “Perhaps a little more persuasion, Mr. Governor—?”
“No,” Breck said, his tone almost mild. He’d checked a major threat to the smooth functioning of his city. He could savor victory.
Circling the table, Breck went on, “He can’t help what he is. Or how he reacts to us. You know, looking at him, it’s almost like looking at a deadly plague bacillus—knowing you’ve got it bottled up where it can’t harm anyone.” With a last, lingering glance that mingled loathing with a certain limited admiration, Jason Breck turned his back. Passing Kolp, he said, “You handle the rest.”
As Breck returned to the first row, Kolp retrieved his briefcase. He pulled a thick document.
“Dr. Chamberlain, as a representative of the agency, I have signed authority for the animal to be destroyed.”
Breck glanced at Caesar. The chimpanzee’s defiance changed to rage.
How had the ape withstood all the pain and come back to react as he was reacting now? Only the strongest, most basic emotions gave a man—or an animal—that sort of strength. Hatred was one such emotion.
“All in order,” Dr. Chamberlain said, refolding the document. “I’ll summon a vet with the proper injection—”
Kolp seemed annoyed. “He’s wired for electrocution, isn’t he?”
“Yes, of cour—”
“Then electrocute him.”
Dr. Chamberlain began, “We do not normally—” He hesitated, looked at Jason Breck.
Beginning to feel truly at ease for the first time in many weeks, the governor nodded.
“Do it now,” Kolp added.
The doctor sat down at the console. He tripped additional switches, rotated two more controls up to maximum. Then he moved the switch to the closed position.
For an instant there was no reaction from Caesar. Then—a howl of hurt. The howl was cut off as the chimpanzee’s jaw clenched shut. His eyes bulged. His back arched so steeply that the curve almost reached the limits of anatomical possibility.
Near the console, someone gagged. Dr. Chamberlain’s fingers began to flutter at his cheek. His lips moved. He seemed to be counting to himself, even while he watched the sweep dial of a timer, set in the console deck.