Morris led Caesar along a corridor identified as C-North. Caesar became aware of quite a large population of chimpanzees—all male—in lightless cages with floor-to-ceiling bars. The cages occupied both sides of the corridor.
Some of the apes slept. Others plucked aimlessly at their own bodies. Still others indulged in minor horseplay or something a little rougher, as occasional yips and grunts testified. Far down the corridor, the keeper was handing bananas through one set of bars.
“This one’s slotted for twenty-one,” Morris called. “He’ll go into training tomorrow.”
The keeper gestured them to the second cell from the end on the left. The three chimps inside were begging and snarling for food, hands extended through the bars.
The keeper snapped, “No!” The chimps scuttled toward the darkness at the back of the cell. To Morris, the keeper explained, “They all get a little uppity before feeding time.”
He set his hamper on the floor, took out a ring of keys and opened the cage door, but not before he had shouted “No!” again, to insure that the inmates didn’t rush forward toward the opening—and the hamper.
With gentle hands, Morris took hold of Caesar’s shoulders and propelled him inside. Caesar accepted the guidance in a docile way, instantly turning his back on the three ravenous, clamoring chimps. The cage smelled of them. Their noise, after all Caesar had seen and heard today, irritated him. He tried not to show this as he peered through the bars at Morris and the keeper. The latter was quickly relocking the door.
Morris smiled, bent, and plucked a banana from the hamper. “That’s for keeping quiet,” he said, handing the fruit through to Caesar.
At once, Caesar heard a chorus of shrill squeals behind him; then a scramble indicating sudden movement. He spun as the three shrieking chimps converged—then suddenly stopped as if struck by some tangible force.
The only illumination in the cell cage came from the corridor’s ceiling fixtures. The light fell obliquely across Caesar’s unusually refined features, made his eyes glitter with a strange brightness. The breathing of the three chimps grew sibilant. There was no more shrieking.
Careful not to look too human, Caesar took a step forward. One of the chimps practically rocketed to the rear wall and huddled down, forearms protecting his face. The other two backed up more slowly. Caesar knew he had established his authority. That might be vital, in the event the three ever turned on him at one time. Now, he thought quickly, it was up to him to see that the notion never entered their simian minds.
Aware that he was still under observation by Morris and the keeper, he nevertheless kept staring at the three chimps. All were huddled by the rear wall. The first one continued to hide his eyes. The other two merely lowered their gazes . . .
Still maintaining his apelike posture, Caesar approached them slowly, peeling the banana. He broke off one third and extended it to the nearest chimp, who snatched and gobbled it. Then, moving still closer to the cowed trio, Caesar broke the rest of the banana in two equal parts and extended those.
The first chimp reached greedily for another share. Caesar glanced at him. The chimp averted his head as the other two seized and ate their even portions. In the corridor, Morris crowed with delight. “Did you see that? I tell you, he’s the smartest animal I’ve ever been assigned!”
All at once Caesar felt apprehension. Had he displayed too much intelligence? It was necessary for his own safety, he felt. Yet perhaps he should have waited till he had no human audience. But if he had done that, the three chimps might have attacked him. And he would not have won them over—won them over so completely that now he could sit down among them with easy confidence, the backs of his hands positioned in deliberate awkwardness on the recently hosed floor of the cage.
He sat close to his own kind and they did not strike at him. Nor did they run away. Caesar felt a strange, totally new sense of power.
“Yeah, I sure did see that,” the keeper was saying. “I’m going to make a note up at the reception station, and keep a special watch on him. The last damn thing we need in here is some kind of leader.”
Leader? The word prickled Caesar’s mind with new and exciting significance. Yes, perhaps that was what he had become—inadvertently, and without any prior plan except his desire to insure his own survival. He glanced from face to hairy face and recognized fear in the eyes of the other animals. But it was fear of a different order than that brought about by the programmed cruelties of those who destroyed the apes’ spirits in order to subjugate their bodies. The fear Caesar saw in the three pairs of chimpanzee was born not only of dread but of respect.
He sat comfortably with his ape brothers, glad he had won a small victory, and a brief respite from the horrors of this unspeakable tower of scientific abuse. If he feigned meekness and servility for a while, perhaps that suspicion would be forgotten.
Dimly, he heard the keeper speaking again. “If he’s that spirited, tomorrow we’ll probably have a hell of a mess on our hands when we lock on the leg shackles and start him through the training classes.”
Leg shackles? Caesar thought numbly. Mustn’t react. Mustn’t protest. Must accept—for a while.
“No, I don’t think so,” Morris said, his voice growing fainter. Chimpanzees in adjoining cages, spotting the keeper on the move, began to gibber. “I don’t think he’ll give you one bit of trouble—”
What touched Caesar’s mouth then might have been mimicry of a human smile. A very cruel human smile. One of the chimpanzees who had been tentatively reaching for Caesar’s arm, as if to signify friendship, drew his hand back with a fearful snort.
The human voices, the gibbering and squealing, the nearer breathing of his trio of companions all faded away, leaving only a single word murmuring in Caesar’s drowsy mind.
Leader . . .
Armando knew the interrogation room was located on a lower floor of the same gaunt, black Civic Center edifice which housed various governmental departments, including Governor Breck’s operations suite. But that was all he knew—except for the fact that hours had passed.
He was ferociously hungry, dangerously tired. His legs had grown numb from standing. That was how they wore him down, the bespectacled Kolp, the lean Hoskyns.
The room was plainly furnished. Windowless, it was filled with harsh artificial light that blurred the concepts of night and day. Kolp and Hoskyns kept going over the same ground, repeating the same questions. Sometimes both were in the room. At other times only one, as the other left briefly, undoubtedly for food or use of a toilet.
Except for a gritty look around the eyes, neither man showed signs of tiring. They actually seemed to enjoy their work.
And why not? They sat down while questioning Armando, but insisted that he remain standing in front of the desk; a simple but effective method of torture.
So far, though, Armando had not broken. Nor shown any sign of his mounting fear.
“You look bad, Señor,” Hoskyns said. “Gray. Washed out. I’m sure a man of your age can’t keep standing in one place indefinitely. Legs hurt?”
Doggedly, Armando shook his head. In truth, his legs alternately trembled with muscle spasms, and took on a boneless, dead feeling. Hoskyns sat in an armchair in the corner, Kolp behind the desk. Now it was the latter’s turn.