And yet, incidents on the first ghastly day in the city, particularly the rebellion of Aldo, indicated that even the scientific experts of this slave-making tower had their failures.
That left one question uppermost in Caesar’s mind as he ducked into the gloom of his assigned van, the perfect picture of the clever, willing, conditioned, chimpanzee. How numerous were the failures of the scientists?
Might there be dozens of potential rebels among the ape population? Hundreds? Even thousands? Caesar’s eyes lit with a harsh speculation as he dropped onto a bench inside the truck. Even the huge gorillas herded in after him did not sit too close. Caesar was not bothering to conceal the rage he’d suppressed for two long weeks.
NINE
Governor Jason Breck’s European-made airlift limousine came sweeping into the curve of the parkway preceded by half a dozen helmeted state security policemen riding conventionally powered cycles. Behind Breck’s vehicle, a second, less ostentatious limousine followed.
Fender flashers rotating, sirens screaming, the braking cycles announced the arrival of an important personage. The pennants on Breck’s limousine came to rest as the airjets shut off. The gleaming vehicle settled to the ground on its chassis cushion. The policemen parked their cycles in three rows of two each, deployed quickly.
Two of the officers stood guard at the admission booth in the center of the semicircular pillared gallery that backed up the arena. The other four disappeared down steps into the arena proper, to clear the governor’s way.
Jason Breck had only decided during luncheon to attend this particular afternoon auction. A secretarial call had prepared his usual place. He frequently dropped in on the auctions, both to observe the quality of the animals being turned out by Ape Management, and for more personal reasons. He made a fair profit from speculative buys and sells; short-term ownership of particularly good specimens.
Immaculately dressed, the governor climbed out as his chauffeur opened the door. His hair was ruffled by the crisp afternoon breeze. The national, state, and city flags, as well as Breck’s own personal ensign of office, snapped on gleaming poles above the gallery. The sky was deep blue, the surrounding exurban countryside a pleasant green.
Breck could not precisely say why he had made up his mind, on the spur of the moment, to visit the auction—perhaps to escape a variety of unpleasant situations in his office at Civic Center.
Kolp had stopped in, haggard. He’d reported that, after days of interrogation—twice interrupted when Armando had to be rushed to the infirmary for injections to repair the ravages of the questioning—the circus owner still persisted in telling his original story. Kolp and Hoskyns were now asking for the governor’s signed permission to employ the Authenticator.
Signed permission indeed! The pretense of civil liberties was a farce, but Kolp and Hoskyns were shrewd enough not to use the device without higher approval.
Breck had dodged the issue. Although widely used by police departments, the Authenticator was, in the view of the forty jurists who sat on the Most Supreme Court in Washington, an instrument of coercion and, therefore, illegal except in matters of national security.
It would be Breck’s decision. The situation didn’t qualify; and yet, he had a deep-seated worry that perhaps, in a peculiar way, it did . . .
Señor Armando’s ape was presumably still at large, unless it had been killed by accident in the city. That probably was too much to hope for, Breck thought in his mood of pessimism. Then there was MacDonald’s curious, unsettling report . . .
That particular problem came back into focus as one of Breck’s young, hard-eyed administrative assistants thrust out a thick binder. “I’m anxious to have you review the latest I.Q. profile on the metro ape sample given the standard tests last week.”
“Don’t hand me big books unless there’s something essential in them.”
The assistant licked his lips, recovered quickly from the rebuff: “I believe there is, sir. The profile of the sample, which is statistically reliable, indicates that the I.Q. of the ape population has risen three point four in the last two-month interval.”
“Let Mr. MacDonald read that,” Breck snapped. “He thinks I’m imagining things about our simian friends. Who, if that report is correct, are not only becoming smarter, but generally more independent. Despite conditioning.”
Breck let MacDonald have the full force of his challenging stare. As always, he was struck by the steadiness of the black man’s gaze. Damn! If he weren’t so good, Breck would demote him instantly. As it was, he simply tolerated him—with difficulty.
With a smug grin, the assistant with the book started to hand the report to MacDonald. The other waved it back.
“I assembled that data, Morgan. Your summary wasn’t thorough enough. I.Q. has shown a slight rise—but as a result, so has work output of the apes.” The black man smiled a hard smile. “Which I thought the governor might regard as good news for a change.”
Breck returned the smile bleakly, turned and walked to the top of the small, open amphitheatre just beyond the pillars.
The impatient conversation of the well-dressed crowd was instantly silenced. Heads turned. A scattering of applause greeted the governor’s arrival. Breck affixed his politician’s smile, and waved in response as he started down the steps of the center aisle.
The amphitheatre was separated from the wide auction platform and central dais by a thick spike-topped wall of concrete. Near the dais, an auctioneer wearing a lavalier microphone acknowledged the governor’s presence with a smile of greeting. Behind the auction area rose a stark, pyramidal structure of concrete where the latest batch of processed apes was held before entering the arena via a doorway flanked by handlers.
Governor Breck moved briskly down the aisle. Briskness, he felt, was good for his image, but he paused a couple of times to favor an acquaintance with a personal word. One such was an orange-coiffured lady attended by an attractive female chimp.
“Mrs. Riley,” Breck nodded. “It was a shame about Leland’s coronary. Is he still in intensive care?”
Mrs. Riley said that was correct, adding, “But I try not to dwell on it. Mr. Governor.”
“Good for you,” Breck smiled, squeezing her shoulder and hurrying on—but not before he caught an almost human glint of amusement in the eyes of the girl chimp. That damned ape was laughing at her mistress! Or was it only a trick of the slanting sun and Breck’s growing, almost maniacal concern about the simian population? He was momentarily disgusted with himself for permitting a probably unrelated series of suppositions, facts, and incidents to weave an alarming pattern. And yet—he governed this city. Should anything go wrong, no one but Jason Breck would be blamed. His career would be finished. Nothing would go wrong. Prevention tinged with paranoia was preferable to disaster.
At the bottom of the aisle, one of the state security policemen snapped to attention and unhooked a plush rope. The governor took a seat in the first row, immediately behind the spike-and-concrete barrier. Unconsciously, he tapped his program against his knee as his staff settled in the rows behind him.