MacDonald uttered a small sigh. He retrieved the cube, carpet fibers still clinging to it, and threw it away in the sink under the bar. The ape immediately took another cube from the bucket and tried to hand it to the black. Sadly, MacDonald shook his head. “No.” Gently, he loosened the ape’s fingers, took the cube and disposed of it in the sink.
Having suffered a tactical defeat in front of another staff man, the second assistant tried to recover a little ground. “Mr. Governor, when I mentioned reconditioning, all I meant was, it’s the only thing that seems to have any effect on the rebellious ones—”
“It certainly does have an effect,” MacDonald nodded. “It makes them worse.”
“There, you’re wrong,” Breck countered. “Some of them couldn’t be worse. I’ve been having a comprehensive list compiled—”
All at once he stopped, the nearly empty glass close to his lips. He’d inadvertently revealed a bit of information that was as yet ultraconfidential. Annoyed, he glared at the younger assistant.
“Exactly what was it you wanted, Mr. Pine?”
“Your meeting with the Defense Council’s scheduled for one, sir.” The assistant held out the thick, heavily tabbed binder. “I brought your reference book, and the briefing summary—”
“Well, you go down to the conference room and tell them I’ll be fifteen or twenty minutes late and that you’ve read the briefing material, and be prepared to answer their questions.”
He grabbed the assistant’s shoulders and fairly shot him toward the foyer. As he did so, he was aware of losing his temper—an indulgence he seldom allowed himself. What was making him so edgy?
His glance fell on the green-uniformed chimpanzee, now poking aimlessly at the ice cubes with the silver tongs. He stormed forward, tore the tongs from the ape’s fingers—“No!”—and hurled the tongs back in the bucket. He was relieved to see the ape avert his eyes and cringe.
Or was the animal playing some kind of game with him?
Breck rubbed his eyes. Christ, he thought, I’m tired.
Dropping the ice cube had been a near giveaway, Caesar realized. But he had been so stunned by the possibilities inherent in Breck’s exclamation about reconditioning that he had completely lost control.
Ever since that moment, he’d been doing his best to rebuild his protective guise, trembling on signal, and appearing less than capable of quick understanding. The effort was doubly difficult because of Breck’s continued presence in the sitting room.
Caesar knew that the governor was an enemy. He couldn’t grasp all the reasons for this, but he guessed that beneath Breck’s bluster there lay a basic fear of the potential for ape rebellion. That fear had surfaced in Breck’s loud remark—which had given Caesar a weapon whose effectiveness he intended to explore . . .
MacDonald remarked: “You’ve begun meeting with the Defense Council, Mr. Governor?” Although polite, the question was a challenge; almost an accusation implying lack of confidence.
Breck nodded. “Mr. Pine’s been handling the details. The nonconfidential ones. Backgrounding, computer studies. As for the rest—never mind, I’ll tell you about it later.”
But MacDonald wouldn’t be put off. “Has this anything to do with the list you mentioned while Pine was here?”
Breck’s frown showed his annoyance. “It has. But I repeat—it’s not your worry. I’ll give you the full details at the proper time.”
A little more conciliatory then, he waved an admonitory finger in Caesar’s direction. “Meantime, I believe we ought to set a good example on this staff. We’ll recondition the ape ourselves. By making sure he does his assigned jobs. And properly.” Breck reached for the whiskey decanter, poured. This time, he added no soda. After a long sip, he said, “He doesn’t have a name yet. I suppose we should give him one—”
The governor carried his drink toward a tall bookcase on an inner wall of the sitting room. He sipped again, tilted his head back to scan the volumes on the upper shelves.
“My late wife inaugurated an amusing little tradition for naming the various apes I’ve bought and sold for personal use. We’ll let him choose his own.” Breck snapped his fingers. “Come!”
Caesar shambled forward. Standing just behind the man’s left shoulder, he watched as Breck set his drink on a small table, reached up to a pair of slim books bound in rare leather with gold spine-lettering. Each volume bore the title The Meaning of Names. The first was subtitled Male, the second Female.
The shelf the books occupied was just above Breck’s head. He seemed to be blinking at the titles a bit fuzzily, as if the liquor were affecting him. Finally, he pulled both books down for closer scrutiny.
“Female,” Breck muttered, discarding that volume and picking up his drink for another long swallow. The man is afraid, Caesar thought with inward delight. The man is powerful but he is afraid.
Breck set his drink aside again. “Watch,” he said.
He opened the book of male names at random, stabbed a forefinger at a page. Caesar feigned puzzled interest as the governor snapped the book shut, then repeated his demonstration.
Caesar understood perfectly well what he was supposed to do. But he maintained his look of witless concentration while the governor again selected a name at random.
Passing the book into Caesar’s hand, Breck commanded: “Do.”
Macabre amusement overcame Caesar then. Breck’s back was turned momentarily, as he replaced the other volume on the shelf. Caesar hunched his shoulders, shifted slightly so his body screened the book, and his own hands, from MacDonald. The black man was still at the bar.
Silently, Caesar flipped the early pages of the book till he found the one he wanted. As Breck turned around again, the chosen page lay open. Caesar appeared to pick a name in the manner the governor had demonstrated. Breck maneuvered so he could peer down across Caesar’s hairy forearm to the line where the ape’s finger had come to rest.
“ ‘Caesar’,” Breck read. He pushed the chimpanzee’s finger aside, grasped the book to peer at the definition. Caesar took pleasure in the sudden jump of a muscle in Breck’s temple. “ ‘A king—’ ”
Breck’s head lifted. His unblinking eyes met those of the animal, master and slave standing face to face. And, fleetingly, Caesar saw the fear again.
The governor slammed the book shut, jammed it back in place. When he picked up his drink this time, his deeply tanned hand was shaking.
Nerves—or anger? Caesar wondered. It made no difference. He had achieved the effect he wanted—and kept his cover at the same time. Something hateful spoke in the silence within him.
You will see, Mr. Governor. This is only the start of the repayment you’re owed.
An insistent buzzer broke the tension. MacDonald shifted his hand to depress a switch on the intercom.
“Yes?”
A garbled voice spoke briefly, too far away for Caesar to understand the words. MacDonald said, “Mr. Governor, they’re anxious to have you in the Council Chamber as soon as possible.
Breck’s composure seemed restored. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but he moved decisively to the bar and poured one more shot of whiskey, which he took with him as he strode toward the open door of an adjoining bedroom.
“Tell them to hold the meeting until I get there, and that’s a direct order.”
MacDonald relayed the message into the intercom, snapped it off. Breck paused in the doorway for a last glance at his ape.
“And you can take him and put him to work in the Command Post immediately.”