"Chemically speaking," Dr. Bedoian said to Happy Bronstein, "I should be making an analysis of those pearly drops. Science is losing out all around tonight. It may be the first time a lady has cried pure gin."
"Knew a dame in Rio who never drank anything but rum," Happy said. "No water, tea or coffee. Just rum. Dark rum. Pharmacist's Mate said she couldn't live, but every time we made that port there she was, still drinking rum."
"Fascinating," Dr. Bedoian said. "Sometimes I wish I could live forever, so I could explore all the things science hasn't time for., Look at friend Ape."
IS the chief had had a hammer and sickle tattoed on his cheek, his face could have flown at the masthead of any ship in the Soviet's Navy. But, knees up, and bent to make a comfortable palanquin for the no-longer tearful Flo, he was puffing around the floor, losing ground to Pan at every shuffle, but losing it gracefully.
As Pan went into the stretch, Ape was only a wall behind.
Nobody heard the door of the sample room open, just as nobody had thought to lock it. The first they knew of anything was when an authoritative voice barked, "Ten-hut!"
The race died, unresolved. But then, nobody had been betting anything more valuable than a drink of the communal gin.
Since the Navy does not ordinarily bark at CPOs, Ape did not lose his head, his balance, or the girl on his feet. He lowered her gently to the ground, stood up, and rendered a long-time sailor's sloppy version of Attention.
"You a sailor?" General Billy Maguire asked. "If so, salute."
"I ain't covered, sir," Ape said.
"All right, all right," the general barked. "Watch your tongue, man. And you, doctor — consorting with enlisted men, are you?"
"I'm a civilian doctor," Dr. Bedoian said.
Pan gave each of the three girls a farewell pinch and lowered them to their feet. Then he did a couple of somersaults which brought him face to face with the general.
General Maguire was in approved tropical gear; short sleeved worsted shirt, neat suntan trousers, and a snowy sun helmet with officer's insignia riveted or bolted to the front. His stars shone, one on each side of his open collar, and his ribbons were freshly ironed, all four rows of them.
Pan reached up and fingered the right-side star, meditatively.
"This animal is drunk!" General Maguire said.
Pan plucked the star, tasted it with his ample lips, bit it in half and spat it out.
General Wilfred (Billy) Maguire was a brave man. There was not an office in the Pentagon he was not willing to enter, requisition form in hand, and he had, at an earlier date, faced combat happily, knowing it was necessary for his record.
He proved the value of West Point to the taxpayers now; he never took a backward step, though surely he was first of his class to have his insignia of rank severed by simian teeth.
"Doctor, you're in charge here?" he asked.
Dr. Bedoian said, "I am."
"You were sent here to get a simple fact, a piece of information, out of this — this chimpanzee. Is this your way of getting it?"
"It is, sir. Play on his confidence. Relax him."
General Maguire blew his breath out. "You may be a civilian, doctor, but you are employed by the United States government. With which I am not entirely without influence."
"That's terrible syntax," Pan Satyrus said. It was the first time he had spoken since the general had interrupted their happy evening.
"What?" A thin man, General Maguire was not really in danger of an apoplectic stroke; he just looked like he was.
"I had a keeper once who was studying English. Trying to improve his station in life, he called it. According to Fowler, that is terrible sentence construction you were using. I thought you were an Academy man, General."
Pan reached out, gently, for the general's class ring. The general clenched his hands. "I am, sir."
"You don't have to call me sir," Pan Satyrus said. "After all, I am just a simple civilian, non-taxpaying chimpanzee, aged seven and a half."
The general sighed, and turned back to the doctor. "These. ladies. Are they cleared, and if so, what is their clearance?"
Dr. Bedoian said, "Don't be silly, general. You can see what they are."
What they were was huddled together, speechless, their innocent gaiety vanished. Belle was bent over, her hands on her knees, perhaps trying to conceal her bowleggedness. Flo was crying.
"Sir, I relieve you," the general said.
Dr. Bedoian held out his hand. "You know who gave me this assignment, General. I'd like to see some written orders before I surrender my patient to you."
Where joy and hand races, drinking and mild lechery had filled the room, there now loomed nothing but an impasse. Born of the age-old impact of civilian on military, it grew like a thunderhead on the edge of the desert in August.
And then it collapsed, as so many crises have, at the sound of a woman's voice.
The woman was more than a woman; she was a lady. She was more than an ordinary lady; she was a general's lady. She was Mrs. Maguire.
She entered in the full paraphenalia of her rank, simple silk dress, two strands of cultured pearls, heels high as a cadet's hopes. Her hair, done in the most current of fashions, was not obscured by a hat.
And as she entered she cried, "Oh, where is that dear monkey! I could just kiss him for that marvellous flight today."
At once all the previous occupants of the room-men, chimpanzee, general and the girls — became as one. For the girls, really, had been transmuted or, as nineteenth century English novels would say, de-sexed. They lived and had their joy in the world of men.
They were much more at home with the general than with his wife. At her entrance, they attempted to cover their more salient points with their hands. A chimpanzee could have done it. They couldn't.
Happy Bronstein had been very quiet since the entrance of the bestarred Maguire. But he broke radio silence now. "Take it easy, Pan," he said.
Pan turned towards him and winked one eye. It had a monstrous effect, but it soothed Happy's apprehensions.
And then Pan stepped forward, rolling on his bowed legs, his knuckles rapping the floor with every stride. He said, "My dear, I did it all for you. I knew I could never win you while I remained speechless; and so — I arranged for a miracle."
With which he puckered up his long, long lips and headed them, direct as a well-aimed bullet — for the lips of the general's lady.
She fled.
Her husband went for his hip, but generals in tropical Class A uniforms do not wear sidearms. So he said that they had not heard the last of this, and followed his mate.
Happy Bronstein went and closed the door after the single star was out of sight. Ape Bates let his breath out, whistling. Flo stopped crying, and slowly the girls let their hands drop to their sides.
But Dr. Bedoian said, "That magic is out of the night,'' and went to get his jacket and his wallet. He paid the girls off generously — government money— and they dressed silently and were gone.
There were several pints of gin left. Pan Satyrus opened one, took a brief swallow, and put it down again.
"You can't get high twice in a night," Ape Bates said. "Nobody can."
"We were having a good time," Pan said. "An innocent good rime. Well, almost innocent. Why should anyone want to spoil it?"
"Welcome to the human race," Dr. Bedoian said.
Then they went to bed.
CHAPTER SIX
Anthropoid apes can become literally bored to death.
Morning brought Mr. MacMahon and his merry men from Naval Intelligence, NASA security, the FBI and kindred organizations. It is only in the works of youthful poets that dawn brings harbingers of happiness.