"Yes, sir," Ape said.
"Take him in one of the other rooms, then."
But as they started out, the senior doctor spoke.
"Pan, it will be about a half an hour. The macaque is already strapped in; we just have to take him out and remove the — gizmo — you mentioned."
"All right."
"You'd better not eat or drink anything."
"All right."
The doctor looked at Happy. "Especially not drink," then he went away.
"That's one smart cookie," Happy said. They followed the doctor out into the corridor.
Mr. MacMahon was there. Pan let go of Happy's hand and held his own out to the security man. "I've given you a hard time, G-man, but it's almost over," he said. "I'm going to be shot into space in a half an hour. Back into space."
Mr. MacMahon looked over Pan's shoulder to Dr. Bedoian. "Is he okay, doc?"
Dr. Bedoian shrugged. "He wants to do it."
Mr. MacMahon said, "Hell, that's no way to treat him. Pan, you want to get out of this, I'm not a bad finagler…"
Pan Satyrus stared up at him. "You're not human after all!"
"Huh?"
"Coming from Pan, that's the highest kind of compliment," Dr. Bedoian said.
"But I want to go. And your country wants me to go; it's their only way of learning about super-light flight."
Pan added, "You're supposed to keep us in a room till my ship is ready. I'm not to eat or drink anything, but I would like some chewing gum."
"What the hell," Mr. MacMahon said. His security facade seemed to be completely gone. "Do you want me to send for it, or do you want to get it yourself?"
"I'd like to go get it. If we all sit around a room for a half an hour, well start getting as sloppy as people."
They made a little procession going towards the PX: Pan in the lead, wearing Happy's cap, then the two sailors, then Dr. Bedoian and Mr. MacMahon. Far, far behind them, waved back by the executive MacMahon hand, trailed a great number of security men.
Across their bows came a knot of children, a class from the installation school for dependents. Cape Canaveral children are not startled by anything; they glanced at the chimpanzee leading a group of men, and glanced away again. But then one of them yelled, "Hey, that's the chimp that was on TV," and they broke away from their teacher and ran up, waving copybooks and fly leaves for autographs.
Pan restrained Mr. MacMahon from calling up his dogs. "I want to talk to them." He raised his pink palm for silence, settled Happy's cap on his head more firmly, and said, "Children."
"Hey, he talks. I thought that was just a TV gag," one of the kids said.
"Aw. lots of those actors do their own talking."
"There seems to be some confusion here," Pan said. "I am not a television actor, but a real, live chimpanzee. You, while you can never become apes, can achieve an ape-like life: or perhaps you can just grow up as people, and make your children more ape-like. Now, listen to me, because it may be the only chance you have in your lives to be addressed by a genuine pongina."
The children were quiet; they were used to being addressed by teachers, principals and passing politicians.
"To achieve an ape-like state, it is only necessary to stop and think before you act, and particularly before you create," Pan said. "That sounds very simple, but it is the one thing man hates to do. It isn't peoplish to think when you could be acting. It isn't even safe; you can get fired for it, and unemployed men are the lowest of their species. Think, children. Don't build fast cars before you build roads that are safe for fast cars. Don't grow a whole stack of wheat before you can dispose of it to someone who wants it. Don't move someplace too hot or too cold for you just to get something you don't want when you get there. Just take it easy; it's that simple.
"Be a little more like the apes, children, and you may not live longer, but you will have a better time while you live. In other words, don't be ambitious without knowing what you're ambitious for."
He lowered his hand, and seemed to smile on them benevolently, but not even Dr. Bedoian could always be sure which expression Pan was using.
Then he strolled on to get his chewing gum.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Galen formerly dissected Apes and Monkeys and recommended to his Scholars the frequent Anatomizing of them.
The space capsule was ready; slowly the elevator rose in the gantry, and Pan and his group crossed the platform. Below them the liquid fuel seethed and steamed. There were no newsreel and television cameras present.
It was a much smaller ship than the ill-named one in which Pan Satyrus had made a wrong-way flight. And the rocket that was to send it aloft was a much smaller one; it had not cost more than the annual income of a small city.
Pan Satyrus managed to walk to his seat with dignity; but just before they strapped him in, he scratched his head with his hind foot. Then he was strapped down, and his helmet put on his head — he already had his space suit on — and the microphone adjusted in front of his mouth. His old spaceship had not had a mike.
"Testing," he said. "Can you hear me? I'd like Radioman Bronstein on one of the radio transmitters, please. Happy, can you handle a NASA set?"
"Any radio in the world," Happy said.
"Then, good. Ready for blast-off, gentlemen."
They backed away. The capsule was sealed, and all the men went back on the gantry, and the gantry was wheeled away from the rocket. General Maguire tapped on an intercom. "Condition go, go all the way," he said, happily.
No one else was very happy. As they took up their posts in the observation room, with Happy replacing the regular radio operator, they were very silent.
The count from three hundred down to zero seemed to race.
Then the rocket was off, and the stages were falling away, and the little capsule was flying in free orbit.
"He didn't turn this one," Dr. Bedoian said.
"He's learned you can't tamper with the U.SA.," General Maguire said.
Happy said, "Message from spaceship. Quote: All okay for first orbit. Can see Africa. Unquote. Pan, how's she look? Quote: Better than Florida. Unquote."
"Half of Africa is Communist," General Maguire said.
They drank coffee. They ate doughnuts. They scanned data from the various tracking stations, and results gotten by feeding the data into electric brains with cute names.
"Well under the speed of light," the professor said.
General Maguire said, "Ha!"
Mr. MacMahon put the lighted end of his cigarette in his mouth. "Damn," he said.
About an hour after takeoff, Happy said, "Spaceship coming back into my range, gentlemen. Message from spaceship. Quote: Stepping on the gas, Happy. Unquote. Add to message. Quote: Tell Ape to keep his shoes shined. Unquote."
"There's a tracking ship out in the Atlantic," the professor said. He mopped at his face with a dripping handkerchief.
"I read the spaceship, faint but clear," Happy said. "Quote: Wasn't that juke joint a… Message does not end. Only chatter."
"Let me hear," Dr. Bedoian said. He grabbed an earphone. "Gibberish," he said. "Pure chimpanzee chatter." He handed the earphone to the Senior Medical Officer, who nodded, gravely.
"Message from tracking ship," one of the radio monitors said. "Spaceship directly overhead."
Then: "From electric brain IDIOSYNC," one of the other monitors said. "Spaceship exceeded speed of light for last thousand miles."
"By God," the professor said. "By God."
"Which god?" Dr. Bedoian said, though he said it very softly. "Pan or Jehovah?"
"Message from Tracking Station Fernando Po," one of the radioman said, and there was silence in the room. "Spaceship is coming down. Re-entering atmosphere. He's ditched."