Battle For The Planet Of The Apes (15 page)

“And who slaughtered them from horseback?” retorted MacDonald. “Who chased them across the desert till there were no survivors?”

“That was Aldo and his gorillas!” snapped Caesar.

“And who slaughtered Aldo?” asked Virgil from behind. His tone was quiet but firm.

Caesar whirled, momentarily startled, then seeing the little orangutan, his face softened. “Virgil, you are a wise and good ape. But . . .” He raised his hands helplessly. “What can I do?”

MacDonald answered his question for him. “Trust us.”

Caesar looked at him. “Trust you?”

“We want to have honor, too. We want to live with respect. We will live as your equals, Caesar, or life will not be worth living at all.”

“There is everything to gain . . .” murmured Virgil.

“. . . and nothing left to lose,” finished MacDonald. “Remember . . . the last war?”

Caesar’s body ached from his wounds; but his head hurt even more with the weight of the decision he had to make. “Trust you?” he asked MacDonald. “Trust you?”

“You have no choice,” insisted Virgil. “We need their help, their hands, and their hearts to rebuild Ape City. We have to trust them. All apes have to.”

“No,” said Caesar. “Not Ape City, not any more. Now it has to be
Our
City. All of ours. If we accept their help, then we must accept them as well. All of them. It will not be easy, but let us start here,” He turned to MacDonald. And held out his hand.

MacDonald grinned. He stepped forward and took it.

And then the humans did stream out of the corral, cheering and shouting. And crying too. But the tears were tears of joy.

As the last gun was cleaned and oiled and put away, Mandemus came to Caesar.

“Caesar, I must ask a favor. This armory has been my home for many, many years.”

Caesar misunderstood. He put his hand on Mandemus’ shoulder. “You may live in it until the end of your days, old fellow. You have earned it.”

“No, no!” insisted the wizened orangutan. “I don’t want to live in it! I want to be free! Now that the danger is over, I want to see this accursed storehouse and everything in it destroyed! Blown up!”

“So do I,” said Caesar. “But we mustn’t. We can’t. The greatest danger of all is that the danger is never over. Mandemus, you must stay here and continue to be our conscience. If we are to be free, we must be responsible. Help us be responsible.”

Mandemus sighed, “You will never understand, Caesar, will you? As long as there are weapons here, there will always be danger.”

Caesar looked back at him. “No,
you
don’t understand. As long as there are weapons
anywhere
, there will be danger. This armory must stay here, always ready, always waiting.”

“Waiting,” muttered Mandemus. “If a weapon is made, it will be used. Caesar,” he said, “I do not think we have won the war. The weapons have.” And with that, he turned and disappeared back among the cases and crates of death.

Waiting. Like a distant bomb, with “Alpha-Omega” painted on its sides. Waiting. Like the woman, no longer mad, sitting, staring. Her hand on a console. On a button. Waiting.

Many years later, many centuries after the fact, a lawgiver stood on a hillside and taught a class.

“We still wait, my children. The weapons still wait. The danger still exists. But each new generation is a renewal, a renewal of the promise that we can survive together. We
must.
Or none of us will survive at all."

He closed his book softly. “The promise is yours to keep. Yours to pass on to your children for them to keep.” He looked over his class and smiled. “We have not done badly so far."

The rapt faces of ape and human children stared back at him. Chimpanzees, orangutans, and gorillas, blacks, Orientals, and Caucasians. All together . . .