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The fire crackled low, casting flickering shadows on the rock walls surrounding their makeshift campsite. The cold mountain air had settled in, but the castaways sat close, drawn more by Steve’s voice than the fire’s warmth.
“…and then he raised his hand—not in warning, but in blessing,” Steve was saying, eyes reflecting the flames. “They call him Mira'Kai. The High Guru of a hidden city carved into the cliffs. A people exiled by their own kind. They worship an ancient protector named Khan-Gorr—a god-ape of the high places. They say he watches the threshold between ape and… whatever comes next.”
There was a long silence. The fire popped.
“Pfft,” Fitzhugh finally muttered, tugging his jacket tighter. “A giant ape-god? Really, Captain Burton? Next you’ll tell us he climbs skyscrapers and swats airplanes from the sky. What was his name again—Khan-Gorr? Sounds like King Kong’s backwoods cousin.” He let out a short, skeptical laugh and poked at the fire with a stick.
Steve shot him a look but said nothing.
Mark leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hold on a second.” His voice was quieter, more thoughtful. “I’ve seen apes like that. Not exactly like that, but close. Years ago, in a primatology lab outside Marseille. They weren’t gorillas or chimps… they were smaller, leaner, more expressive. Highly social. Almost eerily human.” He looked around the circle, his face shadowed by firelight. “They’re called Bonobos. Man’s closest relative. It makes sense—if some branch of their kind survived and evolved separately, it would explain everything. The intelligence. The language. Even the exile. No wonder the other apes wanted them gone.”
Valerie glanced at Betty, who sat wide-eyed beside her, and murmured, “So they weren’t gods. They were just the wrong kind of apes.”
Steve exhaled slowly, staring into the flames. “Maybe they were both.”
Betty pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, her face pale in the firelight. “Okay, wait—back up a bit.” She looked at Steve, eyes wide. “Are you seriously telling us a forty-foot ape came to life? That’s not myth, Steve—that’s madness. How does something that big even exist?”
Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, weary from retelling it but understanding her disbelief. “I don’t think he started out that way,” he said slowly. “More likely, he was a gorilla. A real one—maybe a soldier or a scout from one of the early patrols who wandered too far into the high zones. Got lost. Separated. Whatever happened… he didn’t make it back.” Steve paused, watching the flames lick at a charred log. “And maybe while he was out there, something found him.”
Fitzhugh snorted, but Steve continued, undeterred.
“Remember what happened to Barry’s dog? Chipper?” A grim silence settled over the group. Betty looked down, clearly remembering. “We thought we lost him at the riverbed—until he came back as a six-foot mutant with skin like melted glass and teeth like a buzzsaw. Radiation. Mutagenic fallout from whatever wrecked this world. It warped Chipper. Twisted him into something barely recognizable.”
Mark nodded slowly. “That was no ordinary mutation. Something ancient’s leaking into this ecosystem.”
“Exactly,” Steve said. “Whatever Khan-Gorr was… he didn’t die. He adapted. Learned how to survive up there in the cold, in the ice. Maybe even learned how to use it. That statue? It’s not just stone—it’s insulation. Camouflage. Hibernation. Whatever keeps him preserved between whatever weird awakenings those Pan-Kelari believe in.”
Betty shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter. “So he’s not a god. He’s a relic. A radioactive monster in hibernation.”
Steve stared into the fire. “Or both.”
Dan poked the fire with a stick, sending a shower of sparks spiraling into the night. He cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Well, I'm just glad Cornelius and Zira left when they did," he said, glancing over at Steve.
Steve nodded, his expression tightening. "So am I. For a couple of reasons." He leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "If they’d stayed much longer, someone in Ape City would've noticed. Their absence was bound to raise questions—and suspicions. Especially with Urko and Zaius already breathing down their necks." He shook his head grimly. "Urko’s no fool. He already thinks they’re helping us. If they’d delayed their return, it could’ve meant prison—or worse."
Dan looked around cautiously, lowering his voice. "And if Urko had gotten the idea to follow their jeep tracks out of the city..."
"He could’ve found this camp," Steve finished for him. "All it would’ve taken was one patrol, maybe a scout with a good eye. If they’d stayed just a little longer, they might’ve led him straight to us."
A long pause followed, the wind whispering in the trees above them.
“They took a risk to help us,” Valerie said quietly, her gaze on the flames. “They always do.”
“Let’s just hope it didn’t cost them more than they could afford,” Steve replied.
Steve's gaze drifted toward the fire's edge, where Nova lay curled beneath a worn blanket, her breathing soft and even in sleep. For a moment, a gentleness crossed his face, the hardened edges of survival giving way to something quieter.
"Zira had the right idea," he said, voice low so as not to wake her. "Told Cornelius they should swing by their old dig site—south of the valley, near the cliffs. Pick up a few pottery shards, maybe some bones. Just enough to make it look like they’ve been doing what they always do."
He leaned back against a flat stone, exhaling slowly. "If anyone in Ape City asks, they’re just a couple of harmless scholars, puttering around in the dirt again." A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "With luck, it’ll be enough to throw Urko and Zaius off the scent."
He looked back at Nova, her face bathed in firelight, and then to the stars overhead.
"They risked everything for us," he added, more to himself than the others. "It’s only fair we do our part to keep them safe."
A steady wind had carried Steve and Cornelius in the hot-air balloon high above the craggy ridges of the Forbidden City, sweeping them down from the frosty peaks where Mira'Kai, the High Guru of Khan'Gorr, and his gentle, secluded people lived in peace among the ice and stone. For a time, the current held strong, guiding them southward with surprising ease. But as the balloon descended toward the forest, the wind faltered and died, leaving them adrift over unfamiliar terrain. They made a rough landing in the foothills and, with no choice but to continue on foot, the blond-haired pilot and his chimpanzee companion trekked for miles—through thickets, across dry riverbeds, and over winding trails—before at last reaching the hidden campsite where the others waited.
The fire burned low, casting long shadows across the camp. A half-moon hung over the ruined treetops, cold and indifferent.
Fitzhugh jabbed a stick into the dirt, eyes narrowed. “You really think you can trust them, don’t you? Those apes. Especially those two.”
Steve glanced up, jaw tight. “Cornelius and Zira saved my life. That’s more than I can say for most people in this world.”
Fitzhugh snorted. “Saved your life after they caged you like an animal.”
“That was protocol. You think they had a choice?” Steve snapped. “They were already risking everything just talking to me. You saw what happened when Zaius caught wind of it. Urko would’ve had me shot on sight.”
“They still put you in a cage.”
“And they got me out.”
Fitzhugh’s eyes glittered in the firelight. “So what? That erases what they are? They’re apes, Steve. Products of a system that dehumanizes us—literally. You think a few kind words and a quiet conscience make them different?”
“They are different,” Steve said. “They question that system. They’re fighting it in their own way.”
Fitzhugh laughed, dry and bitter. “Fighting it? They’re academics. Paper pushers. You think the orangutans are afraid of their research notes? The High Council tolerates them the way kings tolerate pet philosophers. So long as they don’t cause real trouble.”
“They’ve caused enough trouble by helping us,” Steve said, his voice tight. “They’ve already lied to Zaius, defied Urko, and risked exile or worse.”
“And what do you think will happen if you follow through with your insane idea?” Fitzhugh shot back. “Taking them back to 1983? Into our world? What are you going to do—drop them off in a zoo? Hand them over to a military lab?”
“I’m not handing them over to anyone. I’m offering them freedom. A new life. A chance to live somewhere they won’t be hunted like animals for helping us.”
Fitzhugh’s mouth twisted. “You don’t even know if that’s possible. You’re gambling everything—on them.”
Steve stood, fists clenched. “I’m gambling on people—not species. And if you’d seen the things I’ve seen—their kindness, their courage—you’d understand.”
Fitzhugh stood too, not backing down. “No. I wouldn’t. Because I haven’t forgotten where we are, or what they are. You want to put your faith in talking apes, fine. Just don’t ask me to share your delusion.”
A silence fell. The others stared into the fire, the wind rustling through the leaves like a whisper of unease.
After a long moment, Steve said quietly, “We all have to decide who we trust, Fitzhugh. I’ve made my choice.”
“And I’ve made mine,” Fitzhugh muttered, turning away.
As the tension hung thick in the night air, Valerie broke the silence. Her voice was soft but clear, cutting through the fire’s crackle like a distant chime. “Maybe you’re both right,” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “And maybe that’s the problem.”
Steve turned to her, jaw still set, but listening. Fitzhugh only crossed his arms, his scowl fixed.
Valerie shifted closer to the fire, her expression thoughtful. “Yes, Cornelius and Zira are apes. And yes, they’re part of a system that sees us as animals, even threats. But they’ve stepped outside of that system—again and again. Not because they had to. Because they chose to. That matters.”
Mark added, leaning back with a sigh, “They’re scientists, not soldiers. They’ve seen things that challenge everything they were taught. Just like we have. I think... I think they’re trying to make sense of a world that no longer fits the old rules. Same as us.”
Valerie nodded. “If they hadn’t helped us, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I don’t know what the future holds—if we’ll ever get home, or what 'home' even means anymore—but I do know this: we’re not going to survive by drawing hard lines. Not anymore.”
Fitzhugh gave no reply, but his gaze fell to the fire.
Steve exhaled slowly. “Thanks,” he said quietly, and sat down again.
From the edge of the firelight, Betty looked between them. “Then I guess the real question is... what happens if the balloon’s ever ready to fly again?”
Steve didn’t answer. But the look in his eyes said he’d already thought about it—every risk, every cost.
Above them, the stars wheeled silently in a sky seven thousand years from everything they’d once known. Earth. 1983 A.D. A world of gleaming towers, voice-activated homes, and monorails humming over glass highways. Home computers were as large as suitcases but smart enough to speak, and every suburban kitchen had a nutrition analyzer. Yet for all its polish, that world was deeply uneasy. The Cold War still loomed like a stormcloud, with orbital weapons platforms casting long shadows over peace conferences. A strange airborne virus—unidentified and incurable—had begun wiping out cat populations across continents. In response, governments had imposed a global ban on pet ownership, citing biohazard protocols. Parks stood empty without dogs. Children played with synthetic companions, engineered to mimic the warmth of animals without the risk. Surveillance drones buzzed like metal mosquitoes above city streets, and entire districts were marked “No Entry” due to lingering radiation from the Energy Crisis Riots of ’77. It was a world obsessed with order, fearful of contagion, and clinging to comfort as the edges of society began to fray.
The Spindrift had crashed through more than a storm in the sky. It had torn through time itself, dropping them into a future so twisted it might have been a hallucination—if not for the cold dirt beneath their fingernails and the ache in their muscles after every day spent surviving. This Earth—if it could even be called that—was ruled by intelligent apes, creatures who walked upright, spoke in measured tones, and wore robes like magistrates from a fallen civilization. Some, like Dr. Zira and Cornelius, had risked everything to help the castaways. Others, like General Urko, would see them dead on principle alone. To most apes, humans were nothing more than animals—mute, disposable, and dangerous in numbers.
They didn’t talk about it often, but sometimes—around the fire, when the forest quieted and the stars above looked almost like home—they remembered.
Steve had loved flying in that strange, tense world. Airspace was tight and dangerous, but the sky was still a place of freedom. He’d never liked the cities, though—too many scanners, too many rules. The pet ban had hit him harder than he admitted. He used to take care of a stray calico that hung around the hangars. No ID tag. She just vanished one day, like so many others.
Dan had felt the world cracking long before the Spindrift disappeared. He’d served in border patrol during the Berlin Escalation and watched the peace talks crumble on live feeds. He never trusted those artificial pets or the so-called “clean cities.” Too much surveillance. Too much silence. He said it often felt like the world was trying to put itself in a box and seal the lid.
Valerie, always a child of technology, missed her music. Not just the sound, but the ritual—recording her own mixes, trading cassettes with friends. She remembered when the synth towers in LA played whole albums into the air, free for anyone with a receiver. The ban on pets hadn’t meant much to her then, but now, in the forest, she sometimes dreamed of dogs she never had.
Betty had loved the predictability of that world—its machines, its protocols, even the food supplements. She’d trusted science to fix everything, even the cat virus. It terrified her, now, how wrong that faith had turned out to be.
Fitzhugh missed the luxury. Not the culture, not the people—just the polished hotels, the rooftop bars, the credit chips that still worked without question. But even he admitted that the world had started to feel artificial. Plastic smiles. Mechanical laughter. “Progress without a soul,” he once muttered.
Mark, younger than the rest, remembered the quiet more than anything—the quiet that came after the cities banned outdoor pets, the streets going still. He’d grown up watching animals vanish from his textbooks, replaced with cautionary stories. No wonder, he said, that a world afraid of its own nature ended up being swallowed by it.
Now, in a land ruled by apes, mutants, and snowbound mysteries, that old Earth felt as far away as the moon—and sometimes, just as unreal.
And yet not all humans were mute. The castaways had met pockets of primitive humanoids—naked, voiceless, wide-eyed wanderers who scavenged the land like shadows of a forgotten ancestry. They showed no understanding of speech, only gestures and fear. It was like looking at echoes of what humanity might have once been—or what it had been reduced to.
Worse still were the Underfolk—the hidden ones. Twisted, half-human things with pale eyes and voices that whispered in riddles. They lived in the cracks beneath the ruins of forgotten cities, their skin marked by radiation burns and generations of darkness. Some still remembered books. Others worshipped machines as gods. A few wanted nothing more than to drag the castaways below and make them part of whatever strange society thrived in the caves.
And deeper yet, there were the near-humans of the Below World—strangers so eerily like the castaways in form and voice that it unsettled even the bravest among them. These beings spoke in hushed, elegant tones and walked with purpose, their cities hidden beneath the mountains, gleaming in strange bioluminescence and echoing with the hum of technologies the castaways couldn’t comprehend. They were secretive, watching the surface world with cold detachment, offering neither threat nor comfort—but always watching.
In such a world, the memory of 1983 felt like a half-remembered dream from childhood. The castaways no longer knew what day it was, or even what year. The forest around them changed with the wind. The ruins shifted like memories. Time itself seemed wounded.
But still they survived. Still they hoped. Because no matter how twisted the future had become, they hadn’t given up on each other—or the possibility of finding their way home.
Steve leaned back on one elbow, staring into the flames, and finally said aloud what they’d all been thinking about the Underfolk: “They’re not like the humanoids. And they’re not like the apes. They’re… something else.”
Mark nodded, brushing pine needles from his jacket. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. The way they move, the way they look at us… It’s not just survival down there. They’re organized. And that energy field they used to block the canyon pass—I've never seen anything like it. That’s not primitive tech. That’s... advanced. Really advanced.”
Valerie hugged her knees. “You think they’re some kind of... breakaway civilization? Humans who went underground during the Cataclysms or the war? And just never came back up?”
Fitzhugh snorted. “Please. Drawing power out of thin air? Casting illusions like they’re sorcerers from a B-movie? No. They’re mutants, probably insane. Or alien. Or both. I don’t trust anything that creates giant fire walls and fake monsters just to spook a few gorillas.”
Betty, who had been quiet, looked across the flames with a furrowed brow. “But it works. Their defenses are illusions, sure—but they’re convincing. Even Urko’s army turned back. That takes more than tricks. That takes psychology. Strategy.”
Steve nodded. “They’re outnumbered and outgunned, and still no one’s been able to breach their perimeter. Every time the apes try, something ‘terrible’ happens. Floods. Quakes. Smoke demons. Even Cornelius admitted most of it was probably projected sound and light—fake. But the apes believe it. They believe it completely.”
Dan finally spoke, voice low. “They’ve had time to study us. Study everyone. And time to plan. Think about it—what if they’re the remnants of old science? Engineers, maybe, scientists who went below to escape the wars or the diseases. They kept evolving, but not biologically—technologically. Maybe they don’t need to fight with weapons because they can win with fear.”
Valerie turned to him, her voice hushed. “You think they’re human?”
Dan paused. “I think they used to be.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s something off about them. The symmetry of their faces, the way their eyes glow in low light. They’re not just descendants of surface humans. They’ve changed. Or maybe they were changed.”
Betty added, “And yet they haven’t hurt us. Not directly. They’ve watched us. Studied us. Even left food near the caves once. They’re not hostile.”
Fitzhugh scoffed. “Maybe not yet. Maybe they’re waiting for something. Or maybe we’re just part of their experiment.”
The fire popped, scattering embers.
Steve looked out past the trees, to where the jagged line of ruined towers still pierced the horizon, a black crown of stone against the stars. “Whatever they are,” he said finally, “they’ve survived where armies failed. Maybe that’s what scares the apes the most. Not what the Underfolk do—but what they know.”
Silence settled again, heavy and thoughtful.
In the distance, the wind howled through the ruins of Metropolis—and below that, deep in the stone veins of the Earth, something ancient and unseen pulsed with quiet power.
Suddenly Steve's head came up, and he directed his eyes toward two trees that stood like sentinels at one side of the little clearing. "What the---?" he cried.
"Just the twigs, Steve," Dan said, but he, too looked at the two trees. "You're right! There's something...."
The six castaways rose to their feet quickly, alert for any danger.
Fitzhugh squinted into the dim light beyond the fire’s edge, where a strange gold-robed figure stood motionless—almost glowing under the moonlight. The face was familiar, too familiar, and yet... wrong. Polished, perfect. Like memory had been lacquered and put on display.
“Well, well,” Fitzhugh drawled, arms crossed. “Barry Lockridge, back from the depths. Tell me—did the Underfolk throw you a going-away party, or did you just walk out through one of their fake walls?” His voice was barbed with sarcasm, but beneath it, unease rippled.
The figure didn’t answer right away. Its golden robe shimmered faintly as it tilted its head—Barry’s head—but with eyes too still, too clear. Not quite human.
The others watched in tense silence, unsure whether to stand or stay seated. Steve’s hand instinctively found the grip of his utility belt. Nova stirred again in her sleep.
The fire crackled, and still the apparition did not move. Only that eerie, knowing gaze… like it saw them all from far, far away.
The fire flickered as the image of Barry Lockridge stood motionless at the edge of the clearing, his gold robe shimmering faintly, as if lit from within. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
“How did you get out?” someone asked, disbelief and hope tangled in the words.
“Are you all right?” another voice followed, urgent, pleading.
“Is it really you?” Valerie murmured, half under her breath. “You look… solid.”
“So did that colossal ape statue,” Fitzhugh muttered grimly. “So did the fake fires and quakes.”
Steve stepped forward slowly, eyes narrowed, searching the boy’s face for something—anything—genuine. “How did you find us, Barry?” he asked carefully. “If this isn’t a trick… how did you know where to come?”
Barry’s eyes shimmered, as if hearing them from across a great distance—but he said nothing yet. The fire crackled, and the night pressed in closer. His lips moved, but it was a moment before the words came. "No.....No questions," he said in a flat, unemotional voice. "Just listen. You must come to the Below World and bring Mr. Fitzhugh's special laser. Otherwise, Mendez and the Underfolk will be destroyed....and perhaps the entire planet."
Steve's eyes narrowed. "But, Barry, we'll have to know more. Thank God you're here to tell us. But remember, the last time we saw Mendez's goons they were trying to kill us with those illusions and those rays they shoot from their eyes. You can't seriously want us to go back to that? With them knowing we're coming? C'mon, son, you've gotta give us more to go on."
He reached out to touch him, but there was now a ripple across the image, like waves across a pond. Steve yanked his hand back, staring.
"Barry? Barry!" Dan's yells were loud in the clearing. "No, Barry, wait!"
The boy's voice was very thin. "Remember....bring the laser.
Dan took a step forward, eyes wide with disbelief. “Barry—Barry, wait!”
But before he could break into a run, Fitzhugh grabbed his arm with surprising force and pulled him back. “Don’t bother,” Fitzhugh said flatly, his voice laced with cynicism. “It’s no use. That wasn’t him. Not really.”
The golden figure had already begun to dissolve, flickering at the edges like static on a dying screen, until it blinked out entirely—leaving only the moonlit clearing and a cold hush.
Dan jerked his arm free. “You don’t know that! It looked just like—”
“Exactly,” Fitzhugh snapped. “Too much like him. Perfect little hero-boy Barry, standing in a patch of moonlight, smiling like he just stepped out of a family photo.” He pointed to the spot where the image had been. “That wasn’t a person. That was a picture. A projection. Like a television broadcast, sent from the Below World. And I’d bet my last breath it was Mendez behind it.”
Steve, arms folded, stepped closer to the dying fire. His jaw was tight, brow furrowed. “Then what’s the game?”
No one answered.
He looked to Fitzhugh. “Why Barry? Why show us that?”
Fitzhugh rubbed his temples, the firelight casting flickers across his face. “Because he wants us rattled. Confused. Afraid. He knows we care about Barry, and he’s playing that like a harp.”
“But why?” Steve pressed. “Why does Mendez care what we do out here? Why now?”
Fitzhugh’s eyes narrowed. “You really want the answer?”
Steve nodded.
“It’s not us he wants,” Fitzhugh said slowly. “Not really. It’s the laser. My laser.” He smirked bitterly. “A nice little tool of destruction, and our friendly neighborhood illusionist wants it in his toy chest.”
Mark leaned forward, grim. “You think it’s that simple?”
Steve glanced into the shadows where the projection had vanished. His voice was low, serious. “I don’t think anything’s simple anymore.”
Mark shifted uneasily where he stood, the firelight dancing across his tense features. His usually calm demeanor was replaced by something sharper, more unsettled. He glanced at the spot where the image of Barry had vanished, then back at the others. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I wouldn’t trust Mendez with a burnt-out flashlight, let alone my life.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on Steve. “That wasn’t just some scare tactic. That was targeted. He knew how we’d react—how you’d react. That wasn’t a show. It was a message.”
Valerie looked over at him, brows drawn. “But what kind of message?”
Mark shook his head. “That he can reach us. That he’s always watching. That he decides when we get to feel safe.” He frowned. “I don’t like it,” he added quietly. “None of it. Not the illusions. Not the games. And definitely not Mendez.”
Steve looked around the circle, his voice steady but pointed. "We're trusting Barry, aren't we?"
Dan nodded grimly, eyes still on the empty clearing where Barry's image had vanished. "He's drugged, or hypnotized—something," he said. "You can see it in his eyes. That blank look, like he's there... but not really there."
Steve frowned, staring into the fire as if searching for an answer in the flames. "But can Mendez actually make him do something he knows is wrong—something that’s truly against his will?"
Valerie drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, her voice quiet but intense as she stared into the fire. “I’ve read about hypnosis,” she said. “They say you can’t be made to do something that goes completely against your nature. But a skilled hypnotist doesn’t need to force you. They just change how you see things.” The others looked at her, listening closely. “If Barry thinks what he’s doing is right—if Mendez has twisted his perception just enough—then it wouldn’t feel wrong to him at all. It would feel necessary. Logical. Even noble.” She shook her head, worry deepening in her eyes. “And that’s the trap. Because he’s not resisting—he thinks he’s helping. But all the while, he’s just doing exactly what Mendez wants.”
Squatting, Steve tossed more twigs onto the fire. His face was thoughtful.91Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTLS6DIPNTL
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The lava bubbled soundlessly, providing its own fiery light for the television cameras.
Mendez looked, however, at the monitoring panels with a critical eye. The hawk-faced Underfolker stared longest at the large dial marked SAFE-CAUTION-DANGER and at the arrow that trembled between the yellow arc of "Caution" and the scarlet of the "Danger" zone. As he watched, the arrow touched the edge of the red arc, and a bright-red alarm light began to blink. Then the arrow eased back a fraction of an inch, and the light stopped pulsating its frightening message.
Mendez turned to Barry, who stood erect and open-eyed an arm's length away. "Your friends must decide to come, Barook," he said.
"They will come, Mendez," he answered, his voice mechanical sounding.
The Underfolk leader's eyes returned to the TV screen, to the small round image of Hell, where molten rock flowed, and bubbled like oil and chewed into the bedrock, dissolving it with its heat and fire.
Mendez paced with outward calm, but he knew that if they didn't soon get help, the lava would eat its way from the volcano under the crust of the Earth and into the deepest cavern of the Below World. In that cavern, unfortunately, was a functioning nuclear reactor, the powerful backup source to the enormous ion collector that daily sucked their power needs from the air. During occasional long spells of clouds or rain, the reactor supplied the power needed to fill the Underfolk's personal needs and ran their exterior defenses as well.
Someday, Mendez knew, the gorillas might find the ion collector and destroy it. That would be when the nuclear reactor was most needed.
Unless something was done soon, the lava would chew its way into the cavern and reach the nuclear reactor. With its destruction would come not only a loss of power, but quite probably an explosion that would destroy the entire Below World. and it was also more than likely that such an explosion would hurtle radioactive waste into the air, to poison all the inhabitants of the Earth, ape and human alike.
"There is not much time...." Mendez murmured low.
The lava bubbled. The special armored cameras near it showed the crumbling of another section of the bedrock. Mendez watched the rock fall into the red, flowing stream and melt, adding volume to the molten river, and eating away the foundation of the Below World.....91Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡirzBTztiFF
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The castaways sat close around the fire, its flickering light casting long, uncertain shadows across their weary faces. The air was thick with tension—a family conference, as Valerie had wryly called it, though none of them felt very much like family just now.
Dan broke the silence first, arms folded, eyes narrowed toward the forest. “It’s a trick. It has to be. That wasn’t Barry we saw. That was Mendez, pulling our strings again.”
Steve, seated across from him, didn’t look away from the fire. His voice was calm, but burdened. “Maybe. But maybe it was Barry. Or at least some part of him, reaching out. We can’t just assume every move Mendez makes is a lie.”
A brittle silence followed.
Then Fitzhugh spoke, his tone low, edged with bitter resolve. He stared at the small metal case half-buried near his pack—the one holding what was left of his secret weapon. “If that lunatic wants the laser so badly,” he muttered, “maybe I should smash it to bits and bury it in the ash. Better that than letting him have it.”
Mark leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees, eyes flicking from Fitzhugh to Steve. “You know what’s funny?” he said, voice quiet but edged with disbelief. “With all the science those Underfolk seem to have—the illusions, the reactors, the mind control—they never came up with something like Fitzhugh’s laser. Or if they did, they lost it.” He shook his head slowly, the firelight glinting off his glasses. “That kind of focused energy tech? It must’ve vanished during... whatever cataclysm hit this world. Buried with everything else.” Mark straightened a little, voice hardening. “But we can’t get stuck worrying about the laser. Right now, it’s Barry we should be thinking about. Because if this isn’t some twisted trap—and I’m not convinced it is—then he’s in real danger down there. Maybe he needs us more than we think.”
Betty nodded, her eyes glistening in the firelight as she looked around at the others. “Mark’s right. We don’t have a choice,” she said firmly. “If there’s even a chance Barry’s in danger, we have to go after him. We owe him that much.”
A hush fell over the group, the weight of her words settling like dust.
Then Valerie glanced toward the edge of the firelight, where Nova lay asleep, curled beneath a blanket of furs. “But what about Nova?” she asked gently. “We can’t just leave her here alone and unprotected. If something happens to us... or if they find her before we get back...”
Her voice trailed off, but the meaning hung heavy in the air.
Steve finally looked up, his expression resolute. “There’s a stretch of low hills just north of here,” he said. “Right where the forest starts thinning out and the mountains rise into the edge of the Forbidden Zone.” He stood, brushing ash from his hands as if brushing off the weight of indecision. “We’ll take Nova there. With a little luck, we can find a cave—something sheltered and hidden. Leave her with enough food, water, and furs to keep warm. If she stays put, no one should find her.” He glanced toward her sleeping form, softer now. “She’s survived worse. And we’ll be back for her. We will.”
The others exchanged glances. The plan wasn’t perfect—but it was something. It was hope.91Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkTvFWzqhjJ
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Zaius sat behind the desk with lowered eyes, looking out from under his shaggy yellow-orange brows at the 3 apes who stood belligerently facing one another in the middle of the room.
"War!" General Urko snarled, waving his large gloved fist at Zira.
His voice thundered in the small room, but the chimpanzee scientist didn't even flinch.
"Peace!" she threw back with a gesture of her own balled fist.
Next to her, Cornelius stepped forward to speak, his eyes flashing angrily at Urko, first for bullying his wife, and then for threatening their continued scientific investigations.
But Old Dr. Zaius intervened, clearing his throat noisily and slapping his hand down on the desk. "All of you seem to forget that the Ape Senate has only so much money to give." His eyes darted from one to the other of the argumentative apes across from him. 'In its own good time, the Elders will decide---and the Ape Senate will be more than happy to provide."
Cornelius turned his attention to the golden-furred orangutan. "But, Dr. Zaius----he paused and took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer voice---"you, as senior Elder, have great influence. You have swayed the Supreme Council before. We must have the money for research!"
Urko snorted, and Cornelius glared at him. "Research?" the general exploded. He threw back his head and laughed, showing his huge yellow tusks clearly. "Research!" he sneered. The massive gorilla leader now put one fist on the desk and shook the other under the nose of the chimpanzee scientist. "We need arms!" He leaned back and opened his eyes wide at Cornelius. "What borders does research protect?"
"You son of a----"
"Cornelius!" Dr Zaius rose from his chair quickly, his voice crackling with command. The pouched and weary eyes of the old orangutan turned to Urko. "General, a simple savage has eluded your army for many days," he said, his brows coming down over his eyes. His voice was steely. "You bring me the escaped humanoid---the one Cornelius and Zira call 'Blue-Eyes'---and I will be more likely to cast my vote for the military."
"Dr. Zaius!" Zira exclaimed in surprised shock.
Neither Zaius nor the general paid her any attention. The big gorilla smiled, and Cornelius saw more teeth than an ape's mouth should have.
A loud, insolent snort escaped the nostrils of the gorilla commander. "A bargain well struck, Dr. Zaius!"
The commander of the Ape Army flashed a victorious look at the chimpanzee scientists and turned to stride heavily to the door. Then turning again, he loomed large in the open portal.
"I go now," he said boomingly. "But I will return soon! With Blue-Eyes!" His eyes raked Cornelius and Zira impudently. "I swear it."
Slapping his hand to his chest in the ancient gorilla salute, he left. The door slam behind him ruffled papers on the desk and made Zira blink angrily.
She turned to Zaius, her eyes dark and her face set. "Dr. Zaius, I suppose you know that with more money Urko could get and maintain a larger army---and with that larger army, he might challenge even your power!"
Zaius sat down, but said nothing, only tugging the yellowish hair of his beard.
Cornelius leaned over the desk. "Sir, why are you arming your enemy? What about research and the ultimate good of all apekind?"
Zaius turned away from the two chimpanzees, swiveling in his chair to look out at the Arch of Triumph in the central square. After a long moment of silence, the venerable Elder spoke.
"What you say may be true, Cornelius, but I have no choice." He paused, as if lost in thought, then continued: "The escaped humanoid must be captured---or killed, though I prefer capture. He must be taken, and at any cost. Any! Even if I must pay the price with my own power!"
Cornelius looked at his wife with a disappointed frown, but she was watching the orangutan leader intently.
Zaius swung back to them and placed both hands on his desk. "If he continues to roam free, ape civilization, as we know it, could very well be doomed."
Cornelius blinked and stared at the gold-furred Elder. "B-but, D-doctor Z-zaius....!"
"I'm deadly serious, Cornelius. I am not joking. You know I am not prone to such things. If Blue-Eyes is not quickly captured and examined, all we know may be destroyed!"
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