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“I’m sorry,” Stevie interrupted. “You’re getting to questions that are still under study by the Presidential Commission.”
“Censorship, huh?” Bill Cummings said. “I suppose that figures.”
“Not at all, Mister Cummings,” Lewis answered. “But I do think that the President’s Commission of Inquiry should have first crack at scientific information of that kind, don’t you? Cornelius and Zira are as anxious as you are to find out the truth, but we don’t want to prejudice the Commission’s findings by publishing a lot of speculations.”
“Sounds like a bunch of crap to me,” Simpson said.
“For once I agree.” Cummings looked expectantly at Lewis and Stevie. “You ought to do better than that. We don’t represent the really big papers and magazines, but we ought to get some kind of a story. I don’t know about everybody else, but my readers are going to want to know what happened to the people on this earth. All the people . . .”
“Black and white,” Simpson seconded. “There are a lot of black people around New York. In their time there aren’t any. What happened to them?”
“If I knew I would tell you,” Cornelius said. “How can I answer for what I do not know?”
“You can bet we won’t be the only ones to ask,” Cummings said.
ELEVEN
There were no reporters at the next meeting of the Presidential Commission. The sixteen commissioners sat in a much smaller room, with only their secretary for audience.
“It looks like a trial,” Stevie said. She spoke quietly to the commission secretary; Lewis Dixon had to sit with the other commissioners on the opposite side of the big walnut conference table. The chimpanzees sat with Stephanie at a small table in front of them, and the secretary was just to Stevie’s left. Her stenotype machine ground out yards of folded tape as the conference continued.
“I trust you are sufficiently rested,” Chairman Hartley said. “This may be a long session.”
“We’ll just have to endure it,” Cornelius answered. He did not smile. Lewis frowned, and Stevie nudged Cornelius.
“You’ve got to keep their friendship,” she whispered.
“We will be as cooperative as we can be under the circumstances, Dr. Hartley,” Cornelius said. “Unfortunately, we may not know enough.”
“That remains to be seen,” Hartley said. He seemed less unfriendly, but he obviously did not enjoy conversing with chimpanzees. “Senator Yancey, I believe you were asking about Colonel Taylor when the last session ended at Madame Zira’s request. Would you continue, please?”
“Thank you,” Yancey said. “I believe you told us you never met Colonel Taylor?”
“That is correct, Senator,” Cornelius said.
“But you arrived here in his spacecraft.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How was that spacecraft launched? I am an old Air Force reservist, Mister Cornelius, and frankly, I don’t think anybody, I don’t care how smart he is, could have flown that ship without some instruction. Since you couldn’t teach yourselves, one of the crewmen must have taught you.”
Cornelius shrugged, as Zira looked worried. “Your logic is impeccable, Senator,” Cornelius said. “Unfortunately, your conclusion is not correct. We were not taught to operate that spacecraft by Colonel Taylor, or any other human.”
“This other ape, this Dr. Milo you called him, he learned all that by himself?” Yancey said. His voice was scornful; he obviously did not believe the apes.
“He found books and papers in the spacecraft,” Zira said. “And Dr. Milo was a genius. His theories on the nature of time and matter were causing every physicist to doubt everything that had been taught.” Tears formed in her eyes again. “I wish he had lived, so that he could discuss his theories with your physics experts.”
“Doubtless we would have learned a great deal,” Hartley said. He didn’t sound at all sincere, and Zira winced.
“I want to return to that ship,” Yancey said. “Is it possible that this Milo knew Colonel Taylor and didn’t tell you about it?”
Cornelius shrugged. “I suppose it is possible, but very unlikely. Senator, all we can tell you is that we found the capsule, empty; Dr. Milo studied it and the books and papers aboard it; and eventually he caused it to fly.”
“And why did he pick the two of you to go with him?” Yancey demanded.
“We were willing to go,” Zira answered quickly. “Not everyone believed in Milo—not enough to risk their lives with him! No ape had ever flown, not within our memory! When Dr. Milo said the ship would fly, no one else would believe him.”
“And why did you?” Lewis Dixon asked.
“Because, as an historian, I knew that humans had once had flying machines,” Cornelius answered smoothly. “So I knew such things were possible. Even so, we had our doubts about Dr. Milo’s theories.” He didn’t say anything else, but Lewis knew he was thinking about talks he must have had with Taylor.
“Are you satisfied, Senator?” Hartley asked.
“No, sir, I am not satisfied,” Yancey answered. “But I reckon I’ve got all the information I’m going to get on the subject. I don’t like it, Dr. Hartley. I don’t like it at all. Three officers of the United States Air Force took off in that space capsule. A year later that same capsule comes back, and nobody knows what happened to our troops. Now I’m just old-fashioned enough to think this republic exists to defend its citizens, Dr. Hartley, and if there’s any chance those men are alive somewhere we ought to go get them!”
“Colonel Taylor’s ship was not the only one that vanished,” Victor Hasslein said. “Tell us, Cornelius, did the other ship arrive in your, uh, time, as well?”
“Not so far as I know,” Cornelius said quickly. “We found only the one ship.”
He’s getting nervous, Lewis Dixon thought. So is Zira. Old Senator Yancey talks with a mouth full of corn pone, but he’s no fool, and Hasslein is like a snake after a bird. They’re not going to let go of this.
“And yet,” Hasslein said, “your Dr. Milo, genius that he was, was able to deduce what Taylor’s ship was for and how it worked, convince himself that it would still work, and persuade you to risk your lives on it. All this on the basis of one ship and no crewmen. Tell me, Mister Cornelius, does this sound reasonable to you? If I told you that one of your friends had done something like that, would you believe it?”
“I would,” Zira snapped. “My husband has told you that he was an historian. He knew that humans had flying machines. He had told Dr. Milo about them. And once Milo had examined the ship, he said it was obvious what it was for.”
“Obvious,” Hasslein said. He shifted papers and pointed to several passages.
“Interesting,” Dr. Hartley muttered. He looked up. “Tell me, sir, were you actually startled by the light in the refrigerator?”
“What?” Cornelius half stood at his seat in indignation. “I suppose you were spying on us?” He looked at Stephanie and Lewis.
“We only reported what we saw,” Stevie said. “You knew we would—”
Cornelius’s lips were tightly drawn against his teeth. “I had not known you would report such trivia. Yes, sir, I was startled by the light in the re-frig-er-a-tor.” He pronounced the new word carefully.
“And why was that? Because you had no electricity at all?” Hartley said.
Cornelius shook his head. “We were not that primitive, sir. We were familiar with the concept of electricity. It was not widely used, and most generators were hand or animal driven. Certainly we did not use it for the little light in the refrigerator. We did not have energy to waste on such things.”
“And why not?” Cardinal MacPherson asked. “Not why didn’t you waste energy on refrigerator lights; I tend to agree with your assessment of that. I mean why was there so little energy?”