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There was a large mockup of a hurricane, baleful eye of the storm calm in the midst of whirling winds. The artist had drawn it perfectly, and it was framed by satellite pictures of real hurricanes. Next to it was a display of photographs: the destruction of Bangladesh by the great typhoon of 1970.
“How many were killed?” Zira asked.
Hasslein looked pained. “Hundreds of thousands. No one knows for sure. Possibly as many as half a million people.”
“I don’t think there were that many apes, or humans, on earth in my time,” Zira said. They went on through the meteorology section to a display of dinosaur bones and models.
“Do you know what happened to all those people?’ Hasslein asked. “There are nearly three billion on earth now. Perhaps more.”
Zira pointed to the dinosaurs. “What happened to them?”
“We are not sure,” Hasslein said. “It was apparently time for them to go. They went. Perhaps small mammals developed and ate the eggs of the big lizards. Perhaps the climate changed and they could no longer get enough to eat. No one is certain. But do you think it is time for the human race to leave the earth?”
“It hadn’t in my time,” Zira said.
“But apes were dominant,” Hasslein prompted. “Humans did not talk and had no civilization . . .”
“Not in my part of the world,” Zira said. “I suppose I’m getting tired. Perhaps we should go now. It’s been a very nice day.”
“And it can still be,” Hasslein said smoothly. “I will not press you again. You do understand, it’s a question that is very important to me. To all of us. What can have happened to the human race? Perhaps we are about to make some mistake—a mistake we can do something about.”
“But—” Zira stopped and looked at him. Her eyes widened. “Do you think you can change the future? We came from the future! What we saw had already happened!”
“But it has not happened yet,” Hasslein said. He was very serious. “And thus need not happen.”
“But—what of us?” Zira demanded. “If you do something to prevent our world from ever existing, won’t Cornelius and I just—vanish?”
Hasslein shook his head. “I doubt it. You are here. You are part of the present, not the future, even though you came from the future.”
Zira shrugged and turned away. She began to walk down the corridor again, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. “I don’t think I understand all this, and it gives me a headache.”
Hasslein laughed. “It does me, too.” They turned the corner and entered the primate room.
The display was dominated by the centerpiece: an 800 pound male gorilla, magnificently erect, with clenched fists. His dead, glassy eyes stared at the door and seemed to bore through Hasslein and Zira. Around him there were other displays, but he seemed to fill the room, to grow larger and larger, until Zira could see nothing else.
The room seemed to swirl about, and Zira felt dizzy. Slowly she fell against Hasslein. The scientist held her for a moment, then gently lowered her to the floor. The attendants ran up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can we do anything?’’
“Send for Dr. Dixon,” Hasslein said. “Are you all right, Zira?”
“It must have been the shock of the gorilla,” a Marine bodyguard said.
Zira opened her eyes. “Shock, my foot. I’m pregnant.”
“Good Heavens,” Hasslein said. “And we’ve worn you out with all this walking and looking. Let’s get you home.”
“Dr. Dixon will be here soon,” Victor Hasslein said. “Are you sure you are all right? The ride back home didn’t tire you too much?”
“I’m fine. You can go now, Dr. Hasslein. Thank you.”
“Oh, no, Zira,” Hasslein said. “I shan’t leave you until Cornelius or Dr. Dixon get here. No, no, I insist. Is there anything I can get you?”
She leaned back on the couch and kicked off her shoes, sighing in relaxation. “Well, I have a strange craving—”
“That’s only natural under the circumstances. What can I get you?”
“Grape Juice Plus.”
“What? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“It’s in the refrigerator,” Zira said. “Re-frig-er-a-tor. I said it right, didn’t I? We call it an icebox.”
“Refrigerator. Certainly. I’ll get it.” Hasslein went to the suite kitchenette. There were three bottles of California champagne in the refrigerator, and he smiled softly to himself. He looked through the cupboards until he found a large wine goblet, then opened the champagne and filled the glass. He brought the bottle with him into the living room.
“Here you go,” he said. “Grape Juice Plus.” Hasslein winked at Zira.
She winked back. “But I shouldn’t drink this much . . .”
“Oh, come now,” Hasslein said. “You’re not that far along, are you?”
“Pretty far,” Zira said.
“Well, a little champagne never hurt anyone. How long have you known you were—uh, going to have a child?”
“Since well before the war.” She took a deep drink of the champagne and smacked her lips. “That’s very good. Anyway, I knew since before the war, and that was another reason we wanted to escape. We couldn’t know what would happen.”
Hasslein took out his cigarette case and set it on the table. “Perhaps I shouldn’t smoke—”
“Oh, it doesn’t bother me,” Zira said. “It seems a very silly habit, though.”
“It is. One much easier to take up than to quit, it seems. Thank you.” He lit a cigarette, and left the case on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You say you don’t know against whom the war was fought?”
“Not really,” Zira said. She took another gulp of champagne. Hasslein casually filled her glass again. “Just that there were some—uh, apes, living underground in the next district, and the army decided to fight them.“
Hasslein nodded agreement. “Ordinary citizens often are not asked about such things. Who won your war?”
“It wasn’t our war,” Zira protested, her speech slurring. She gulped more wine. “It was the gorillas’ war. They’re always fighting about something. Chimpanzees are pacifists. We never did see an enemy.”
“Oh.” Hasslein filled her glass again, then took a seat and stretched his feet out in front of him. “Hard day today, wasn’t it?”
“A little,” Zira agreed. They chatted about the museum for a while, as Hasslein continued to keep her glass full.
“Surely you know which side won the war,” Hasslein said finally.
“Neither side won,” Zira said. “The stupid fools. We told them . . .”
Hasslein frowned. “Just what did happen, then?”
“When we were in space . . . we saw the light. A blinding bright white light, it was horrible. The rim of the world seemed to melt! The whole earth must have been destroyed. Dr. Milo thought it had been. Then there was—I don’t know. Then we were here.” She lifted her glass again and drank more wine, spilling several drops on the table and drooling more down her chin.
“I feel very sleepy,” she said. “Magnificently sleepy. I think I shouldn’t drink any more.”
“Probably you’re right,” Hasslein agreed. “Tell me, Zira, what was the date in your time?”
“Thirty-nine . . . fifty-five.”
Hasslein whistled. “That’s a long time from now. Nearly two thousand years. How far back did you have records?”
“I don’t know. Cornelius would have better information. We had some records, copies of human records, that go back into your past, Dr. Hasslein. But we didn’t have details of anything much over a thousand years old.”
“I see. You are getting sleepy, and here comes Dr. Dixon. He’ll see you get to bed.” Hasslein retrieved his cigarette case as Lewis came in.
“You’re all right?” Lewis demanded. “I was told she had a fainting spell.”
“Nothing to be worried about,” Hasslein assured him. “But perhaps you don’t know. Madame Zira will be a mother shortly. I’ll leave you with your patient, Dr. Dixon. Good afternoon.”
Lewis watched Hasslein put his cigarette case in his pocket and leave the suite. He watched until the scientist was gone, and then turned to Zira, noting the nearly empty champagne bottle, and Zira’s slack smile. Just what had Hasslein learned? And what would he do with the knowledge? Lewis Dixon was suddenly afraid.