Beneath The Planet Of The Apes by Michael Avallone Page A

and within a yard of where he stood, a pillar of flame shot up. Brent reeled back. A vertical geyser jet of steam behind him licked at his rear so that he had to stumble forward again. Only to be cut off by the wall of fire. Between two horrors.
    “Or the Sonic Deterrent,” Caspay chuckled delightedly.
    Abruptly there was a rat-tat-tat, a gobbling medley of rapid-fire noises to the right of where Brent stood imprisoned. As if an invisible machine gun had cut loose. Then to his left, an ear-skewering electronic scream of sound rose in such deafening volume that soon the entire chamber and the outside world seemed to reverberate with the caterwauling. The sounds rose to a deafening tumult, then just when Brent was sure his eardrums would explode, vanished with terrifying, miraculous abruptness. His body swayed with the assault from all sides.
    “Weapons,” Caspay continued blandly, “of peace, Mr. Brent.”
    “Like all our weapons,” the beautiful Albina agreed from her sea of blue robes.
    The Negro nodded firmly. “Mere illusion.”
    Brent lost his temper and what was left of his discretion. He had been a toy for too long; a mere mortal buffeted and battered about by what was seemingly an impossible manifest destiny.
    “Damn your hypocrisy!” he bellowed.
    The Negro turned to look at Caspay. Then he looked at his white wall. There, projected, was an image of Brent set afire, clothes and flesh blazing, screaming soundlessly in a void of death. Caspay returned his gaze down to Brent. His expression was gentle.
    “We very much need your help, Mr. Brent.”
    “Why?” It was a helpless groan from Brent.
    “We are the Keepers of the Divine Bomb. That is our only reason for survival. And yet—as you see—we are defenseless.”
    Brent sneered. Bitterly.
    “Yes, I can see that.”
    “Defenseless,” Caspay continued, “against the monstrous, slobbering, materialistic apes.”
    “I’ll help nobody!” Brent rallied, with deep but slow confusion. “I hope you annihilate one another.”
    Caspay smiled.
    “Mr. Brent, I apologize for your language. There are times, I know, when your sanity—is about to give way. I hope that doesn’t happen. I hope you can tell us . . .”
    “Exactly,” the fat man interrupted again, as seemed to be his conversational forte, “what the apes are planning!”
    Brent didn’t understand. He couldn’t.
    Albina stirred anew. Silky, sinister, maddeningly lovely.
    “We’ve caught some of their scouts. Hideous creatures. We had them here—precisely where you’re standing. But either their skulls are too thick. Or they actually know nothing . . .”
    “And neither do I,” Brent cut her off violently. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
    The Negro laughed. It was a very unpleasant sound.
    He gazed at his white wall again.
    On it, Nova materialized.
    Caspay said gently, “You make me very sad, Mr. Brent.”
    Brent looked from the Negro to Caspay, frowning. His mind tried to find an answer. And then, amazingly, he saw Nova being brought into the chamber, struggling between another set of implacable guards. The girl was clawing, scratching, but the guards might have been zombies. Nova, despite her torn garments, or perhaps because of them, looked more paganly desirable than ever. Brent bunched his fists, trembling.
    “She can’t help you,” he blurted. “She can’t even talk. Don’t harm her . . .”
    Albina made a low, feline sound in her silky throat and motioned regally to the guards who now released Nova. The girl, crying, ran headlong into Brent’s arms. He clasped her to him, reveling in the feel of her once more. He had ached to hold her again, without knowing it. Or realizing why.
    “Of course not, Mr. Brent,” Albina purred. “We never harm anyone. You are going to harm her.” Her ivory face pulsed sensually. Her exquisite bosom rose and fell as she breathed deeply.
    Smiling sadistically, his great black face wreathed in onyx power, the Negro closed his eyes.