Free Escape From The Planet Of The Apes by Jerry Pournelle Page B

nearly all the energy sources so that, no matter how much the ape scientists might know, we simply could not develop a machine civilization again. Not that we really wanted to, you understand.”
    “I see.”
    “I have not made my point,” Cornelius said. “I meant to say that I am at least not surprised by the existence of all this; but the same is probably not true for my wife. Oh, certainly, we all knew that humans had machines, and I often spoke of my work to her; but I would not be surprised if she found much of this a bit overwhelming.”
    And he was certainly right, Lewis Dixon thought. Zira was perpetually startled by this civilization—toothbrushes, which she thought a bit small to use as hairbrushes; high-heeled shoes, which she thought ridiculous. Sometimes, watching her, it was difficult for Lewis to remember that the apes weren’t primitive at all; not in the way he was tempted to think. Machinery wasn’t everything.
    Future shock with a vengeance, Lewis thought. Add to it the knowledge that their world is destroyed and they can never go home. Realize that they are all alone here on Earth and always will be, that there will never be any others of their own kind; and the question is inevitable. Are these chimpanzees quite sane?
    I certainly wouldn’t be, Dixon thought. The culture shock of this machine civilization would be enough to put me off my hinges. Or knowing I was alone and always would be. Any of it would be enough to drive almost any normal human stark staring mad—yet the apes don’t seem very upset at all. They’ve adjusted to tailors, automobiles, TV, telephones, refrigerators, and flush toilets, and they’re still at it. This should make a fascinating book when I have finished with the study.
    Another press conference was about to begin. It was the tenth, or eleventh, for the chimpanzees; Lewis Dixon couldn’t remember which. The big, important publications had been dealt with, or wanted so much time for depth interviews that scheduling was difficult; now came the turn for the specialty magazines and papers. Lewis and Stevie waited in the living room of the suite until Cornelius led Zira out.
    “Hey, you look nice,” Lewis said. The first time be had seen Zira in a high-necked maxi-skirt cocktail dress he had been unable to restrain himself, and his laughter had been embarrassing. The embarrassment hadn’t lasted long, though; when Zira modeled the clothes for Cornelius, her husband had found the whole thing even funnier than Dixon had.
    Only Stephanie sympathized. Apparently women chimpanzees weren’t a lot different from human females when it came to clothing. Stevie hadn’t seen anything to laugh about at all.
    “How many reporters do we have this time?” Zira asked.
    “Not many. Two or three,” Lewis said. There was a knock at the door, and when he answered it, a room service waiter came in with a tray of glasses and a bottle of champagne.
    “I didn’t order this,” Lewis said.
    “Compliments of the house,” the waiter said. “I’ll put this second bottle in the refrigerator. The manager thought you might like some refreshments between press conferences.”
    “Yes, we would, thank you.” Lewis took the tray and gave the waiter a tip. He poured for each and raised his glass. “Here’s to the most popular apes in the world.”
    They all lifted their glasses and drank. “Hey, not so much. You sip champagne,” Lewis told Zira. “Don’t gulp it!”
    “It’s very good,” Zira said. “What is it?”
    Dixon shrugged. “Sort of—grape juice plus, I guess. Surely you have had wines?”
    “Not this good,” Zira said. She took another big swallow of the champagne. “Excellent.”
    Cornelius led Lewis Dixon to the other side of the ornate suite. “All chimpanzees have a tendency to drink too much alcohol. It seems to be inherited—we do not notice it particularly in orangutans and gorillas, although some gorillas are alcoholics.”
    “Zira too?” Lewis