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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 these Pan-Kelari before. Not exactly like them, 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, “Because they were just the wrong kind of apes.”
Betty pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, her face pale in the firelight. “Okay, wait—back up.” 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 clans 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. 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.
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 reunion between Zira and Cornelius---as well as the meeting of Steve and young Nova---had been happy. Zira, especially, had feared for the safety of her husband; and Nova worried about her surrogate father.
The fire crackled now, in the small clearing in the forest, and the castaways had a moment.
The Earth they’d left behind in 1983 was full 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 dog and 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.
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 dog and 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
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.
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. The gorillas now wanted to kill them all off. But, more important, the apes were definitely interested in capturing Steve Burton in order to determine if he indeed possessed the ability to speak. To the Simian World possessing language was the same as a death sentence.
In such a world, the memory of 1983—with its microwave ovens, airline tickets, and Saturday morning cartoons—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. It was only in rare instances, such as this evening, that they had time to think about what had been happening to them.
Dan began talking about Barry Lockridge, the youngest passenger, on his way to England to live with cousins, master of a forbidden dog. After crossing the burning desert from the riverbank in which they had crashed their spaceship, Barry, along with the four other passengers, had disappeared into a crevice opened by an earthquake---only to reappear later as the god-figure of the Underfolk of the Below World. They called him Barook, from an ancient word that meant "Blessed One." Their ancient scrolls foretold that a child who survived the "Great Fires" and returned as a youth would lead them to freedom. But when they found him, the young passenger had been drugged, and was controlled by Mendez, the leader of the mysterious Underfolk.
The fire crackled in the deepening night, sparks drifting like tiny comets toward the canopy. Steve leaned back on one elbow, staring into the flames, and finally said aloud what they’d all been thinking: “They’re not like the humanoids," Steve said. And they’re not like the apes. They’re… something else.”
"I've been thinking the same thing," Mark nodded, brushing pine needles from his jacket. "The way they move, the way they look at us....It's not just survival down there. They're organized. And 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?”
"Please," Fitzhugh snorted. “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 monuments 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. And 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.”
“I don’t know," Mark shook his head. "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.”
After rescuing Dan and the others from imprisonment by the Underfolk and helping them escape into the Above World, Barry was mysteriously whisked back into the control of Mendez. They had not seen him since.
Is Barry all right? Dan asked himself as he sat by the fire.
He was angry and frustrated because he and the others had been prevented from going back to rescue him, and was about to propose to his ex-captain that such a venture be the next thing they did. However, before he suggested this, Dan wanted to have some kind of workable plan. And getting into the world of the Underfolk again---and out once more---wasn't going to be easy!
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.
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. And he was still willing to try.
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.
No one spoke for a while. The wind moved through the trees. Nova stirred in her sleep.
Above them, the stars wheeled silently in a sky five thousand and four hundred years from everything they’d once known.
Suddenly, Steve's head came up, and he directed his eyes toward two trees that stood like sentinels at once side of the small clearing. "What's that?" he whispered.
"Just the twigs, Steve," Dan said, but he, too, looked at the two trees. "Hey, there is something...!"
Everyone, except Nova, came quickly to their feet, alert for any danger.
Mark's mouth dropped in surprise. "Why, it's...."
"Barry!" Betty took a step forward, then stopped.
A shimmer of cold, pale light glowed, by the trees. Within the oblong of the light stood the golden-robed figure of Barry Lockridge, the youngest passenger of the Spindrift.
"Barry....?" Dan asked.
The castaways stepped closer. Their experiences with Mendez and the Underfolk had been nip and tuck, and they had learned to be cautious on this new Earth.
"He looks okay," Steve said. "Barry, are you all right?"
Slowly he nodded, his eyes open and staring, as if in a trance.
Fitzhugh squinted into the dim light beyond the fire’s edge, where the 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. He rose to his feet with theatrical exasperation, brushing pine needles from his trousers. “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 boy didn't answer.
“What are you?” Fitzhugh asked, quieter this time. “A ghost… or just another of their tricks?”
"Got to be an illusion," Dan asked, his eyes probing what he saw. "He looks three-dimensional...."
"So did those other supposedly terrifying illusions the Underfolk produce." Steve stepped closer. "Barry, how did you find us?"
The boy's lips moved, but it was a moment before the words came. When at last he spoke, his voice was flat and unemotional.
"No....no questions. Just listen. You must come to the Below World and bring Mr. Fitzhugh's concealed laser from the Spindrift. 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 gang they were trying to kill us with those illusions and those rays they can shoot from their eyes. And you 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 than that."
He reached out to touch him, but there was 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 forest. "No, Barry, wait!"
His voice was very thin. "Remember....bring Mr. Fitzhugh's laser...."
The image wavered and seemed to pale. It had lost its solid, 3-D look. It seemed like a motion picture projected on smoke. Then the haze of light drifted away....and Barry was gone.
"Barry!" Dan jumped forward, his arms out.
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.”
The forest was silent again, except for the pop of embers. The illusion was gone—but the message was clear.
Mark shifted uneasily where he sat, 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 sat back, frowning. “I don’t like it,” he added quietly. “None of it. Not the illusions. Not the games. And definitely not Mendez.”
The fire cracked again, spitting embers into the night. No one disagreed.
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.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgZcbvB9YMb
“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.
