Macaque Attack!

by Gareth L. Powell

  Nobody wanted to be the first to speak.

  Finally, Victoria walked over to the brass porthole and considered the blue ocean stretching away to the horizon. Below, between the trees, she could see the thatched roofs of the log cabins in the monkeys’ stockade.

  “So,” she said, hugging her upper arms, “did we salvage anything?” She looked questioningly at them all, one after another—all except Cuddles. One thing she’d learned about male gorillas was that, no matter what, you never looked them in the eye. Not unless you wanted your arms ripped off and your head stomped into paste.

  Erik coughed and squirmed in his seat. “Not much. By the time we got into the lab, there was no trace of the Skipper, and the machine had pretty much melted. It must’ve had a destruct setting.” From his shoulder bag he pulled something sticky and covered in dried black crusts of flaky blood. He held it pinched between thumb and forefinger in much the same way Victoria imagined he’d have held the tail of a dead, plague-sodden rat.

  “We did get this, though.” He stretched his lower lip over his upper. “It’s the doctor’s soul-catcher.”

  Victoria glanced at the dangled fronds of hair-fine wire, and then at the bayonet sheathed in the orangutan’s belt. She didn’t need to ask how they’d extracted the device from Nguyen’s skull.

  “Is it intact?”

  Erik dropped it onto the empty seat beside his, and wiped his long, hairy orange fingers on the bare plastic arm.

  “We pulled it out by the root, Captain.”

  “Anything else?’ She addressed the room. “Anything that can tell us what the hell happened back there?”

  After a moment, K8 raised a hand.

  “We’ve been analysing the drone’s telemetry.”

  “And?”

  The teenager stood and walked over to the wall screen. She tapped the upper right hand corner, and it flashed into life.

  “These graphs represent readings taken from the machine immediately prior to its self-destruction.” Her index finger traced a sharp upward curve. “As you can see, there’s a spike here, indicating an energy profile similar to that of the Sun Wukong’s jump engines.”

  Victoria raised an eyebrow. The lines and words on the screen were squiggles to her.

  “You think it might work the same way?”

  “Almost definitely.”

  Victoria blinked away a mental image of Ack-Ack Macaque’s body apparently exploding into dust. “Then he could still be alive?”

  K8 gave a small, tight smile. “We think so.”

  “How do we find him?”

  The young woman returned her attention to the screen. “There’s a clue in the visual footage.” She tapped a few commands and the graphs disappeared, replaced by a blurred close-up of the black-clad figure in the office, caught in the instant she glanced up at the dragonfly. Victoria walked up to the screen, screwing her eyes into slits in an attempt to glean as much detail as she could.

  “She looks familiar, but…”

  Behind the figure, the portal presented as a disc of shimmering light.

  K8 said, “We can enhance the image.”

  She pressed a control and a line moved across the screen from left to right. As it tightened the pixels and sharpened the picture, Victoria felt her eyes widen with surprise. She put a hand to her chest. Behind her, everybody started talking and shouting and gibbering at once. She waved an arm to shush them. Even though the woman’s hair had been closely cropped, and she now wore a coal-black military uniform, the face on the screen was undoubtedly and unmistakably that of Lady Alyssa Célestine.

  K8 said, “It must be another version of her, another iteration, from another parallel.”

  “Can we follow them?”

  “We don’t know where they went. They could be on any one of a billion possible timelines.”

  “So, we’ve lost him?”

  K8 blanked the screen and looked down at her white shoes. “In all likelihood, yes. We’re afraid so.”

  The temperature seemed to drop a couple of degrees. Victoria rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I hate this parallel world shit.”

  Across the room, Bali straightened up. With a shrug of his leopardskin-covered shoulders, he pushed himself away from the doorframe against which he’d been leaning.

  “He’s gone?”

  Victoria didn’t answer. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. Bali seemed agitated. His bare feet shuffled on the steel deck.

  “Then we should choose a new leader,” he said.

  Erik looked him up and down. The orangutan’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you want the job?”

  Bali drew himself up. “Who else is there?” He cast around, as if looking for someone to challenge him.

  Victoria took a deep breath. “You know who else.”

  “The old lady?” Bali frowned as if genuinely puzzled. “Surely you can’t be serious?”

  “She should be consulted.”

  “She’s a psychopath.”

  “Nevertheless, Ack-Ack trusts her.”

  “And what gives you the right to decide that, human?” Bali fingered his necklace of teeth. “You may have been a captain on your own airship, but that doesn’t confer any authority here. You’re in Kishkindha now, and don’t you forget it. This is our world, not yours.”

  Victoria flexed her fists. Her stomach felt hollow.

  “Half of this airship’s mine,” she said defiantly. “Ack-Ack and I had a deal.”

  The monkey’s lip curled. He held her stare. Heart in her throat, she wondered if he meant the eye contact as insolence or direct physical challenge. He was shorter than her, but wiry and powerful, the same as Ack-Ack Macaque, and she honestly didn’t know if she could beat him.

  Perhaps the fear showed in her face. Maybe it was in her scent or body language. Bali’s eyes widened. His lips peeled back, exposing his incisors. Then, just as Victoria was tensing for an attack, he dropped onto all fours and, with a snort of triumph and disgust, knuckle-walked out of the room, tail held high and proud.

  THE ‘OLD LADY’ occupied a cabin at the rear of the Sun Wukong’s main gondola, guarded by a gibbon with a shotgun. As Victoria approached, the gibbon gave a languid, long-limbed salute, and opened the door.

  Victoria stepped through. The room smelled of lavender, incense, and musty books. The Founder was sitting in a wicker chair, using an e-reader in the light from the cabin’s porthole. She wore a lacy black Victorian dress. Pearls clung to her hairy throat. Hearing the door, she looked up at Victoria and adjusted her monocle. “Good evening, Captain Valois.”

  “Miss Haversham.”

  The Founder clicked her tongue in irritation.

  “Don’t be facetious, dear, it doesn’t suit you.” She smoothed down the folds of her skirt. “Leave that sort of thing to our mutual friend.”

  Victoria helped herself to a chair. “It’s him I’ve come to talk to you about.”

  The female monkey made a steeple of her fingers, and gave a theatrical sigh.

  “What’s he done now?”

  Once, she’d been the head of the Gestalt movement. For the past two years, she’d been confined to this room, alone with her books and her sewing, cut off from the outside world in more ways than one. The Gestalt had installed this cabin when they’d built the airship. It was designed for isolation, impervious to radio or WiFi—a place to put damaged or infected drones, where they couldn’t infect the rest of the hive—and therefore perfect for imprisoning the hive’s queen, to keep her out of mischief and completely incommunicado.

  “He’s charged off and gotten himself lost somewhere.”

  The Founder gave a sigh. She placed the e-reader on the arm of her chair.

  “How lost is ‘lost’?”

  As succinctly as she could, and reporting purely the facts, Victoria outlined the events at the Malsight Institute. The Founder listened, and scratched the greying hairs on her muzzle. When Victoria had finished, she said, “It’s really quite simple, dear. Céle
stine and Nguyen were quite obviously working together. You tell me you’ve recovered Nguyen’s soul-catcher; in which case, all you need do is interrogate the back-up it contains.”

  Victoria tapped her forehead.

  “Of course!”

  “I’m sure his ghost will be able to tell you where they’ve gone.”

  “Thank you.” Victoria turned to leave, then hesitated. “There’s something else.”

  “One is, as ever, all ears.”

  “Bali wants to appoint a new alpha monkey, right now. And he thinks it should be him.”

  The Founder put her hand to the pearls around her neck. “Bali is a child. He wants to be the head of the pack but he has no appreciation of what it means to be a leader.”

  “And Ack-Ack does?”

  The monkey smiled. “No, not really. But he never wanted to be a leader—which, in my book, makes him ideally suited to the job.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “About Bali? Well, dear, there’s not much I can do from here.” The Founder peered around at the walls of her cabin. “Now is there?”

  “I can’t let you out.”

  “Why ever not, dear? We’re in the monkey kingdom now. There are no Gestalt here. I’ve no one to interact with. What harm can I do?”

  Victoria raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m sure you could do plenty, if you put your mind to it. And anyway, there’s K8 to consider.”

  “She’s still one of the hive?”

  “Only just. We’re trying to rehabilitate her.”

  “And you don’t think I’d be a good influence?”

  “Would you?”

  The Founder raised her chin. “In the hive,” she said haughtily, “K8 shared her every thought with thousands and thousands of individuals; and they shared theirs with her. Now, she’s alone in her head.” She paused to adjust her monocle. “I know something of that pain. And besides, you need my help with Bali. I can talk to him, make him see reason.”

  “Why would Bali listen to you?”

  “Because I’m the alpha female.”

  “You’re the only female.”

  “Same difference.” The monkey frowned. Her lips became a horizontal slash. “And besides, there’s something else.”

  “Quoi?”

  The Founder gripped the arms of her chair and heaved herself up into a standing position, revealing a bulge in her midriff that stretched the lace of her dress. She put a hand to it.

  “I’m with child.”

  Victoria spluttered. “Y-you’re pregnant?”

  “Very much so.”

  “But how? I mean… Who?”

  “I think we know the answers to both those questions.”

  “Ack-Ack?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  The monkey exhaled regretfully. “Mostly because I’m not going to be able to hide it much longer. And besides, it could be to our mutual advantage.”

  “How so?”

  “Family bonds are important, Captain, especially in a troupe with only one female. In human terms, I’m carrying the heir to the throne. I expect most of the macaques will side with me. Many of them are other iterations of Ack-Ack, close enough genetically to recognise the child as kin.”

  “Including Bali?”

  “We’ll have to see.” Her face became thoughtful. “His ambition clouds his judgment. But even he must realise that, without children, Kishkindha’s future looks bleak.”

  Victoria shook her head and smiled. “I still can’t believe that you and Ack-Ack… I mean, I knew he spent a lot of time down here talking to you, but I never realised you were, you know. Doing It.”

  The Founder glowered through her monocle.

  “I’ll have you know that it only happened the once.”

  “And you got pregnant first time?”

  The elderly monkey straightened her dress and turned to the porthole. “What can I say? The boy’s an exceptional shot.”

  Victoria put a hand to her mouth to stifle a smile. “But you’re two hundred years old. I wouldn’t have thought—”

  “Neither would I, but it appears we were both wrong. Apparently, the treatments I’ve taken to retain my youth have been more effective than even I could have suspected.” Still at the porthole, she looked back over her shoulder. “So, do we have an agreement, Captain?”

  Victoria gripped the pommel of her sheathed sword.

  “I turn you loose?”

  “And in return, I calm things down in the monkey camp.”

  “And K8?”

  “I help her too.”

  Victoria let out a long sigh.

  I know I’m going to regret this.

  “Oui, d’accord.”

  “Is that a yes, Captain?”

  “As long as you keep Bali out of my face.”

  The Founder placed her palm against the porthole’s glass. “And in return, I’m free to go down to the surface, to walk in the jungle, to feel the earth beneath my feet and the sun on my face?”

  “I suppose.” Absently, Victoria scratched at the long ridge of scar tissue at her temple. “But I’ll need to know where you are at all times.”

  “Naturally.”

  “You’ll be on probation.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “Fine, then.”

  The Founder gave a courteous nod. “Thank you, Captain. And not just from me.” She gave her distended abdomen a gentle and affectionate pat. “But from these two, also.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN VIRTUAL VERITAS

  K8 DIDN’T HAVE time to create an entirely new virtual environment, so she stole one, lifting the code from a popular combat game. Looking over her shoulder, Victoria made a face.

  “An oil rig?”

  “It’s the best we could do on short notice.”

  “Is Paul ready?”

  “We’re loading him in now.” K8 entered a command and Paul’s image appeared on the rig’s helipad. Victoria saw that he’d dressed for the part. In his olive green combat fatigues, black beret and silvered sunglasses, he looked like a South American revolutionary.

  K8 donned a headset and passed another to Victoria.

  “You can speak to him through this,” she said. She turned back to the screen and pulled her mike closer to her mouth. “Okay, Paul, we’re going to load in Nguyen’s back-up in a moment. First, there are a few things you need to know.”

  Paul walked to the edge of the helipad and leaned over, looking at the gantries and waves below. The rig was in a rendering of the North Sea, out of sight of land. A stiff wind blew from the northeast, ruffling his clothes.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “This might be a sim, but it’s based on real world physics. Things work the same in there as they do out here. So, don’t try to walk off the edge of the rig or anything stupid like that.”

  Paul stepped back from the edge. “Gotcha.”

  “Also, you’ll be able to feel pain.”

  “Jesus.” Paul flinched. “What kind of game is this?”

  “A hyper-realistic combat game. Special forces versus oil pirates.”

  “Sounds dreadful.”

  “Actually, it’s pretty cool. But the point is, if you thump Nguyen, he’s going to feel it.”

  “Okay.” Paul shivered and wrapped his arms across his chest. “Couldn’t you have found somewhere a bit warmer?”

  K8 smiled and glanced at Victoria.

  “The only alternative was a magical fairy castle, and we didn’t think that sent out the right message.”

  “What?” Paul grumbled. “That we’re bloodthirsty torturers who’ll kill him if he doesn’t cooperate?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I don’t know if I can go through with this.”

  Victoria activated her mike.

  “You won’t really be hurting him,” she said reassuringly. �
��Remember, he’s just a bunch of pixels.”

  “Yeah, but so am I.”

  “You’ll be fine. Just remember why you’re doing it, and try your best.”

  Beside her, K8’s index finger clicked a key.

  “We’re uploading Nguyen now,” the girl said.

  Pixels rippled in the simulation, and the old man appeared in the centre of the helipad, looking much as he had in the lab. He wore a white coat over a blue business suit, a striped tie, and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. He stood, blinking in the sunlight, one arm raised to shade his eyes.

  “Okay, Paul,” she whispered. “You’re on.”

  PAUL’S EYES WERE still on the slate-grey horizon, his thoughts lost in the simulated distance. At the sound of Victoria’s voice, he gave a start.

  Where am I?

  Oh yes, Nguyen.

  He cleared his throat and pushed back his shoulders.

  “Welcome, Doctor.”

  Nguyen ignored him. He was peering around at the rig’s pipes and derrick.

  “Crude.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The doctor waved an arm at his surroundings. “The simulation. It’s very crude. I expected something far more sophisticated.”

  Behind his mirrored shades, Paul raised an eyebrow. “You were expecting to be killed?”

  “Not at all.” The old man looked over the top of his glasses like a disappointed schoolteacher. “But the whole point of wearing a soul-catcher is that, if you do die, you anticipate revival.” Nguyen frowned. “And I expected to be revived somewhere altogether more luxurious than this.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  Nguyen’s expression soured. “You’re not one of Célestine’s people, are you?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, Doctor Nguyen.”

  “No.” The man gave a small, tight shake of the head. “I don’t think so.”

  Paul opened and closed his mouth. In his ear, he heard Victoria come on the line.

  “Tell him to cooperate, or you’ll torture him.”

  Paul grimaced. He drew a deep breath.

  “Look, Doctor. You’d better answer our questions, or I’ll hurt you.” Even to his own ears, he sounded hesitant. To try to reinforce the point, he tapped the leather holster dangling from the webbing belt at his waist.