Hive Monkey

by Gareth L. Powell

  “No.” The word rolled like molasses from his tongue, and he opened his eye to banish the images playing in his head. “No, you’re wrong.” He looked around the table, at Victoria and Paul, and K8’s unconscious form lying on the deck. They were his friends, his comrades. His family.

  “I already have a troupe,” he said, and snorted to clear the stink of her from his nostrils. His hands itched, painfully aware of the revolvers in the holsters at his hips.

  She gave him a haughty look.

  “I could make you a king.”

  Moving very slowly, he opened his jacket and pulled a cigar and lighter from the silk-lined pocket. He’d made his decision and chosen his side. Now, all he had to do was get her fragrance out of his head, and the only way to do that was to smother everything in a tobacco fug. His hands felt shaky as he bit the end from the cigar and spat it onto the floor.

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” He paused to light the end of the cigar, and then spoke through clouds of pungent blue smoke. “But I don’t want your machines in my head.”

  The smoke spread warmth in his chest, and he felt his head go deliciously light. Ah, he thought, that’s the stuff.

  Looking distinctly unimpressed, the Founder pursed her lips. She reached up and adjusted her monocle.

  “Better a few machines in your head than a bullet?”

  Their eyes locked.

  “That’s the deal, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so. And if you’ve got any notions of somehow saving this world, you can forget them right now. The fleet’s already begun to dump its cargo. Within hours, the planet will be ours.”

  Ack-Ack Macaque looked at his friends.

  “And what about them?”

  “They will join the Gestalt.” She peered around at them. “We will be enriched by their bravery.”

  Ack-Ack Macaque shook his head. He’d already lost K8 to the hive, he’d be damned if he’d let them take Victoria as well.

  He looked across at his boss, and noticed her eyes. The pupils had dilated into wide, black pits. Only a thin coronae of iris remained and he realised that, while he’d been talking, she’d taken the opportunity to slip into command mode and overclock her system. Her mind must be racing and her heart pounding, ready to fight or flee. All she needed was an opening.

  Their eyes met, and an understanding passed between them.

  “And as for you,” The Founder was saying, oblivious to this byplay, “either you come willingly, or you’ll be assimilated right along with them. The process works equally well on monkeys as it does on people.”

  Ack-Ack Macaque drew himself up in his chair. He sucked in a mouthful of smoke and blew it in her direction.

  “Sorry love, but that’s not going to happen.”

  The Founder’s gloved hand tried to flap away the cigar fumes.

  “And that’s your final answer, is it?”

  “Not quite.” Under his chair, Ack-Ack Macaque pressed his bare feet to the smooth wooden deck, ready to spring. “There’s just one more thing.”

  The female monkey’s eyes became suspicious slits.

  “And what might that be?”

  “Just this.” He screamed, and leapt. At the same time, Victoria surged to her feet, sending the heavy iron table flying towards one of the bodyguards.

  The machineguns fired.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  WRECKAGE

  CRAWLING ON ALL fours, William Cole worked his way through the shattered remains of the Tereshkova’s main gondola. As he moved, he tried to ignore the sounds of battle coming from outside, and the ominous groans and creaks of the superstructure above his head. All he could think of was Marie. Nothing else mattered to him, except to see her safe. He crawled across the carpeted expanse of the main passenger lounge, through piles of broken furniture and shattered fittings, onto the hard steel deck of the corridor that led aft to the infirmary.

  “Marie!” he called. “Hold on, I’m coming.” In places, the corridor’s ceiling had hinged down to within inches of the floor, and he had to squirm and wriggle his way through sharp-edged gaps that were too small for him. By the time he reached the infirmary, the skin on his arms, shoulders and hips had been scraped raw, and his knees were bruised and battered.

  “William?” Her voice sounded weak.

  “I’m here,” he cried, “I’m here.”

  Part of a medical trolley had wedged itself in the doorway, and he had to squeeze around it. When he got inside, he saw his worst fears realised. The ceiling had collapsed in the same way as in the rest of the gondola, leaving only a few feet of clearance. Marie, who had been lying on the bed at the time of the crash, now lay pinned to the mattress.

  “Marie!”

  “William.”

  Her head was turned towards him, held against the pillow by the steel ceiling panel pressing down from above on her cheek and chest. The foot of the bed was a tangle of wreckage, and he couldn’t see her legs.

  “Oh, crap. Marie.” He knelt beside the bed and reached in to touch her face. “Don’t worry, honey. Don’t try to move. I’ll get you out.”

  Bracing his back against the fallen ceiling, he tried to heave upwards, pushing until sweat broke out on his forehead and his temples felt ready to burst.

  “No.” Her voice was a whisper, but it stopped him. “What do you mean?”

  Marie licked her lips.

  “No, you’re not getting me out.”

  William felt panic surge up inside.

  “But, I—”

  “No.” Marie swallowed. “It’s too late. I’m sorry.” William stopped pressing against the ceiling and dropped to his knees. He reached for her, and brushed a curl of auburn hair away from her eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to, my love.”

  He ran his hand back along the bed, past her shoulders and down, following the curve of her body beneath the blanket. He got as far as her hip before he found something blocking the way. His fingers hit metal where there should have been flesh. A girder had broken through from above, driving the ceiling down into the mattress. Her abdomen and legs were crushed. Her torso stopped in a mess of torn blankets, slathered in something warm and sticky.

  Fighting back a cry of anguish, he jerked back his hand and, without looking at the blood on his fingers, wiped it on the sheet.

  “No,” he said. There had to have been some sort of mistake…

  Marie closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  William wanted to cry. He wanted to curl into a ball and block his ears, and make it all go away.

  “It’s not fair,” he said.

  Marie looked at him with liquid eyes.

  “You haven’t lost me,” she whispered. “I’m still out there somewhere, on another parallel close to this one.”

  “I’m not leaving you. Not like this.” William’s mind raced. There had to be some way to save her, some way he could get her out.

  Overhead, the wreck quivered. Something in the corridor collapsed with a metallic crash.

  “You have to go now. Lila needs you.”

  William blinked.

  “Lila?”

  “I’m going to need you to look after her now.”

  “I can’t.” Misery threatened to envelop him. “I can barely look after myself.”

  “Of course you can. Look at you. You risked your life crawling in here. I need you to be just as strong for her.”

  “But I don’t know anything about being a father.”

  “You know enough.” She winced in pain, and tried to adjust her position beneath the weight pressing down on her. “Besides, you’re all she’s got. I need you to be strong for her, William. Can you promise me that?”

  “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Promise me.”

  He reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin felt clammy. Her bright eyes implored him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I promise.”

  Marie let
her eyes fall shut.

  “Then go find her. Go now.”

  “But what about you?”

  Marie kept her eyes closed. Above her, the ceiling pinged and popped as it struggled to support the weight of the collapsing structure above it.

  “We both know what’s going to happen to me, and it’s not going to be pretty. I don’t want you here when it happens. You have to get out.” She opened her eyes and fixed him with a brittle stare. “You have to get out. You’re all she’s got.”

  William looked down at the gun in his hands. He pictured his daughter’s face, and his fingers squeezed the grip. Marie was right. It didn’t matter how many white suits were outside waiting for him; he knew what he had to do. Lila was out there somewhere, and he had to protect her.

  He was her father.

  He touched his wife’s face for the final time.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll find her.”

  Marie smiled.

  “Thank you, my love.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  PROTECT THE TROUPE

  TEETH BARED AND fingers grasping, Ack-Ack Macaque lunged towards The Founder, only to find that she’d anticipated his attack. As they came together, she grasped the lapels of his jacket and fell back. She rolled away from him, using his momentum to throw him over her head, onto the deck. He landed on his back with a smack that drove most of the wind from his body.

  As he lay gasping, the Founder sprang to her feet and fled into the jungle.

  He heard gunshots and shouting, and his hands went to the holsters at his sides. One of the Neanderthals was down, toes crushed by the edge of the iron table. Victoria had been upon him before he could fight through the pain and bring his gun to bear. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been quite fast enough. The second bodyguard had seen her move and fired. He was too late to save his colleague—in fact, he’d caught the other caveman with a couple of stray shots—but he’d managed to hit her as well, and now she lay on her side a few feet from her victim, in a spreading pool of blood.

  Ack-Ack Macaque struggled to his feet, wheezing for breath. Wide-eyed, the surviving Neanderthal swung the machinegun at him. For half a second, AckAck Macaque stared into the black eye of its muzzle.

  Then a shot rang out.

  Ack-Ack Macaque winced, but it was the Neanderthal who fell.

  Still seated in her chair, Lila held a smoking pistol in her lap.

  “Go,” she said.

  Ack-Ack Macaque hesitated, looking at Victoria. The former journalist moaned, and tried feebly to move. Her feet scraped the deck as if trying to gain purchase. Clearly distressed, Paul’s hologram image bent over her, calling her name.

  “Go on,” Lila said. “We’ll take care of her.”

  Ack-Ack Macaque lingered for another moment. He looked from Victoria to where K8 lay, on the other side of the veranda. His two best friends were both down, and both fighting for their lives. He holstered his guns, dropped onto all fours and, with a snarl of fury, plunged headlong into the trees.

  t he founder Could run, but she couldn’t hide her scent. It itched in his nose, maddening him as he pursued it through the potted forest and out, through the brass door, into the corridor beyond.

  Half a dozen white-suited men and women marched towards him. He rose to his feet and drew his guns. Without breaking stride, he shot the first two, and ducked into the alcove housing the companionway that led upwards to the roof. Ahead, on the curving staircase, he could hear the tap, tap, tap of the Founder’s shoes.

  He went up two steps at a time, hauling himself along with one hand on the banister. Having stepped over their fallen comrades, the remaining Gestalt followed him, but couldn’t keep up. By the time he got to the top, they were far behind. His chest burned with the effort, but he knew he was only moments behind her.

  The remains of the Tereshkova loomed over him in the rain. The hull looked broken and sad, like a partially collapsed party balloon, and the gondolas had been smashed almost flat. An engine nacelle stuck out like a broken limb, water dripping from its bent and broken blades.

  The Founder stood in front the wreck, brandishing her umbrella. As he emerged from the stairwell, she tugged, and the handle came away from the rest of the brolly, revealing a wicked-looking steel blade. She dropped the canopy, and took up a fencing stance. The wind blew her skirt and flapped her jacket.

  “Get back,” she said. Ack-Ack Macaque still held one of the Leader’s pistols in his hands. It wasn’t one of his trusted Colts, but it would do.

  Overhead, Commonwealth fighter jets rumbled in the overcast.

  “Stop it,” he said.

  She glared at him, and swiped the umbrella handle sword.

  “Stop what, sweetie?”

  “Stop the plague. The machines. Whatever the fuck they are.”

  “Why should I?”

  He waggled the gun.

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

  She brought the sword up, and held it over her head, with the tip pointing at him. She looked like a scorpion, ready to strike.

  “Then you’ll just have to shoot, my dear.”

  She started to back away, one step at a time. With a curse he took a pace forward. Her arm whipped down, and the sword flew out like a thrown knife. It caught him in the left thigh. With a howl, he fell to the deck and the pistol fell away. Before he could reach for it, she was there before him, grasping the handle of the sword. He screeched again as she pulled it out of his leg. He used both hands to try to cover the wound and staunch the spurt of blood.

  “Shit,” he wailed. The airship’s armour plates were wet beneath him. Rain fell against his face. “Shit, that hurts.”

  Above him, The Founder laughed.

  “Face it, flyboy, you’ve lost.”

  Still gripping his leg, he snarled at her with such vehemence that her monocle fell out. She stepped back, out of reach, waving the sword’s slick point at him.

  “There’s nothing you can do,” she crowed. The rain stuck her hair to her face and scalp. “This world’s mine now. Or soon will be. And when it is, I’ll simply move on to another world, and find another monkey somewhere else. One with more vision.” She shook her head, spraying drops in all directions. “And hope he’s a darned sight more cooperative than you.”

  Ack-Ack Macaque thought of his fallen friends, and felt rage boil up inside, blotting out the pain.

  “Yeah, well. I ain’t finished yet, lady.”

  Teeth clenched, he clambered to his feet. He could feel blood running down his leg, soaking into his white trousers, mixing with the rain. He ignored it. Every instinct in his body told him to protect his troupe, wreak bloody vengeance against this interloper, and drive her from his territory.

  “Oh, please.” The Founder raised her sword. “Don’t you ever give up?”

  Ack-Ack Macaque shrugged. He gave her a defiant grin.

  “Let’s find out.”

  He took a step towards her, clawed hands stretching for her throat. At the same time, she pulled her arm back, ready to run him through with the blade. He knew he couldn’t win, but figured that, even if she skewered him, he could still probably choke her to death before he died.

  For an instant, their eyes locked. They stood poised, ready to strike.

  And then the bomb on the Tereshkova exploded.

  b owled oVer by the blast, they tumbled together, rolling off the armoured section of the hull and onto the sloping glass of the airship’s nose. Faster and faster they slid. Behind them, the remnants of the Tereshkova burned. Ahead lay the point of the bow, with nothing beyond it save sky and death. In a panic, they scrabbled at each other, still fighting. Leathery hands squeaked against toughened glass, trying in vain to slow their descent.

  And then they were there.

  The edge rushed at them, and they felt themselves going over. In desperation, Ack-Ack Macaque flung out his hand and caught something. At the same time, The Founder grabbed his foot. They jerked to a halt, thei
r combined weight almost enough to tear his fingers from their precarious hold, and his shoulder from its socket.

  Swearing at the agony in his arm, he looked up. A communications antennae stuck out from the glass point of the airship’s bow, and it was from this that they now hung, swaying, a couple of thousand feet above the muddy waters of the Thames. The Founder’s skirt flapped in the wind. A patch of it was on fire. Her feet pawed at emptiness.

  “Please,” she said. “Please, don’t drop me.” Wincing with pain and effort, Ack-Ack Macaque reached up with his other arm and caught hold of the mast.

  “Stop thrashing about then,” he said with a grunt, “or we’re both going to fall.”

  Beneath them in the gathering darkness, the wind chopped the surface of the river into little waves. Rain fell on the burning wreckage of the Commonwealth Parliament.

  Heaving upwards, he managed to hook an elbow over the metal pole that formed the mast.

  He could kick her off. She’d hurt his friends, attacked his world, and unleashed all kinds of hell. And now he had her at his mercy. She clung to his ankle with only one hand. All it would take to kill her would be a simple jerk of his leg.

  She deserved it, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Twice he tensed, ready to shake her off— but each time, he relented.

  He swore under his breath.

  Try as he might, he just couldn’t kill her in cold blood. She was the only intelligent female monkey he’d ever met; and the only one who could call off the invasion.

  He looked down at her and their eyes met.

  “Okay,” he said.

  The Founder started to climb. Her hands worked their way up his legs, tearing cloth and stretching skin. She touched the wound in his thigh and he growled.

  “Wait, for fuck’s sake.”

  She stopped moving, eyes wide, and monocle long gone.

  “What?”

  “I’ll let you up on one condition. Contact the hive. Tell them that I’m the new Leader.”

  She grimaced.