Macaque Attack (30 page)

“What about the crew?”

“What about them? Between screeching, firing wildly in all directions, and flinging their own
merde
at each other, they’re doing nearly as much damage as the invaders.” She worked her shoulder, which hurt where it had taken a glancing blow from a cyborg’s kick. “It’ll do them good to stay confined for a while, give them all a chance to calm down.”

She watched Merovech help Amy over to a chair. The secretary had been thrown into a wall and cut her head. The King pulled the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pressed it to her wound.

A light flashed on Victoria’s console, indicating an incoming message. She accepted it, and routed the signal to the main view screen above the forward window.

“Victoria Valois?” The woman in the image wore a grey coat over olive green one-piece fatigues. She had short brunette hair and eyes the colour of dried dates.

“Yes?”

“Greetings, from one captain to another. My name is Katherine Denktash Abdulov of the Strauli Abdulovs, late of Strauli Quay, and I am here to offer my assistance.”

Victoria frowned.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Katherine Abdulov, of the trading vessel
Ameline
. We’re currently two hundred metres above you, monitoring your situation.”

“Two hundred metres above...?” Victoria reached out and activated another screen, displaying a composite of feeds from all the security cameras on the upper deck. As she did so, Merovech left Amy holding the handkerchief to her head and came over to stand behind her.

“There,” he said, pointing over her shoulder at one of the images. Victoria tapped it, enlarging it until it filled the display.

“Jesus.”

The wedge-shaped UFO from Amy’s photographs hung in the sky above them, balanced on three jets of pale fire. Victoria glanced from it to the face of the young woman on the main screen.

“Yes, that’s us.” Katherine Abdulov rolled her eyes impatiently. “Right where I told you we were. And, once again, we’re here to help.”

Victoria swallowed. A thousand questions swarmed, fighting to be asked. Behind her, Merovech said, “Help? What kind of help?”

Katherine looked at him with frank astonishment.

“With the invasion,” she said. “With the tanks you’re fighting.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “You have weapons?”

“Oh yes.”

“Well, those tanks have some kind of force field. It’s damned near impenetrable.”

“Really?” The young woman glanced off-camera for a moment, and then smiled. “Watch this.”

For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Then a brilliant white pencil-thin spear of light flashed from the spaceship’s nose, overloading the cameras. Victoria leapt from her position and ran to the front window.

“
Putain de merde!
”

Below, the hindmost Leviathan lay carved in half, sliced down the middle like a log in a sawmill. The edges of the cut smoldered a molten yellow and beneath them, a long, thin strip of grass and soil had been charred down to bedrock. Victoria put a fist to her lips, hardly daring to breathe. The weapon struck again, and another of the giant tanks flared.

“Yes!” She punched the air. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON

A
CK-
A
CK
M
ACAQUE LOOKED
up at the blue sky.

“What the fucking, fucking
fuck
was
that
?” He’d been skirmishing his way through the big tank’s walkways and chambers when the world turned white and hot, and everything tipped sideways. Now he lay with his back against what, until a moment ago, had been a wall, with his nose full of the stink of burning plastic and singed monkey fur.

Climbing gingerly to his feet, he poked his head above the cooling edges of the room and looked out. The other half of the tank rested on its side a few metres away. Smoke rose from a dozen points, and he could see flames leaping where fuel lines had been cut.

“Holy crap in a hand basket.” He had no idea what had happened, only that he’d been lucky to survive the experience. The cyborg he’d been fighting at the time hadn’t fared nearly as well. It had been standing directly in the path of whatever had split the tank, and now its body lay on the grass between the two halves of the wreck, cleft into asymmetric and half-melted segments. Its metal body had probably shielded him from the worst of the mysterious attack, but all he felt towards it was the fierce satisfaction of seeing an enemy brought low.

He had to get out of here and find the Duchess. The edges of the cut walls were rapidly cooling. He leapt up onto one, trusting his boots to shield his feet from the residual heat. The tank lay with its innards bared to the sky, its rooms and walkways like the indentations in an empty chocolate box. As long as he kept moving, followed the walls and kept his balance, he’d be okay.

He started running, using his tail as a counterbalance to steady himself. He guessed Célestine would be somewhere towards what had been the top of the vehicle, so he made his way in that direction, and found her lying in the ruins of the Leviathan’s control room. She had two cyborgs with her, but both were damaged and disorientated. Crouching on top of the wall, he decapitated them both with his chainsaw, sending their metal heads rolling into the echoing depths of the damaged tank like ball bearings rattling into a sewer.

The Duchess looked up at him.

“Oh,” she said. “It’s you. What do you want?”

Ack-Ack Macaque curled his lip. “I’ve got a message for you.”

Célestine rose to her feet and brushed herself down with her palms. Her black uniform was rumpled and dusty, and one of the sleeves had been badly scorched.

“You know, I told Nguyen you were going to be trouble.”

Ack-Ack Macaque killed the chainsaw’s engine, and laid it aside.

“Well.” He drew his revolver. “That’s one thing you got right.”

“You said you had a message?”

“Yeah, from a lady called Apynja.”

Célestine blinked and her face tightened.

“Oh, so you’re working for her now?”

Ack-Ack Macaque was surprised. “You know her?”

“Of course I know her. She’s my sister.”

He opened and shut his mouth a few times.

“Your sister? But she’s a—”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Célestine drew herself up. “Now, what is it she has to say?”

Ack-Ack Macaque glowered at her and raised his gun.

“Just that you shouldn’t have killed so many people.”

“Me?” Célestine pushed her tongue into her cheek. “That’s a good one.”

Ack-Ack Macaque snarled. “You killed eight billion people. I don’t see anything funny about that.”

The Duchess waved a hand. “It’s all just numbers.” She looked up at the sky. Her breath came in small, almost imperceptible wisps. “You have no idea who she is, do you?”

Ack-Ack Macaque rubbed his leather eye patch. The socket beneath itched.

“She’s an ape.”

Célestine laughed and shook her head.

“Oh no, no. She may be many things, but she’s not remotely an ape. She’s not even human.”

“Then what is she?”

“I told you.” The woman smiled with all the warmth of a shark. “She’s my sister. Or rather, she was, before she grew a conscience.”

Ack-Ack Macaque growled. “You’re not making any sense.” He waved the gun at her in annoyance. “Make sense!”

Célestine stuck her chin at him.

“I’m making perfect sense, you vile creature. You’re just too stupid to grasp what I’m talking about.” She put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you?”

Ack-Ack Macaque took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m the one holding the fucking gun,” he reminded her.

“So you are.” Up ahead, one of the other Leviathans sparked and fell to pieces, diced into chunks by a blinding white beam from the heavens. Moments later, the one next to it suffered an identical fate. Ack-Ack Macaque blinked away purple and green afterimages.

“Your invasion’s cancelled,” he said. “You’re fucked.”

“Really?”

Célestine brought her hands together and smiled. She seemed to shimmer and her body grew translucent. She was fading, exactly as Apynja had faded from the clearing in the wood.

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” Ack-Ack Macaque stood up and fired his Colt into her almost transparent torso. His first two shots seemed to pass through without hurting her, but the third made contact. Célestine screamed with pain and rage, and suddenly she was solid again. She fell back into a sitting position, hands dabbing madly at a bloody wound in her stomach.

“You imbecile. What have you done?”

Ack-Ack Macaque raised the pistol’s barrel to his lips and huffed away the smoke.

“I told you, I’m delivering a message.” He holstered his weapon and jumped down beside her. “To you and all the other megalomaniacal ball-sacks out there.”

“And what message is that?” She was panting, and her skin was pale with shock. He crouched, bringing his snout to within inches of her face.

“That we’ve had enough of your shit.”

He watched her struggle and curse. She tried to pull herself up on the edge of a chair but his bullet had damaged her spine, and her legs wouldn’t work.

“Do you even know how many people you’ve killed?” he asked contemptuously. She gave a snort.

“Do you?” Another bolt sizzled from above, bisecting a Leviathan to their left. With a squeal of brakes and a crunch of abused gears, the remaining tanks cranked into reverse and began backing towards the portal. “After all, you’re hardly blameless, are you?”

Ack-Ack Macaque bridled. “I only kill people that need killing.”

“And who are you to decide?”

“Who are you to say I can’t?”

Célestine coughed, and wiped her lips on the back of her sleeve.

“You can dress it up any way you like, but you’re as much of a murderer as I am.”

Ack-Ack shook his head. “Nobody’s as much of a murderer as you are, lady.”

She laughed bitterly.

“Your friend Apynja is. Or she was before she changed her ways, the hypocritical bitch.”

“What are talking about?” Ack-Ack shuffled back slightly, to avoid the blood spreading from her wound. “She’s just an escaped orangutan.”

Célestine shook her head sadly. “She’s so much more than that. Yes, I killed a world. I admit it, and I’m proud of it. But her.” She coughed again. This time, her sleeve came away red when she wiped her mouth. “She’s killed dozens. Hundreds maybe.”

“Who is she?”

Célestine’s eyes became glassy and her head began to sway. Ack-Ack Macaque took her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Who is she?”

He shook her again, but her head lolled back and her body went limp, and he knew she was dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ALL THE FISH

W
ITH THE INVASION
defeated and the Leviathans in retreat, Victoria allowed herself to slump into the command chair. Merovech and Amy had taken the surviving Marine to the infirmary in search of medical attention, leaving her alone on the airship’s bridge. The noise of battle had faded, and the only sound she could hear was the constant hum of the
Sun Wukong
’s engines. Her shoulder still hurt, and she had a number of additional cuts and bruises, but her mind wasn’t dwelling on her injuries. Right now, she had other priorities.

She couldn’t read the words on her computer display, but knew the control sequence by heart. A tap here and a tap there, and Paul’s hologram activated. The little drone sailed into the middle of the room and projected his image in all its three dimensional luminosity. For the briefest moment, he remained frozen as the airship’s processors booted up his personality, and she took the chance to drink in his appearance without distraction—his bright shirt and creased white lab coat; his spiky peroxide hair and hipster spectacles; the jewelled stud in his ear. This could very well be the last time she’d ever see him, and she wanted a clear picture to remember him by.

“Ah,” he said, blinking rapidly and focusing on her. “You again. I was hoping you’d be Vicky.”

Victoria felt her heart sink into the pit of her stomach.

“I am Vicky.”

“Really?” He peered at her over the rim of his glasses. “My word, so you are. What happened to you, to your hair?”

She didn’t feel like going through it all again. “It’s a long story.”

“And you’ve aged.”

Her hand went to the back of her head. She felt suddenly, stupidly self-conscious. If this was going to be the last time she saw him, she realised, it would also be the last time he saw
her
, and she wished she’d had time to make more of an effort with her appearance. Not that he’d remember once she’d switched him off again, but still she couldn’t help feeling she should have done more to create a sense of occasion. After all, how many chances did one get to say goodbye forever to the love of their life?

“It’s over,” she said. “The invasion. Célestine’s dead.”

Paul’s face creased. He was obviously struggling to make sense of her words.

“Does that mean we can go home now?”

Victoria felt something stick at the back of her throat. “We are home, my love.”

He took off his glasses and looked towards the large window at the front of the gondola.

“We are?”

“Come and see.” She climbed to her feet and trudged over to the glass. He followed, the soles of his feet never less than a centimetre above the deck.

“Look,” she said, “that’s Paris over there on the horizon. You can see the skyliners over Orly Airport.”

He peered down his nose.

“If you say so.”

“This is where we came from, Paul. We’re back.” She put out a hand to touch his arm; stopped herself. “I just wanted you to know.”

Paul stroked his chin, squeezed his lower lip.

“I wanted to go home, to my apartment.” His voice was small and lost.

“That’s in London.”

“And we can go to London?”

“Of course we can. Just not right now.” She turned her back on the view, squaring up to him and gathering her resolve.