Macaque Attack Read Online Free Page B

seen versions of Europe riven by war and famine; versions ruled over by resurgent British, German or Roman Empires; and versions controlled by every ‘-ism’ under the sun, from capitalism to communism to religious fundamentalism. She’d walked their streets listening to the put-put-put of steam-driven cars; seen gleaming supersonic airliners cleave the skies; watched gigantic Soviet hovercraft patrol the Thames Estuary; and taken a ride through a Transatlantic Tunnel wide enough for four lanes of traffic. And in all that time, on all those worlds, had encountered nothing capable of putting more than the most cursory of dents in the Sun Wukong ’s armour plate.
    “All engines online and showing green,” reported Paul.
    Victoria glanced around at the bare metal walls with their lines of rivets. She’d been away for a month and half, and now saw the cold, spartan interior with fresh eyes. She knew the monkeys didn’t care about the lack of décor, but she missed the shabby elegance of her old skyliner, the Tereshkova . At least she had the bridge of this vessel pretty much to herself. Paul could run the ship, it didn’t need a crew; and none of the monkeys were all that interested in acting like one. To them, the airship was simply a moving home—a means to get from one adventure to the next. Even Ack-Ack Macaque came up here only occasionally. He was happy in his potted jungle, and could issue commands from there as well as anywhere.
    Victoria tapped her nails against the chair’s armrests.
    “Then, full speed ahead, all engines.”
    “Aye.”
    At the rear of the dreadnought, on a forest of engine nacelles, huge black blades began to turn. Moving slowly at first, they gradually increased their speed until they blurred into whirring grey discs, and the vast craft to which they were attached began to slide reluctantly forwards, slowly picking up momentum. Sunlight glimmered from its gun turrets and sensor pods. Two thousand metres in length, it moved like an eclipse across the world’s busiest shipping lane, its rippling shadow dwarfing even the largest of the Channel’s car ferries and container ships.
    Victoria Valois felt the vibration of the airship’s engines through the gondola’s steel deck and smiled. Even though they were riding into battle, it was comforting to be airborne again, and to know that she rode the largest flying machine this particular version of the Earth had ever seen.
     
     
    S TANDING AT THE window of her cabin, K8 looked out through a ten-inch thick porthole. Despite her exertions with the seaplane, she still wore her habitual white skirt and blouse. It was her uniform now, as seemly and natural as blue jeans and a black t-shirt had been to her younger self.
    “We’re not a child any more. We’re nearly twenty.”
    Beside her, Ack-Ack Macaque scratched at the leather patch covering his left eye.
    “Yeah, but—”
    “You can’t stop us.”
    “I fucking can.”
    She looked him in the eye. “No, you fucking can’t.”
    He watched her cross her arms across her chest, and turn back to the window. Her hair looked bronze in the light; her freckles like sprinkles fallen across her nose and cheeks. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and rolled it between finger and thumb.
    “So, what am I supposed to do?”
    She didn’t look around.
    “Just take us somewhere we can connect back into the hive mind.”
    Ack-Ack sighed. He watched the smoke twisting in the cabin’s air.
    “This is partly my fault, isn’t it?”
    K8 made a scornful noise. “Of course it’s your fault. It’s your entire fault. You gave us to the hive.”
    “I didn’t have a choice.”
    “We never said you did.” She hunched her shoulders. “We just need to get back, to reconnect.”
    “But why?”
    She hugged herself, gripping her upper arms. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque frowned. He could see sweat on her lip.
    “I thought you’d be better off here,” he said, “cut off from the rest