CHAPTER FORTY
AN INFINITE NUMBER OF MONKEYS
THE RAIN STOPPED during the night. As the sun rose, Ack-Ack Macaque sat on the wooden veranda with his legs dangling over the edge. His leg had been cleaned and dressed by a Gestalt nurse, and he’d been given a fresh white suit, over which he’d squeezed the remains of his leather flying jacket. Now, he was smoking the last of his cigars.
Below, in the streets of London, he could see the blue lights of emergency vehicles and the dull khaki of troop lorries and armoured cars. This morning, the city looked like a disturbed ants nest. Fires still burned in parts of Whitehall. News choppers wheeled around like flies. Columns of refugees were heading outwards, choking the arterial roads, desperate to escape the destruction and contagion of the inner city.
Behind him, he heard the big brass door open, and the whine of a small electric motor approaching through the trees. Paul’s car zipped up beside him, the lenses of its camera and projectors bristling.
“Hey Ack-ster, how are you doing?” The dead man’s image shimmered into apparent solidity beside him. This morning, Paul had opted for a dark suit and sombre tie.
“Just smoking.” He looked down at the tangle of wires and servers beneath the balcony. If he was right, they formed an important node in the Gestalt’s wireless network: a router to bounce their thoughts from mind to mind. If he turned it off, he might be able to free some of them. Or possibly kill them. With K8’s neck on the line, he wasn’t about to try messing around until he was damn sure how the machinery worked.
“Did the ‘Founder’ give you any trouble?” he asked.
Paul’s image lowered itself until it appeared to be sitting next to him.
“A little,” he said, “But there’s a brig in the stern that’s shielded against transmissions. Once we got her in there, and she realised she couldn’t talk to the rest of the hive, she quietened down.”
“She’s an interesting woman.”
“If you say so.”
Ack-Ack Macaque cleared his throat. His cheeks felt hot. He decided to change the subject.
“How’s the boss?”
“She’s fine.” Paul scratched his bristled chin. “Or, at least, she’s going to be fine. In fact, Lila’s bringing her up here now.”
“They sent you on ahead, did they?”
Paul gave a guilty smile.
“They thought it prudent to see what sort of mood you were in.”
Ack-Ack Macaque stretched. He felt like he’d been pulled through a jet engine’s air intake, and then spat out the back. Every muscle ached and there was hardly a patch of skin without some sort of scratch or bruise. But the painkillers he’d been given by the Gestalt were remarkably effective, and he actually felt kind of good, despite everything.
“I’m okay,” he said, kicking his feet. “Why shouldn’t I be? After all, we saved the world.”
“Again.”
He looked down at the roofs below. “How are things down there?”
Paul’s face grew serious.
“Reports coming out of San Francisco aren’t good. The city took a pasting, and the airship above it managed to release its entire cargo before it received the abort command. Also, Madrid and Singapore report heavy casualties. Some places have been using flamethrowers and napalm to destroy areas suspected of infestation, and infected people are being herded into hospitals and quarantine camps.”
“So, it’s all a bit of a mess?”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“But the nano-whatsits have been stopped?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Then I call that a win.” He took a deep drag on the cigar, and blew smoke from his nose.
The brass door opened again, and Lila appeared through the trees, pushing Victoria in a wheelchair. Victoria had her left arm in a sling, and bandages across her ribs and stomach. Behind them, William Cole walked with his back straight and shoulders thrown back.
Ack-Ack Macaque stood to meet them.
“Hi, boss.”
Victoria didn’t return his salute.
“I’m not your boss anymore, monkey man. I’m not even a Captain. I lost my ship.”
Ack-Ack Macaque huffed. The Tereshkova had been the only real home either of them had known.
“Yeah,” he said, “that was a shame. She was a real lady, and I’ll miss her.”
“How’s K8?”
He shrugged. “They tell me she’s part of the hive now.”
“But she’s alive?”
“Oh yes.” He couldn’t help a rueful smile. “And kicking up hell in there, from what I can gather.”
They looked at each other for a moment: two old soldiers comparing losses. Then William Cole stepped forward to put a protective arm around his daughter’s shoulders.
“So,” he said, “what happens now?”
Ack-Ack Macaque gave him a wary squint.
“How do you mean?”
The writer smoothed his unruly hair with his free hand. He had his own share of scrapes and grazes, but they didn’t seem to bother him. “I mean, where are you going to go,” he said. “What are you going to do?”
Ack-Ack Macaque rubbed his leather eye patch. The empty socket beneath itched.
“If there’s any way to pull K8 out of the hive, I’ll find it.”
“And beyond that?”
The monkey turned to look at the pall of smoke above London.
“Well, this place has gone all to shit.” Cigar clamped in his teeth, he rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps it’s time to move on?”
“Actually,” Victoria said, “I spoke to Merovech. He thinks the shock of this attack might be good for us. He thinks it’ll bring the fractured politics of this world into a new unity, now that the nations know there are bigger threats out there.”
Ack-Ack Macaque made a farting noise with his lips.
“Pffft. Let’s see how long that lasts.”
“You could help them,” Lila said. “You’re the leader of the Gestalt. You have an army. You can help them rebuild.”
Ack-Ack Macaque shook his head.
“Sorry sweetheart, not really my style.”
“Then, what?” Cole asked.
Ack-Ack Macaque fingered his chin.
“I’ll tell the Gestalt to surrender,” he decided. “There are thousands of them, in all those airships. They can help clear up the mess they’ve made.”
“And what about you?”
Ack-Ack Macaque turned to Paul.
“Hey, Paulie,” he said. “Do you think you can fly this thing?”
Paul put a hand to the back of his neck and puffed out his cheeks.
“The ironclad? Sheesh, I don’t know. I’d need to take a look at the computers they’re using. But, in principle, I guess it’s possible.”
“Would you like to?”
Victoria raised an eyebrow.
“Are you suggesting we keep this ship?” she asked.
Ack-Ack Macaque showed his teeth.
“Why not? Fair’s fair. They wrecked ours.”
“But it’s a battleship,” she said. “It doesn’t carry cargo or passengers. Where will we go? What will we do with it?”
He tapped the side of his nose.
“Last night, The Founder said something about moving on and finding another monkey. I reckon we do the same.”
Paul gaped at him. “You mean, travel between worlds?”
“F*ck yeah.” He threw a reckless smile. “There’s not a whole lot to keep us here. And there must be other monkeys out there. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them.”
Lila let go of the handles of Victoria’s chair.
“All your alternate selves?”
“Yeah. We can find them, and tell them—” He licked his suddenly dry lips. “Tell them they don’t have to be alone anymore.” He glanced at Victoria. “What do you think?”
Victoria Valois ran a hand back over the smooth skin of her scalp, and shrugged.
“What the hell, I’m in.”
“Excellent. Paul?”
The hologram looked at the lady in the wheelchair.
“I go where she goes.”
“How about you, Cole? You’ve been writing about these parallel worlds all these years. Maybe you could help us navigate?”
“To Mendelblatt’s world?” Cole frowned. “I don’t know about that.” He gave Lila a squeeze, and straightened his posture. “But there must be other Maries out there. If you need a couple of crew, then sure, I guess. We’re with you.”
“Okay, then. It’s settled.” Ack-Ack Macaque clasped his hands together. “Paul, go and see if you can hook yourself into the navigation software. The rest of you are welcome to stay here, or join me on the bridge.”
Lila looked incredulous.
“You want to leave right now?”
Ack-Ack Macaque turned to her.
“Can you think of a better f*cking time?”
Straightening his tie, he walked through the potted jungle, heading for the airship’s command deck. For the past year, he’d been casting around, wondering what to do with his life. Now, he had a mission and a purpose… and an army. He’d moved from the game world to the real one—and now a million other worlds were out there, just waiting for him. His tiredness had gone, burned away like morning mist, and all he could see ahead were possibilities.
AND IF YOU want a picture of the future, try to imagine a hundred thousand talking monkeys, gathered from a hundred thousand worlds, their numbers ever-swelling, swarming across the worlds of men—forever.
THE END ACK-ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
AS I SAID in a recent article on Tor.com, there’s something strangely compelling about primates in human clothes. Crowds used to gather at London Zoo to watch the chimpanzees having a tea party. The PG Tips ads became instant classics. When creating Ack-Ack Macaque, I felt as if I’d tapped into some sort of archetype. I made him surly and rude, and unconscionably violent, and people responded. They seemed to connect with him on a primal level. I don’t know what it is about him. He has his own Twitter account [@AckAckMacaque] and people love talking to him. Ladies flirt with him. Men tell jokes and post links to funny monkey pictures. He seems to have struck a chord—and I think it’s because he represents a certain freedom that we, as supposedly civilised human beings, have lost. He can smoke and drink and blow shit up, and not care. The normal rules don’t apply to him. He doesn’t have to bite his lip or bide his time. He’s a wild animal. Put him in clothes and he looks comical, but also dangerous. He’s us, but not us. The Hyde to our Jekyll. Our inner child. And you lot can’t seem to get enough of him.
This is the first novel-length sequel I’ve ever written, and I’d like to thank the team at Solaris for their hard work and support, especially Jonathan Oliver, Ben Smith, David Moore, and Michael Molcher. Also my family, for their unflagging belief and constant encouragement, especially my mother, who taught me to read and bought me my first typewriter. Jake Murray, for another excellent and inspiring cover illustration. My friend, Su Hadrell, and my sister, Rebecca Powell, for their invaluable feedback on the first draft. My agent, John Jarrold, for his support. And my wife, Becky, who gave the first draft a thorough line-by-line edit, and whose belief, love and support make all this possible.
Lastly, I’d also like to express my gratitude to everybody who bought, read, recommended or reviewed Ack-Ack Macaque, and say a big thank you to all his followers on Twitter and Facebook. Without your enthusiasm, this sequel might never have happened.
My thanks to you all.
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