Ack-Ack Macaque (26 page)

Although
, she thought,
who am I to talk?

She used her neural software to access an online map, showing the relative positions of the
Tereshkova
and Duchess Célestine’s liner, the
Maraldi.

“Right,” Paul said. “If you get this right, you can expect to get a glide ratio of two point five to one. That means you’ll travel two and a half metres forward for every metre you drop. We’re currently around eight thousand feet above the Channel, which means you can probably expect to get just shy of two and a half kilometres out of these things. How far is it to the liner?”

“Seven kilometres.”

“Ah.”

“If the
Tereshkova
gets any closer, the RAF will shoot it down.”

“Then what are you expecting to do? You can’t swim four and a half kilometres!”

Victoria smiled. “We won’t have to. There’s a two-masted yacht
en route
to the
Maraldi
from Southampton. It passed underneath us a few minutes ago. We should be able to make it aboard without too much trouble.”

Paul raised his eyebrows.

“God, Vicky. You’re so fearless now, I can’t believe it. You’ve really changed.”

“I’ve always been this way.” Her grin was fierce. “You just chose not to notice.”

The hatch had a glass window set into it, but all she could see was her own reflection. Outside, the sky had grown dark.

The shoulder pocket of her suit held a SincPhone. She unravelled the hands-free earpiece and fitted it to the side of her head. The microphone dangled just below her chin.

“How are we doing, Commodore?”

On the other end of the line, the old man sounded grim and tired, his voice seemingly hacked out of ancient Russian stone.

“We are still here, Victoria. For now, that is victory enough.”

The old airship gave a low, metallic groan of complaint, like an old-fashioned tramp steamer caught in a heavy sea. With the two starboard hulls losing gas, the other three were having to take the strain of their increasing weight.

“Good luck,” she said. It didn’t seem like an adequate farewell, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. They were all heading into harm’s way, and who knew what might happen?

She cut the connection and turned to Ack-Ack Macaque.

“Are you ready?”

He gave her a wide, toothy grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be, considering I don’t usually fly without a plane.”

Victoria took hold of the wheel that opened the hatch, and began to turn it. As she did so, she remembered the gut-roiling terror that had seized her former self before each parachute jump. That terror was missing now. Yes, she was nervous, but that timid, earlier version of her was dead and gone. Vicky the journalist had been killed in action in the South Atlantic, and now only Victoria the cyborg remained.

The lock disengaged and the hatch swung inwards. Beyond, the night was black.

“Okay,” she said, summoning all her courage, “follow me.”

She pulled her goggles down over her eyes. Then, gripping the sides of the hatchway frame, she launched herself out, headfirst into the night. In her mind, Paul cried out in fear. The wind snatched at the fabric of her suit, and she fell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ALL SET FOR THE LIFE ETERNAL

M
EROVECH HALF-CARRIED
J
ULIE
to the
Tereshkova
’s infirmary, where he helped her onto one of the bunks and cut the denim from her wounded leg. The room was small and economical, with sterile white surfaces and ranks of sliding drawers packed with pills, dressings and surgical implements. Two bunks occupied the centre of the room, for emergency cases. Normally, the medical officer treated passengers in their own cabins, but he himself had been wounded in the fighting, with two gunshot wounds to the groin, and had therefore been airlifted away with the other non-essential personnel, leaving the sickbay unmanned. Luckily, as a soldier, Merovech had been trained to give first aid.

“It’s just a gash.” He used a wad of cotton wool to sponge the blood. “A nasty one, though.”

Each time he touched her, Julie sucked air through her teeth.

“It hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

She summoned a strained smile. “Why are you apologising? It is not your fault.”

The rail gun needle had scraped her thigh at a shallow angle, ripping out a furrow six inches in length and half an inch wide: painful, but thankfully not deep enough to cause any real, lasting damage. Merovech did his best to clean it up, and then applied a thick pad and bandages.

“You probably need stitches in that. Perhaps when this is all over—”

Strands of purple hair swayed as Julie shook her head.

“I will be okay, I think.”

“If you don’t get it stitched, you’ll have a scar.”

She shrugged. “Then I will have a scar. And a story to tell.”

She watched him rinse his hands in the steel washbasin, then shake them, and wipe them dry against the back pockets of his jeans.

“It will not put you off?”

He turned to her. “Excuse me?”

“The scar.” She pointed to the fresh bandages. “It won’t put you off me?”

Merovech’s lips twitched: the closest he felt he could get to a proper smile right now. He stepped over to the bed and took her hand in his.

“No,” he said, “it won’t.”

“Good. Because we make a good team, you and I,
n’est-ce pas?
”

“
Oui, c’est vrai.
” He circled her knuckles with his thumb. “Then, what is the matter?” she asked. “I can see you’re troubled.”

Merovech sighed.

“Those soldiers in the helicopter. They were only doing their job.”

Her hand tightened in his.

“They were trying to take you away.”

“They were just following orders. And we killed them. They were British soldiers, and I stood by and watched them die.”

“What else could we have done?”

He let go of her hand and pushed his fists into his eyes.

“I was a British soldier. I wore the same uniform. I flew in the same choppers, handled the same weapons and ate the same food.” He lowered his hands and looked at her. “Now, what does that make me?”

Julie touched his knee with her fingers.

“This is not your fault, Merovech. Really not. You did not ask to be put in this position.”

“Maybe I should have gone with them?”

Julie’s eyes widened. “No! We need you.
I
need you.”

“But the cost...”

“Forget the cost, Merovech. Do you understand that? Forget. The. Cost.”

He pulled back.

“But—”

“No buts!” Julie reached for him. “
Je t’aime
, Merovech, you know that. But there is more at stake here than you realise. Your mother has to be stopped, and you are the only one who can, whatever it takes.”

“If she wants the throne—”

“The throne is not what she is after. K8 read her private files. She wants the whole world.”

“What?”

“K8 found the evidence. We were waiting for the right time to tell you. This stand-off with China, it is part of your mother’s plan. She is deliberately provoking them.”

“Why would she do that?”

“When the Céleste probe gets to Mars, the Undying plan to download themselves into robot bodies and terraform the planet.”

“Yes, but—”

“Mars has no magnetic field. The surface gets a lot of radiation, and the robots are built to withstand it.”

A cold hand closed around Merovech’s heart.

“And so if China attacks—”

“World War Three. Everybody gets blown back to the Stone Age, and the Undying get two planets instead of one.”

“Jesus Christ. Is that even possible?”

Julie lay back on the pillow, her hair fanning out around her head.

“
Je ne sais pas.
But K8 thinks so, from what she saw when hacking the files.”

The walls of the airship groaned, and the deck shuddered, tipping another degree or two to starboard.

“If anyone is going to stop her, Merovech, it has to be you.”

Merovech flexed his fists.

“What can I do?”

Julie hitched herself up onto her elbows.

“The people need a leader they can trust.”

Merovech looked up at the low ceiling, which had been painted white, rivets and all.

“Then they’ll have to elect one. I’ll expose my mother, and I’ll take the throne. I’ll do what needs to be done, for my country.” His hands clenched, fingers digging into palms, knuckles white. “But afterwards, when the dust’s settled, I’m going to abdicate.”

Julie put a hand to her mouth.

“Are you serious?”

Merovech perched on the bed beside her.

“Deadly serious. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, ever since the crash. And I’ve not been happy for a while.”

Julie opened and closed her mouth, digesting his words. Then she said, “Is that what you really want?”

“It is.” He smiled at her. “I can’t bear the formality. All those endless receptions. And besides, the succession isn’t mine, remember? It turns out I’m no more entitled to it than my mother. And with all this illegal gelware in my head, I may not even be fit to rule at all. As soon as things get back to normal, I’ll call a referendum and let the people decide.”

Someone rapped on the sickbay door. Merovech turned to find the Commodore leaning against the frame.

“Excuse the interruption.” The old man’s jacket had been left undone, and his sash had gone missing. Beneath his moustache and bushy white brows, his face seemed pale and strained. “But I thought you should know, we caught the saboteur.”

“Where was he?”

“My men found him hiding in the starboard cargo bay. Now we have the
kozyol
in the lounge.” He turned, holding his injured hip with one hand, and gestured Merovech to follow. “Come, he wishes to speak with you.”

“Why me?”

“I do not know. But he refuses to talk to anybody else.”

T
HE
C
OMMODORE’S CREWMEN
had strapped the saboteur to a chair in the centre of the main lounge. He was a young man around Merovech’s age. Plastic packing strips bound his left wrist and right ankle to the chair. He wore a creased white shirt and thin black tie. In his right hand, he cupped a smouldering cigarette.

He looked up as Merovech approached.

“Hey, your highness.” Diamonds of sweat shone on his brow. His hair and shirt looked damp.

“You wanted to see me?”

“I sure did.” The man’s face cracked into a white-toothed grin. “I got a message for you, man.”

Merovech crossed his arms, making no effort to conceal his impatience.

“What is it?”

The man wagged his cigarette. “Hey, not so fast. Why the rush? Don’t you want to know who I am first?”

Merovech tapped a toe against the deck. “To be honest, I couldn’t give a damn.”

The young man’s grin broadened. “Well, my name’s Linton. Linton Martin, and I sure am pleased to meet you.” He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and held out his hand. Merovech ignored it.

“I suppose you’re working for my mother, too?”

Smoke curled from Linton’s mouth. A bead of sweat rolled down his face.

“You know it, baby.” He took another big hit from the cigarette, tipped his head back, and blew smoke at the ceiling.

The Commodore stepped forward, favouring his bad hip. One of his polished boots dragged against the deck.

“He came on board at Heathrow, as a legitimate passenger.” The old man spoke through clenched teeth, his voice dripping with a mixture of pain and disgust. “A last minute booking.”

Merovech didn’t take his eyes from the prisoner. “He must be one of the ‘friends’ that Berg warned us about.”

With a low metallic groan, the deck tipped further. Merovech adjusted his footing.

“It’s getting worse.”

The Commodore scowled. “Perhaps you should reconsider your decision to stay?”

Merovech gave a firm shake of his head.

“No, I’m going to see this through. If I run now, I’ll be running for the rest of my life. This is my best and only chance to end this, here and now.”

In the chair, Linton chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. The Commodore glared at him.

“Let me know when you are finished with this
kozyol
,” he said to Merovech.

“What are you going to do with him?”

The Commodore’s lip curled, revealing teeth the colour of old ivory. “Lock him in the brig. If we crash into the sea, he crashes with us.”

Linton chortled again. His left foot tapped against the floor. The fingers of both hands twitched.

“That is
so
not going to happen.”

“Why do you say that?” Merovech lowered himself onto one knee, bringing their faces level. “You don’t think we’ll crash?”

Linton bobbed his head, as if in time to music.

“No, man. I don’t think you’ll get me to the brig.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll be dead before you get me there.” He sucked the last of the cigarette and dropped the butt to the deck, where he ground it out with the point of his shoe.

Merovech felt a frisson of unease.

“Another bomb?”

Linton stopped jiggling. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle.

“Suicide pills.” He cackled. “How fucking cool is
that
?”

“You’ve taken them?”

“Yeah, baby. And the clock’s ticking.”

Merovech shook his head in disbelief.

“Don’t you care?”

Linton wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt. Then he reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a soft pack of American cigarettes. Only two remained. He extracted one with his teeth and let the pack fall to the floor.

“It doesn’t bother me. I’m backed-up, baby. All set for the life eternal.”

Merovech stood, and brushed off the knee of his jeans.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Sure thing.”

Merovech felt his cheeks flush. He wanted to strangle this infuriating kid.

“That won’t be
you
,” he said. “Just a copy. Don’t you get it? You’ll be dead.”