. You really think so?”
“I could be wrong.” He considered the drab sky and shivered. “But I wouldn’t recommend staying here a moment longer than absolutely necessary.”
Victoria swallowed. Her mouth felt suddenly dry.
“ Oui, d’accord. ”
Despite his pessimism, she was glad to have him along for the ride. In this drab and forlorn landscape, it felt good to have a friendly face to offer moral support.
A fat drop of rain fell onto the road, followed by another, and another. From the left came the grunt and rumble of an engine. Belching smoke, the truck came around the corner at the end of the village. It was an eight-wheeled military model painted in autumnal urban camouflage. With a squeak of brakes and a hiss of hydraulics, it pulled to a halt in front of the villagers. They clambered up to join the other workers already huddled on the benches inside. Victoria hauled herself up behind them, and sat on the bench with her back against the canvas wall. Someone banged the side and the vehicle lurched forward, throwing everyone against each other. Then they were under way and, through the flap at the back, she could see the unrepaired road spooling away behind them.
In a field beyond the village, a fairground lay rusting.
“What happened here?” she whispered.
Paul shrugged. “Something bad.” He jerked a thumb at the truck’s other occupants. “Why don’t you ask them?”
Victoria glanced sideways, and gave a tight little shake of her head. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her stand out as being different, or not from around these parts. To do so would be to risk getting turned in for a reward. Instead, she turned up her collar and hunkered lower on her seat. The truck bumped and rattled along the road, jolting her spine.
Eventually, after a seeming eternity of discomfort, they came to a wire fence and a pair of anonymous-looking cyborg guards, who waved them through with scarcely a glance. Through the rear flap, Victoria saw the barrier and its coils of barbed wire receding behind them.
No turning back now.
They were in the grounds of the laboratory. If Célestine were anywhere, she’d be here, overseeing the activities of Nguyen’s cyborg master race. All Victoria had to do was find her, and then get her to lead her to the monkey. Victoria’s fingers curled around the plastic casing of the tracking device in her pocket. Once she got within a few hundred metres of Ack-Ack Macaque, she’d be able to locate him via the microchip she’d hired a vet to implant under his skin.
That’s if he’s still alive.
The truck pulled up in front of a pre-fab industrial unit, and the workers clambered out. Keeping amongst them, Victoria allowed them to lead her to a large canvas marquee, which had been erected at the side of the building, and which housed a couple of rickety trestle tables, from behind which dispirited-looking men and women dispensed cups of water and bowls of thin porridge. Accepting a bowl and a tin mug, Victoria stood on the edge of the group. The other workers ate and drank with listless, automatic movements. They showed no relish or urgency in the slaking of their hunger. They were like machines taking on fuel. Holding the plastic bowl to her chin, Victoria sniffed.
“That looks tasty,” Paul said.
“It smells like wallpaper paste.”
“You’re not going to eat it, then?”
“Shut up.”
The last thing she’d eaten had been a simple egg-white omelette, some hours before, in the commissary of the Sun Wukong . Now, the giant airship lay somewhere out in the Bay of Biscay, out of sight of land, its vast bulk floating half a dozen metres above the water—hopefully beyond the range of any radars Nguyen’s troops might bring to bear, and hidden from the few civilian vessels brave or foolhardy enough to set forth upon the dead, polluted sea.
She swilled the gloopy muck around, and then tipped it into some weeds growing up against the side of the
“I could be wrong.” He considered the drab sky and shivered. “But I wouldn’t recommend staying here a moment longer than absolutely necessary.”
Victoria swallowed. Her mouth felt suddenly dry.
“ Oui, d’accord. ”
Despite his pessimism, she was glad to have him along for the ride. In this drab and forlorn landscape, it felt good to have a friendly face to offer moral support.
A fat drop of rain fell onto the road, followed by another, and another. From the left came the grunt and rumble of an engine. Belching smoke, the truck came around the corner at the end of the village. It was an eight-wheeled military model painted in autumnal urban camouflage. With a squeak of brakes and a hiss of hydraulics, it pulled to a halt in front of the villagers. They clambered up to join the other workers already huddled on the benches inside. Victoria hauled herself up behind them, and sat on the bench with her back against the canvas wall. Someone banged the side and the vehicle lurched forward, throwing everyone against each other. Then they were under way and, through the flap at the back, she could see the unrepaired road spooling away behind them.
In a field beyond the village, a fairground lay rusting.
“What happened here?” she whispered.
Paul shrugged. “Something bad.” He jerked a thumb at the truck’s other occupants. “Why don’t you ask them?”
Victoria glanced sideways, and gave a tight little shake of her head. She didn’t want to do anything that would make her stand out as being different, or not from around these parts. To do so would be to risk getting turned in for a reward. Instead, she turned up her collar and hunkered lower on her seat. The truck bumped and rattled along the road, jolting her spine.
Eventually, after a seeming eternity of discomfort, they came to a wire fence and a pair of anonymous-looking cyborg guards, who waved them through with scarcely a glance. Through the rear flap, Victoria saw the barrier and its coils of barbed wire receding behind them.
No turning back now.
They were in the grounds of the laboratory. If Célestine were anywhere, she’d be here, overseeing the activities of Nguyen’s cyborg master race. All Victoria had to do was find her, and then get her to lead her to the monkey. Victoria’s fingers curled around the plastic casing of the tracking device in her pocket. Once she got within a few hundred metres of Ack-Ack Macaque, she’d be able to locate him via the microchip she’d hired a vet to implant under his skin.
That’s if he’s still alive.
The truck pulled up in front of a pre-fab industrial unit, and the workers clambered out. Keeping amongst them, Victoria allowed them to lead her to a large canvas marquee, which had been erected at the side of the building, and which housed a couple of rickety trestle tables, from behind which dispirited-looking men and women dispensed cups of water and bowls of thin porridge. Accepting a bowl and a tin mug, Victoria stood on the edge of the group. The other workers ate and drank with listless, automatic movements. They showed no relish or urgency in the slaking of their hunger. They were like machines taking on fuel. Holding the plastic bowl to her chin, Victoria sniffed.
“That looks tasty,” Paul said.
“It smells like wallpaper paste.”
“You’re not going to eat it, then?”
“Shut up.”
The last thing she’d eaten had been a simple egg-white omelette, some hours before, in the commissary of the Sun Wukong . Now, the giant airship lay somewhere out in the Bay of Biscay, out of sight of land, its vast bulk floating half a dozen metres above the water—hopefully beyond the range of any radars Nguyen’s troops might bring to bear, and hidden from the few civilian vessels brave or foolhardy enough to set forth upon the dead, polluted sea.
She swilled the gloopy muck around, and then tipped it into some weeds growing up against the side of the
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