each and every cigar he’d ever smoked.
From behind, he heard the thud of clawed feet on mossy ground, and the rustle of lithe bodies crashing through bracken and underbrush.
Dogs!
They were close, and their cyborg masters wouldn’t be far behind.
“Shitballs.”
The trees in this part of the forest were mostly young saplings, with thin springy branches that wouldn’t bear his weight. Even if he managed to swarm up one, he’d be trapped in it, treed like a cat—unable to swing to the next because it’d snap beneath him.
The sounds of pursuit grew closer, and he looked back. From the undergrowth, a pair of Dobermans flew at him like slavering suede missiles. His hands dropped to his holsters; but he knew that if he fired, he’d be giving away his position to his pursuers and using the last of his ammo. Instead, with no other choice, he dropped into a fighting crouch and let his lips peel back from his teeth.
“All right, mutts, let’s play.”
The dogs were almost upon him. He could see breath steaming from their mouths and powerful muscles rippling like pistons under their hides. He curled his hands into claws and thrashed his tail. Then he let out the deepest, most guttural snarl he could muster—an outpouring of rage and frustration that welled up from the soles of his boots. It was the cry of a challenged alpha male, an expression of wrath and malice so potent it could have stopped a charging gorilla.
The two Dobermans slithered to a halt, their paws scrabbling at wet leaves and moss. It was a fair bet that, living in France, they’d never seen a monkey before—especially an enraged male almost the size of a human being. They took one look at the creature in the clearing—at its yellow incisors and baleful eye—and, whimpering in terror, fled back the way they had come.
Ack-Ack Macaque scowled after them.
“Yeah, you’d better run.” He put a hand to the small of his back and straightened his spine. Something clicked and he groaned. “Goddammit.” The roar had taken much of his strength. He felt emptied out. Much of the fear and anger that had been driving him had vanished, having vented away into the damp autumn air like steam from a safety valve. Now, he felt overwhelmingly tired.
What I wouldn’t give for a coffee right now. He scratched his stomach. He couldn’t afford to linger. With a sigh, he turned and loped deeper into the forest, heading away from the distant sounds of pursuit.
Soon, he came to an older part of the wood, where he scaled the first tree that seemed capable of holding him. Once up in the tangle of bare branches, he started swinging from tree to tree. The going was slower than running on the forest floor, but at least he wasn’t leaving a scent trail for the dogs to follow. They wouldn’t be able to track him through the air.
H ALF AN HOUR later, as the light of the afternoon began to fade and his arms started to feel like overstretched rubber bands, he came to an area where the trees were blackened and charred. An airliner had crashed into the heart of the forest. Parts of the wings and fuselage were clearly visible at the centre of the burned-out area. Cautiously, he crept closer. There hadn’t been many jet airliners on Victoria’s world, where skyliners accommodated the vast majority of aerial passengers. Neither had there been any in the game world he’d once inhabited, based as it had been on a fictionalised version of World War II.
Stupid way to travel, he thought, regarding the wreck. Blasting through the air at half the speed of sound, crammed into a thin metal tube, more payload than passenger. Why go through all that when you could have the comfort and relative spaciousness of a skyliner cabin? Sure, the journey would take longer, but if your only concern was time, why not simply strap yourself onto a missile and have done with it?
Something white caught his eye. A thighbone. Now that he’d seen one, other bones seemed to leap out at him.
From behind, he heard the thud of clawed feet on mossy ground, and the rustle of lithe bodies crashing through bracken and underbrush.
Dogs!
They were close, and their cyborg masters wouldn’t be far behind.
“Shitballs.”
The trees in this part of the forest were mostly young saplings, with thin springy branches that wouldn’t bear his weight. Even if he managed to swarm up one, he’d be trapped in it, treed like a cat—unable to swing to the next because it’d snap beneath him.
The sounds of pursuit grew closer, and he looked back. From the undergrowth, a pair of Dobermans flew at him like slavering suede missiles. His hands dropped to his holsters; but he knew that if he fired, he’d be giving away his position to his pursuers and using the last of his ammo. Instead, with no other choice, he dropped into a fighting crouch and let his lips peel back from his teeth.
“All right, mutts, let’s play.”
The dogs were almost upon him. He could see breath steaming from their mouths and powerful muscles rippling like pistons under their hides. He curled his hands into claws and thrashed his tail. Then he let out the deepest, most guttural snarl he could muster—an outpouring of rage and frustration that welled up from the soles of his boots. It was the cry of a challenged alpha male, an expression of wrath and malice so potent it could have stopped a charging gorilla.
The two Dobermans slithered to a halt, their paws scrabbling at wet leaves and moss. It was a fair bet that, living in France, they’d never seen a monkey before—especially an enraged male almost the size of a human being. They took one look at the creature in the clearing—at its yellow incisors and baleful eye—and, whimpering in terror, fled back the way they had come.
Ack-Ack Macaque scowled after them.
“Yeah, you’d better run.” He put a hand to the small of his back and straightened his spine. Something clicked and he groaned. “Goddammit.” The roar had taken much of his strength. He felt emptied out. Much of the fear and anger that had been driving him had vanished, having vented away into the damp autumn air like steam from a safety valve. Now, he felt overwhelmingly tired.
What I wouldn’t give for a coffee right now. He scratched his stomach. He couldn’t afford to linger. With a sigh, he turned and loped deeper into the forest, heading away from the distant sounds of pursuit.
Soon, he came to an older part of the wood, where he scaled the first tree that seemed capable of holding him. Once up in the tangle of bare branches, he started swinging from tree to tree. The going was slower than running on the forest floor, but at least he wasn’t leaving a scent trail for the dogs to follow. They wouldn’t be able to track him through the air.
H ALF AN HOUR later, as the light of the afternoon began to fade and his arms started to feel like overstretched rubber bands, he came to an area where the trees were blackened and charred. An airliner had crashed into the heart of the forest. Parts of the wings and fuselage were clearly visible at the centre of the burned-out area. Cautiously, he crept closer. There hadn’t been many jet airliners on Victoria’s world, where skyliners accommodated the vast majority of aerial passengers. Neither had there been any in the game world he’d once inhabited, based as it had been on a fictionalised version of World War II.
Stupid way to travel, he thought, regarding the wreck. Blasting through the air at half the speed of sound, crammed into a thin metal tube, more payload than passenger. Why go through all that when you could have the comfort and relative spaciousness of a skyliner cabin? Sure, the journey would take longer, but if your only concern was time, why not simply strap yourself onto a missile and have done with it?
Something white caught his eye. A thighbone. Now that he’d seen one, other bones seemed to leap out at him.
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