Hive Monkey Read Free Page A

collapse of the Ack-Ack Macaque MMORPG, when he went from being one of the world’s most iconic video game characters to its most famous living, breathing monkey, several new games had arisen to fill the niche left by its demise. Captain Capuchin; Marmoset Madness; Heavy Metal Howler —according to K8, none of them were as realistic or convincing as his game had been, because their main characters were animated using standard computer simulated AI, instead of the artificially-uplifted brains of actual flesh and blood animals. In fact, the whole uplifting process had been made illegal. There were no other walking, talking animals left in the world; he was the only one, and now always would be.
    “I don’t want to talk about this.” He pulled out a cigar, bit the tip off, and lit up. Dean sighed.
    “You’re not making this easy,” he said.
    Ack-Ack Macaque shrugged. Smoke curled between his teeth.
    “Hey, it’s not my fault. This is my evening off, my chance to pull a Bueller. Spend all night drinking rum in the bath, that sort of thing. I didn’t ask to be pestered.”
    Dean rolled his eyes. The camera drone hung in the air, a few centimetres from his ear. Its tiny fans made a gentle hissing noise.
    “Don’t you want to tell your story?”
    Ack-Ack Macaque huffed again. He pinched the cigar between his forefinger and thumb, and puffed a smoke ring at the ceiling.
    “No. Now, I’ve asked you to fuck off once.” He fixed the man with his one good eye. “Do I have to ask you again?”
    Dean picked up his notebook and pushed it into the pocket of his coat. The tips of his ears were bright scarlet.
    “There’s a story here, and one way or another, I’m not leaving until I get it.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque blew a second, smaller smoke ring.
    “Suit yourself.” His hand snaked out and plucked the camera drone from the air. In one fluid movement, he brought it slamming down against the edge of the bar. Its plastic casing shattered, and the little fan motors died.
    “Hey!” Dean took a step forward. “Do you know how much those things cost?”
    Ack-Ack Macaque grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him close enough that their faces almost touched.
    “Do I look as if I give a shit?”
    Dean flinched as spittle sprayed his face. He swallowed, and turned away from the smell of the cigar.
    “You idiot,” he said. “You stupid, bloody idiot.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque released him, and turned for the door.
    Behind him, Dean said, “You’ll be hearing from my solicitor. That’s assault, matey. Assault and criminal damage.” His voice rose, buoyed up by righteous fury. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll crucify you in print, you just see if I don’t.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque closed his eye.
    “Get lost,” he said, voice low and dangerous.
    Dean ignored him.
    “I’ve got witnesses, haven’t I?” He pointed to the guy in the white suit. “You just wait until you see tomorrow’s headlines, pal. You just wait.”
    For a second, Ack-Ack Macaque considered turning around and punching the guy’s Adam’s apple out through the back of his neck. He imagined the crunch of knuckles hitting larynx, and ground his teeth. So tempting...
    In the end, though, he had to content himself with walking away. He couldn’t assault passengers, however annoying they might be. He couldn’t even hurl his own shit at them. He’d had that drummed into him time and time again, and was in no mood for another lecture. Instead, he stepped out into the corridor and let the door swing shut behind him.
    Fists clenched and cigar clamped in his teeth, he stalked to the dining room, where he found the evening buffet still in full swing, and the airship’s owner drinking her first Martini of the night.
    Victoria Valois had left her blonde wig in her cabin. Some days, she just didn’t care what she looked like. Looking at her now, the smooth lines of her bald scalp were misshapen by a thick ridge of scar tissue bulging from her right temple, into which had