Read Online Hive Monkey by Gareth L. Powell - Free Book Online

independent city-state, unaffected by the laws of whichever territory it happened to be flying over, and that the local police had no jurisdiction.
    She looked over at Ack-Ack Macaque.
    “What do you say, monkey man? Are you up for a challenge?”
    Ack-Ack Macaque fixed her with his one-eyed squint.
    “What do you have in mind, boss?”
    Victoria smiled. She could tell by the way his tail twitched, and by the way the fingertips of his right hand drummed against the handle of the revolver at his hip, that he’d been just as bored as she had during the Atlantic crossing.
    “First off, we need some facts.” She gave a nod towards the dead man on the bunk. “Like who this guy was, and how he got aboard. And how he got dead.”
    Ack-Ack Macaque leaned over the corpse and sniffed.
    “He smells fresh.” His pink nostrils twitched. “I mean, apart from the fact that he’s shat himself, but everybody does that when they die, don’t they?” He looked up at her. “What does the doc say?”
    Victoria had already spoken to the airship’s medical officer—a grey-haired old alcoholic by the name of Sergei.
    “Gunshot wound to the large intestine. Died from internal haemorrhaging. Otherwise, nothing unusual.”
    “Was he wearing a soul-catcher?”
    “Unfortunately not.” If the man had been wearing a catcher, they’d have been able to electronically revive and quiz the copy of his personality held within. That was how she’d saved her husband, Paul, after he ran afoul of a killer in London.
    “So, no help there, then?”
    “Not much.” She reached out to touch the hem of the dead man’s robe. As she moved, the medals on her chest tinkled together like distant wind chimes. “Mister Cole, do you have any idea why this man’s dressed as a monk?”
    The writer shook his head. He was calmer now than he had been when he’d burst into the lounge, but his eyes were still wide and bloodshot. It seemed to be their default setting, and gave him the look of a hermit dragged from a cave.
    On the other side of the bunk, Ack-Ack Macaque gave a grunt. “Maybe he’s a fucking monk?”
    Cole blinked at him. “Who would shoot a monk?”
    Victoria drew her hand back from the bed. “You didn’t go to Catholic school,” she said, “did you, Mister Cole?” He frowned, and opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a raised hand. “You said his name was Bill. Did he tell you anything else? Give you any idea where he was from?”
    Cole licked his lips. His eyes settled on her for a moment.
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He massaged the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. “Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it myself.”
    Victoria narrowed her eyes.
    “You’re talking to a cyborg and a monkey. If you can believe that, you can believe anything.”
    The American put a hand to the small of his back and straightened his spine, visibly trying to pull himself together. Victoria could see the gooseflesh on his bare arms.
    “Okay,” he said. “What do you know of parallel worlds?”
    “Quantum theory.” Having been married to a sci-fi fan, and been obliged to sit through seemingly endless movies and TV shows, she had a pretty good handle on the concept. “The idea that there’s a multiverse of endless alternate realities, each with a different history. Like in Star Trek , where everybody in the parallel world has a beard.”
    Cole gave her a reappraising look. “Yes, that’s it. Essentially, every choice we make spawns two or more alternate worlds. In one, we take the first choice, in the other, we take the second choice, and so on.”
    Victoria glanced down at the dead man’s face.
    “And so this guy’s supposed to be you from a different reality?” She didn’t believe it for a second. “Alternate worlds are just fiction, Mister Cole. They’re plots from bad movies about Nazis; they don’t really exist.”
    Cole held out his hands. “I know. Trust me, I write books about