Macaque Attack! by Gareth L. Powell

Author:Gareth L. Powell [Powell, Gareth L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure, General, Science Fiction
ISBN: 9781781082867
Google: 4l_1oAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1781082863
Barnesnoble: 1781082863
Goodreads: 21412104
Publisher: Solaris
Published: 2013-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

THE WIND TORE at him. His coat flapped. The fall seemed to take forever.

Then his boots hit the fabric upper surface of the Zeppelin hard enough to jar his spine. He bounced, sprawling forward in an ungainly tangle of limbs and coattails. For a second, he thought he was going to roll right off the side and fall to his death at the bottom of the canyon. Then his hands and feet found purchase against the fabric and he clung spread-eagled, sucking in great raw lungfuls of cold canyon air.

If he raised his head, he could see, over the curve of the hull, one of the engine nacelles, with the blurred, hissing circle of its black carbon impeller blades. Beyond that, nothing but air and rooftops.

Heart hammering in his chest, he clawed his way back up to the relatively flat surface at the top of the Zeppelin. Once there, he rolled onto his back and sat up. He’d skinned his knees and palms. His right arm hurt and his hand and sleeve were slathered and sticky with blood. Worst of all, he’d lost his hat. Still, he was alive. Behind him, Faro and Emilio boggled open-mouthed from the footbridge. He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and raised a bloody, one-fingered salute.

“So long, fuckers.”

The wind straggled his hair. Staying low to avoid being blown off the airship altogether, he crawled back towards the tail fin and found a maintenance hatch set into the fabric at its base. He pulled it open and climbed down an aluminium ladder, into the shadowy interior.

The outer envelope of the airship housed a number of helium gas bags, with walkways and cargo spaces wedged between them. The air was dark and cold in there, like a cave. Moving as quickly as his protesting limbs would allow, Napoleon made his way shakily across a catwalk and down another ladder to the access panel that led to the control gondola slung beneath the main hull. As he dropped into the cabin, the pilot—a scruffy young technician sipping coffee at a cup-strewn computer console—turned to him in amazement.

“Where did you come from?”

Clutching the torn sleeve of his snakeskin coat, blood seeping through his fingers, Napoleon glowered. He pointed forward, through the windshield, at a docking mast protruding from a cluster of warehouses near the base of the canyon’s right-hand wall.

“Take us down, boy,” he said.

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