CHAPTER SIX

KISHKINDHA

 

BALI SAT CROSS-LEGGED on a sun-warmed rock, waiting for the leopard. His tail twitched. He knew the big cat was stalking him, and had been for some minutes now. He was at the upper limit of the jungle, where the trees grew sparse and petered out like a green wave breaking against the volcano’s curving flank. Below, he could see most of the island and, beyond its treetops, the narrow strait dividing the island from the rest of the peninsula. Sunlight danced on the water. A couple of miles from where he sat, smoke rose from a clearing, marking the position of the stockade where the other members of the monkey army, gathered and brought here by Ack-Ack Macaque and the Sun Wukong, awaited him.

Humans, it seemed, had uplifted at least one primate on every parallel world visited by the airship. As soon as they had the technology, they created an intelligent ape or monkey. Privately, Bali wondered if they did it because they were lonely. Once, the humans had shared their worlds with other intelligent hominids, such as Homo erectus and the Neanderthals; but then those species had died away, leaving Homo sapiens home alone, with only themselves to talk to.

It must have been terribly lonely for them, he thought. No wonder their stories were filled with fairies, pixies, vampires and other half-human creatures.

But was that loneliness what had driven them to upgrade other primates?

Life for most of the uplifted creatures had not been pleasant. Some bore lingering pain from the surgery that had increased their intelligence; others simply pined for more of their kind, or for a release from captivity. Some, like Ack-Ack Macaque, had been plugged into virtual reality environments, such as games or targeting systems; while others lived out their days in laboratories or cages.

Now, thanks to Ack-Ack Macaque, they were all free. They had this island, which they’d named after the monkey kingdom in the story of the Ramayana; and they had each other. And, while Ack-Ack Macaque was away with the Sun Wukong, Bali had command. In the big guy’s absence, he was the alpha male.

And so it had fallen to him to kill the leopard.

He could feel it behind him in the shadows, and imagine it edging closer and closer, its belly brushing the leaves of the forest floor, haunches trembling, muscles coiled and ready to strike, spotted fur quivering.

Not today, mon ami.

In his lap, Bali held an automatic pistol and a hunting knife. All he needed was to draw the animal to him, and bring it close enough for a clean shot, or a deft strike with the blade.

The beast had been hanging around the camp for a couple of weeks. In that time, it had taken a lamb and half a dozen chickens. Then, last night, it had attacked and killed one of the chimps as they were out gathering firewood. How it got onto the island, nobody knew. Bali’s best guess was that it must have swum across the strait from the mainland, but he had no idea what could have driven it to attempt such an arduous feat, unless it had been drawn by cooking smells and the promise of fresh monkey meat.

He glanced down at the knife in his left hand. When he killed the leopard, he had decided he’d gut it and wear its skin as a trophy. He would walk back into the stockade draped in the pelt and blood of the vanquished beast. A display like that would impress the rest of the troupe, and strengthen his position as alpha. It might even convince a few of them that he should be running the show, rather than Ack-Ack Macaque. After all, where was their precious leader now that they needed him? Swanking around the multiverse in his dreadnought with the women, while the rest of them were here in the jungle, facing down predators and building a civilisation from scratch, with little in the way of luxury—and no females.

Bali felt his lips draw back from his sharp incisors. If he were in charge, things would be different. Good lord, yes. Less crude, more forward thinking, more businesslike. And there would be females! Even if he had to raid a zoo, he would find some.

To hell with trying to build a homeland of our own, he thought. What could be more inefficient? With their numbers and the dreadnought, they could take one by force, rather than carving it from the jungle by hand. There were so many human worlds. Surely they could find a lightly defended one that was ripe for a management takeover, with plenty of human slaves to do their bidding? After everything they’d suffered at the hands of the humans, surely they were owed a modicum of revenge, not to mention compensation?

Before being picked up by the Sun Wukong, Bali had been kept in a temple, chained to a wall and fed by the monks. They had taken him in following his escape from the laboratory that created him. The monks revered him as an aspect of their monkey god, Hanuman, and he’d enjoyed being pampered. Despite the chain, he had been looked after and respected, and he missed that. He had liked being a god. His grip tightened on the knife. He would be one again. When he became the true and undisputed alpha, he would fashion himself as a fearsome leopard god, falling from the skies to plunder world after world. Instead of hiding here, on an empty parallel devoid of humans, he and his brethren would avenge themselves on their creators. They would gather riches and power—and, most importantly, females—and he would be the true, one-and-only alpha, forever.

His nostrils quivered. On the breeze, he caught the barest hint of cat; a fleeting waft of spice, sweat and blood. The beast must be close now. Slowly, so as not to startle it, he rose to his feet, gun held out to his right, knife to his left, naked save for the elasticated straps of his shoulder holster.

He felt invincible.

“Okay, mon ami, I am here, and I am ready.” His eyes swept the shadows and dapples between the trees, his ears strained for the stealthiest sound.

“Now, where are you?”