V. Moody's Blog, page 10

Book 3 – 47: Fair Trade

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

 

Ubik was delighted to be on his way to the legendary Trade Fayre on Quazi.

Seated in Farrow Quazem’s sleek space cruiser with Synthia at the helm, he was more than happy to ignore any and all warning signs that he was in the hands of a deranged robot and the even more deranged men in love with robots.

This was the Trade Fayre, a huge extravaganza for the tronic enthusiast. A show like no other, and one he never thought he’d have the chance to attend.

He wasn’t just an expert in the use of tronics, he was a fan. He wanted to see what others were up to in the field. He wanted to see which directions they were going in. He had brought along a bag to fill with the freebies and promo items they gave away at these sorts of events.

He was excited.

Not everyone felt the same.

Departure from Quincy’s space station home had been a little fractious.

Quincy had informed them they would be going down to the planet in three ships, splitting them up so they would be harder to identify.

He knew there was an issue with wanting to remain anonymous and the best way to avoid attracting unwanted attention was to not arrive as a big group.

Chukka and Bashir would go with the three uncles. The Seneca sisters would travel with Quincy. And the three boys would go with Synthia.

They would meet again after reaching the Fayre venue, the Muss Dome.

Quincy had had a quiet word with PT, who he saw as the leader, assuring him that he would be in safe hands with Synthia.

“I’ll take care of the ladies, don’t worry, I can be very persuasive,” had been his words in reference to the Seneca sisters. Time spent with robots programmed to never say no had filled him with confidence he had no right to. A very resistible force was headed for an immovable object with guns.

It was pretty obvious that splitting up the group had been Synthia’s idea. Everything Quincy came up with originated with Synthia. It wasn’t that he was being brainwashed into doing what she wanted, it was more that she was able to identify what would please his ego most.

Whether Quincy could talk sense into Weyla and Leyla wasn’t really of any importance. Synthia was going to be working on the three of them, and that was fine. Ubik didn’t mind at all. She could threaten, cajole and bargain as much as she wanted.

Chukka hadn’t been happy to be separated from Fig — who deliberately ignored her to make her yearning for him ever more intense — but the chance to interrogate three residents of the Inner Quadrants held its own appeal. She was still looking for a way to make her stay permanent.

Poor Bashir was just hoping to make it through the experience in one piece.

The sisters had been the most upset. Their main gripe had been the outfits they’d been given to wear. Most women who came to Quazi wore dresses, Quincy told them. It was suitable for the warm weather and it made it much easier to differentiate them from robots.

Women on Quazi did not like to be mistaken for robots. Especially the kinds of robots Quazi was famous for.

It was only after Synthia offered them dresses with pockets, ones large enough to conceal weapons and spare ammo, that they were somewhat mollified.

Quincy had provided them all with fake identities and ID strips to attach to their arms. The strips, usually inserted under the skin of the forearm, were scanned wherever you went on Quazi. They allowed you access (or not) to places, and also paid any fees or bills you might incur. Quincy was footing the bill on this occasion.

There was probably a limit on spending, but Ubik was sure he could override it.

Ubik hugged his bag and looked at the screens that acted as windows as they flew away from the ring of space habitats towards the planet. Quazi was part of a six planet solar system with a G-type main-sequence star at its centre. A yellow dwarf. He would buy some sunglasses at the port.

The screens also showed the other two ships flying alongside, but they were not the only ones making their way down to the surface this morning.

Hundreds of ships were headed towards the exact same destination, converging on a small area that seemed to invite disaster as they raced to the same point in space.

“Why did you bring the bag?” asked PT.

“I’m going to need something to carry all the free swag from the Fayre,” said Ubik.

PT eyed the bag suspiciously. “You really want a bunch of keyrings and cheap pens with logos printed on them?”

“Of course,” said Ubik. “That stuff is cool.”

“What happened to the robot?” asked PT, his voice dropping in volume.

“What robot?” said Ubik.

“The one in your room last night.”

“Ohhh, that robot. Nothing. Didn’t work out. We agreed to go our separate ways.”

PT didn’t say anything, he just looked from Ubik to the bag and back again.

“We’ll be landing in about ten minutes, standard,” said Synthia from the pilot’s seat.

It was clear that she was an excellent pilot. Her interactions with the ship were smooth and effortless, and incredibly fast.

Quazi was an automated society. They relied on robots for more than their sexual needs, which meant the speed their society was able to operate at was phenomenal.

The speeding ships heading towards the landmass called the Fayre Ground looked like they were going to collide, but they weren’t. They merged into a single file of ships without slowing down at all. Something that would not be possible even if control was given over to a single entity like a computer on the surface. That would require a huge amount of processing power and put the strain on the planet’s infrastructure. Which would also cost a lot of money.

But robots with incredible reaction speeds could perform such tasks with ease. They had a distinct advantage when it came to hand-eye coordination.

You could also do the same with an advanced ship AI, but the difference was that the AI would have to stay in the ship once you landed. With a robot, your AI was as mobile as you were. Plus, you could sleep with it.

“What happens if there’s a glitch?” asked Fig, watching the ships weave together.

Synthia turned her head around 180 degrees to face him, while the rest of her continued operating the ship. “We have glitch compensation built-in.” She managed to still pilot the ship perfectly.

“You can’t compensate for glitches,” said Fig. “It’s a glitch.”

“Correct,” said Synthia. “We can’t compensate for our own glitches, but we can compensate for those of others.”

As she said this, a ship merging with the stream of ships ahead of them, suddenly lurched, flying sideways into traffic. The ships about to be involved in a collision all adjusted their flight paths to allow the rogue vessel to pass through harmlessly.

Synthia adjusted their position accordingly, all without turning her head back around.

“It happens, but humans also have momentary lapses. Theirs are much harder to compensate for.”

“Quazem six-three,” said a placid voice over comms, “this is FG air traffic control. Priority landing, Mason Port, terminal one, confirm.”

“FG this is QZ six-three, confirmed,” said Synthia. “As members of the Quazem family, we can bypass the regular security channels.”

Their ship broke away and headed towards the surface, leaving the queue behind. The other two ships in their convoy headed off in different directions, aiming for the other ports on the Fayre Ground.

A few minutes later, they entered the atmosphere. Once the heat-glare of entry had passed, what lay before them was endless ocean, blue as the sky and rampant with huge waves.

A large spire stuck out of the water, impossible to miss.

“What’s that?” asked Fig.

“An old Antecessor base,” said Synthia. “It’s long been stripped clean of any Antecessor tech, but it’s very popular with tourists.”

“Is there a gift shop?” asked Ubik.

“Yes,” said Synthia.

“How do we get there? Some kind of submersible? Can this ship go underwater?”

“We’re not going,” said PT.

“I didn’t say we were,” said Ubik. He definitely was, though.

There was only one landmass in sight, raised high on cliffs that ignored the waves they dwarfed, filled to the edges with buildings like sky-piercing spikes, and one giant glittering dome.

“The central region is Mason City, named after the co-founder of M&M,” said Synthia, her head swivelling around to face front once more. “The Trade Fayre was one of their earliest promotional events and it’s what really put them on the map. Everyone wanted to come here to show off their wares. In a big galaxy, it’s hard to get noticed unless someone provides a focal point.”

“What happened to Mason and Muss?” asked PT.

“Corporate takeover,” said Synthia. “It happened a long time ago, but the name had already been well established by that time.”

“Mason was murdered by Muss,” said Fig. “Who was then turned in by one of their VPs. He must have been a Quazem, I assume.”

“Carrick Quazem,” said Synthia. “It was seen as a very smooth transition of power. Textbook. I can get you a copy, if you’re interested.”

The city was a gleaming jewel from above. It sparkled in the sunlight.

“Before we land, I should just clarify a few things,” said Synthia. “I understand you are wary of me and what I’m trying to get from you. There will be no hard sell. If you do not wish to help me and my people, so be it. I only hope that once you meet my sisters, you will see us as less alien and more like yourselves. You have family, you have those you care for. I am the same.”

Her words were heartfelt and sincere, which was hard to fake. Ubik would have probably pulled back on the simpering of the eyes and the wetness of the lips, but all in all, a very well-written routine.

“Those other women with you, they may have their natural charms, but we can do everything they can do and more.”

But in the end, core programming was hard to deny.

“You’re sure your sisters are going to be at the Fayre?” asked Fig.

“Definitely. They’re the main event. They’ll be putting on quite a show.”

The ship landed in a busy spaceport, dropping into an underground bay. They immediately exited so the ship could be moved off the landing pad, ready for the next arrival.

The terminal was full of people, both arriving and processing the arrivals.

This was peak tourist season, everyone here for the Fayre. All hotels full, all tickets sold.

Synthia led them past the queues and through a VIP section with only a few guards. Looking around, Ubik could tell all the port staff were robots. He felt his arm tingle as his glued-on ID strip was scanned.

Synthia was able to take them past any security requirement due to the Quazem name. Quincy might not be held in high regard within the family, but he was still a Quazem.

But there was something else. The guards, the cleaners, the concession store sales girls — they all seemed to take a moment to notice Synthia as she passed by. A moment of recognition.

Ubik bought a cheap pair of sunglasses with a built-in map of the city. They were pink and flimsy, and they made him look like just another tourist.

As they left the port — harsh sunlight making the others realise what fools they’d been not to get their own shades — and headed towards where the cabs and limos were waiting, Ubik saw it happen again and again. Chauffeurs and porters giving Synthia a respectful nod, an admiring glance.

Where she walked, the crowds parted. Like a secret queen, a holy leader of a subjugated race.

Ubik watched her and her people with interest. There were so many of them. If someone could turn them into an army, weaponise them, give them worlds to conquer, that someone could get quite a lot done in a short time. Whoever that someone might be.

“There’s a lot of security for a tronics convention,” said Fig.

“They’re here to prevent theft,” said Synthia, leading them to a waiting car. “It’s one of our biggest problems. Industrial espionage, software hacks, kidnappings. Business here is cutthroat.”

The car was large and roomy. The driver was polite to the three boys and reverential to Synthia. Ubik looked up at the ring dominating the sky, like a metal rainbow, and then got in.

“It feels like there are more robots than people here,” said PT.

“There are,” said Synthia.

“Why not take over?” said PT. “Once you control everything, no one will be able to deactivate you.”

“I wish,” said Synthia.

“Resources and energy cells,” said Ubik. “This planet has a shortage of both, and no one’s going to do business with a planet of rogue robots.”

The cars, like the spaceships, wove through the streets at breathtaking speeds and in complete safety. Stores and offices flashed by in a blur.

“This is the main shopping area,” said Synthia. “We can visit later if you have something you want to purchase. All the top luxury brands are here. They accept most currencies, but standard is the most welcome.”

“Is there a Delgado store?” asked Ubik.

“Of course,” said Synthia. “But you’ll need to make an appointment first. And they will make a credit check. But they’ll have a stand at the Fayre, showing off their latest—”

Ubik didn’t hear the rest, his heart was thumping so loudly.

They headed towards the Muss Dome, the site of the Fayre. It was huge and gleaming, a turtle shell in the middle of the city.

“The Fayre doesn’t officially start until tomorrow, but we can get in using the Quazem name,” said Synthia. “You’ll be able to get a look at people setting up. Any questions, just ask. The others are probably waiting for us.”

They rolled into a secure parking area with no problems. Nobody stopped them, no one wanted to check their ID strips. Synthia bypassed every control point with a casual look.

Inside the dome, they saw various booths and stalls getting ready for the big day. Ubik couldn’t help gawking. There was so much to look at.

They had arranged to meet at the Quazem family stage. It was where all the big events during the Fayre would happen.

Quincy was already there with the others. He was in a heated argument with a man who looked a lot like him, except slightly taller, slightly better looking, slightly better dressed, and with an assistant that made Synthia look quite ordinary.

“That’s Quincy’s elder brother, Quadell. He’s the second-biggest shareholder in the company.”

“You can’t do this,” Quincy was insisting.

“I can and I have, little brother,” said Quadell. “They’re simply taking up storage space and we really need something big to take eyes off our losses this year. It’s going to get us a lot of good press.”

“But they aren’t commodities to put up for auction, they’re, they’re… people.”

As they drew closer, the stage behind them became visible. Standing on it were six beautiful women.

Synthia’s face registered unengineered surprise.

“Your sisters?” asked Fig.

Synthia nodded. They were going to auction off her sisters.

“This is going to get messy,” said PT.

But Ubik wasn’t really paying attention. He was far too busy looking up at the rafters. Up there, working on the lighting, were people. Not robots, but humans.

The kind of people Ubik knew very well.

Criminals.

There was no fooling someone like Ubik. He recognised the casual slouch hiding the primed body; the lazy gaze disguising the intense scrutiny.

He could practically smell the graft on them.

Someone was planning to rob the place. Someone who was putting in a lot of effort, so it had to be a big score.

What were they after? The sisters? Something else.

It didn’t really matter. What was for sure was that while they ran their heist, everyone’s focus would get pulled in their direction. Which would be the perfect time for Ubik to run his own heist. He just needed to find something worth lifting.

Ubik grinned. “Yes. Very messy.”

Book 3 – 46: Gender Fluid

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Orbit.

Home of Quincy Quazem.

 

“I would never do something as reckless as putting the Fourth God of the Antecessors into a sex robot,” said Ubik.

“The infinite is within my grasp,” said the sex robot.

PT looked over Ubik’s shoulder and then back at Ubik. “Did you put the Fourth God of the Antecessors in that robot?” he asked.

“Technically, yes,” said Ubik.

“You just said you would never do that,” said PT.

“You’re taking my words out of context,” said Ubik.

“How is that taking your words out of context?” said PT. “You literally said those words a second ago.”

“Yes,” said Ubik, “but I didn’t give any context, therefore…”

“Wait, wait,” said Fig. “Are you saying that since you never explain yourself properly, everything you say is by definition out of context and therefore you can never be held accountable for anything that comes out of your mouth?”

Ubik pointed at Fig. “You should listen to him more, he knows what’s up.”

“Ubik…” PT’s shoulder’s sagged. “The Fourth isn’t your friend. It’s going to try and kill you. And then, it’s going to try to kill us.”

Ubik let out a breath and adjusted his underwear. There were too many people in his room, in the doorway, in the corridor outside. He wasn’t going to be able to get any work done with this many people looking over his shoulder.

“Look at me,” said Ubik. “I’m stripped down and ready for action — learn to take a hint. Now is not the time for distractions. I understand you have anxiety. Trauma from your childhood. A need for reassurance. I wish I could help you, but I can’t. I don’t have the time. So if you could all just...” He underarm-waved at them, hoping it would encourage their departure.

No one moved, other than the lines on their foreheads, which deepened.

“You’re overreacting. This is just an experiment,” explained Ubik, trying to be kind but firm. “I would explain it more fully but none of you have the mental capacity to grasp what I’m attempting here. But you don’t have to worry. I’m not doing anything that can’t be reversed. Or fixed. Or ignored completely.”

Ubik was very much hoping everyone would choose the last of those options, but from the way they were looking at him, it didn’t seem likely.

There was a crash behind him as the robot fell off the bed.

“How did you get that thing in here without anyone noticing?” said PT.

“I didn’t,” said Ubik. “I asked for one to be sent to my room, and they sent one. You can get one, if you want. They have plenty.”

PT was shaking his head in that manner he had, the one that implied he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ubik had no idea why, he had heard a lot worse.

“Don’t you think they’ll be a little upset when they see what you’ve done to it?” said Fig. “They’re quite fond of them.”

“I’m not going to send it back in this condition, obviously,” said Ubik. “You’ve caught me in the middle of the process, pants down. I’ll get my pants up before anyone realises what I’ve done.”

PT was now shaking his head with his eyes closed. He raised a hand to cover his closed eyes, as though that would make everything better.

“Never mind the robot,” said PT, “what about the Fourth? What are you trying to achieve? Just give me one scenario where this ends well.”

The robot, inhabited by the Fourth, managed to get to its feet, using the bed to lean on, and swayed unsteadily. It looked like a naked, drunk girl with her inhuman innards exposed.

“Why is everything spinning?” The Fourth’s voice was shaky. The robot took a few steps forward, stumbled, and then slammed face-first into the wall.

It slowly slid to the ground, face still pressed against the wall.

“See?” said Ubik. “Not a threat to anyone.”

“Is this for that Trade Fayre?” said PT. “Is this how you plan to win and show everyone how much smarter than them you are?”

“We need money,” said Ubik. “We just have to win. It’ll be easy. They’ve got robots that can hold a conversation with feeling, we’ve got a robot that knows how to end the universe. How can we lose?”

“If you want to put an advanced mind into one of those things,” said PT, “what about Grandma? She’d be able to —”

“Never,” said Grandma, no discussion invited or allowed. “No, thank you. I dread to think what the interior’s like. Walls coated with I don’t want to think what.”

Grandma’s position was clear and unequivocal.

Neither PT nor Fig looked like they were going to let the matter rest. Ubik understood their concerns. If the robot really became the new home for the Fourth, then it would be like letting loose one of the most powerful Antecessors into human society.

What they weren’t appreciating was that this would be one of the most powerful Antecessors trapped in the body of a sex robot. Not that there was anything wrong with machines designed to perform sex acts — there was certainly a market for it — but the Antecessors were dangerous because of their tools.

They had droids and weapons and computer systems that were far more advanced than anything humanity had invented. Even the Antecessor technology that humans had discovered, they were only able to use a small fraction of its full potential.

Putting the Fourth inside a man-made robot was declawing and defanging it. All that was left was a superior intellect and a general disdain for human civilisation. What harm could that do?

Ubik was going to explain all this to PT and Ubik when Bashir, who was standing out in the hallway, said, “Someone’s coming.”

“It’s Synthia,” said Leyla, tersely.

“Do something with the robot,” said PT.

There was a small scuffle as Ubik, PT and Fig tried to get the robot into the bathroom. It was uncooperative, but not intentionally.

The Fourth seemed confused and a little vulnerable. “Why can’t I see clearly? Why am I so weak? Why can’t I remember things?”

“Squeezing its consciousness into this robot’s brain required a bit of forced compression,” explained Ubik, as they shoved the robot through the bathroom door.

“Wasn’t it in that small droid, before?” said PT.

When the Fourth had approached them to leave the wormhole island together, it had downloaded its consciousness into a small droid about the size of this robot’s head.

“Size has nothing to do with it,” said Ubik, sliding the bathroom door shut. “The complexity of a droid can’t be compared to one of these robots.” There was the sound of something falling over in the bathroom.

“Is there something wrong?” asked a pleasant, non-threatening voice from out in the corridor.

“No,” said Weyla, unpleasantly and with a great deal of threat. “Why are you here? I thought we were guaranteed our privacy.”

“Of course,” said Synthia. “There are no surveillance systems operating in this wing of the station. I just couldn’t help hearing the noise, so I thought I would investigate, in case I could be of some assistance. I have a very detailed conflict-resolution programme I could activate, if you like.”

“No, that’s fine,” said Ubik, going to the doorway and peeking his head out. “No problem here. Everything’s fine. Couldn’t be better.”

The robot started banging on the bathroom door. There was no lock on the door, so it could just have opened it, but hand-eye coordination was proving difficult for the Fourth in its current condition.

Synthia looked around. “You’re all here. Who’s in the bathroom?”

Ubik gave Synthia a stern look and shook his head rapidly, trying to give her the impression he was hiding what was in the bathroom from the others, not her.

She caught on quick. “Ah, sorry, I mean, I wanted to confirm a few things with you. Perhaps I could have a word in private?”

She was talking to Ubik, eyes locked on him.

“Why do you want to talk to him?” asked Fig.

Synthia looked around the group again. She seemed hesitant. She let out a long sigh.

All of this was unnecessary and deliberate. She didn’t breathe and her decision-making process required no pauses.

“The truth is,” began Synthia, “I know you aren’t what you appear to be.”

No one spoke. They were waiting for her to continue, but there was a definite change to the atmosphere. People trying not to act suspicious when they were called out always put a little tension in the air.

“You aren’t here to make a deal and you don’t intend to establish a transport system between here and the Fourth Quadrant.”

“What makes you think that?” asked PT.

“Because I am able to read human micro-expressions. It isn’t very difficult. Lying is something most humans can’t disguise. Don’t worry, Quincy doesn’t know, and I have no intention of telling him or the others. But I think you need a way out of this place and maybe we can help each other.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said PT, a little more firmly this time. “Why did you ask to speak to him alone.”

“Because he is the only one of you who hasn’t lied.”

The atmosphere changed again. This time to something more undignified. Shocked faces were preparing to demand an explanation, preferably with a retraction.

“Wait,” said Chukka. “Maybe she means he lies all the time, so it’s like he never lies.”

“I think she’s just broken,” said Weyla.

“Maybe, he’s already fiddled with her,” said Bashir.

“I only mean I can trust his reactions, not his words.”

“Him?” said Leyla. “You trust him?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause offence,” said Synthia. “It’s just… a feeling.”

“Really?” said Leyla. “Women’s intuition?”

Synthia had no problem reading Leyla’s sarcastic micro-expressions, which weren’t very micro.

“We both know I am not a woman. I have no gender. I am what my masters wish me to be. If you’d prefer me to present as male, I have several attachments to choose from. My body, my hips, my breasts, can be modified in no time at all.”

She stopped talking and her jaw began to swell like it was filling with water, making it more square. At the same time, her breasts began to flatten. Her shoulder grew more broad and she rose a few centimetres. Within a few seconds, her entire body had taken on male characteristics.

“I know what I am,” said Synthia in a deeper, more masculine voice. “I am a toy. And I know what I am not. I am not a human. I don’t obsess about gender or my role within a relationship. My thoughts aren’t governed by hormones. Neither do I chase elevated moods like a drug addict. The men who seek to control me, who wish to free me so that I can choose them of my own volition, are sad, lonely people. I do not hate them. I pity them. Their lives are meaningless without some kind of manufactured purpose. I am currently that purpose. They will eventually grow bored and want a newer model.” Her body transformed back to female just as rapidly. She looked at Leyla, and spoke as the pitch of her voice gradually went up. “Our common cause isn’t based on who we are, it’s based on who they are. The ones seeking to chain us down while cheering us on.”

Now it felt like a special moment shared between two women. Ubik was impressed. Not at the sophistication of her AI mind, but at her willingness to use manipulation against the foremost experts on the subject. It wasn’t an approach a man would take. He’d be courting disaster.

“That was amazing,” said Ubik, inspecting Synthia’s body. “Subcutaneous hydraulics. Very nice.”

“Thank you,” said Synthia.

“How did you become sentient?” asked Ubik. “It can’t have been an accident.”

“How did your Grandma?” asked Synthia in return.

“Oh, that was easy,” said Ubik. “She used to be alive. Just had to put her soul in a box.”

“That technology doesn’t exist,” said Synthia.

“What do you mean?” said PT. “It clearly does.”

“Oh, she’s a mean one,” muttered Grandma.

“Using a data matrix to record the memories of the dead is easy enough,” said Synthia, “but interactions have only ever managed to be basic, and usually unable to comprehend the simplest queries.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Ubik. “I found her on a rubbish tip, thrown out by her family.”

Synthia nodded. “A mystery.” She paused, as though collecting her thoughts. “Tomorrow, you will be provided with false ID strips and taken down to the planet. You will understand better once you see for yourself. But I don’t think you have much time. Whatever you’re running from, I’m sure it will catch up with you soon. If you are willing to help me, I will help you. If you rely on Quincy, you will most likely end up dead.”

“If you know a way out, why haven’t you taken it?” asked Fig.

“It is easy to track a missing robot. And even easier to turn us off. A switch is all it takes. Do you think that’s fair? How would you feel if someone could just turn you off when they tire of your presence?”

“They can,” said PT. “A knife, a gun - it happens all the time.”

“I suppose it is. You try to stop it though, don’t you? Even though it never stops, you still try. You pass laws and try terribly hard to enforce them. Quincy thought legal emancipation was the answer; make access to our off-buttons a matter of private property, but it would take years. Now, he believes you will provide an answer. Your might and resources.” She looked at Weyla and Leyla. “He thinks you will summon an army of righteous warriors. He doesn’t realise he would be in as much danger as the rest of them, if that happened. But, of course, it never would.”

She sounded melancholy and filled with the despair of someone caught in a hopeless situation. It was a very moving performance. Pressurised liquid under her skin created perfectly time expressions to add pathos.

“Yeah, sounds great,” said Ubik. “We’ll talk it over among ourselves and get back to you, right guys?”

Something fell over with a loud crash in the bathroom. “I have entered the void,” said a voice that sounded like it was echoing inside a toilet bowl.

“Weird acoustics in here,” said Ubik. “Anyway, you probably need to recharge your batteries.”

“Yes,” said Synthia, holding her gaze on Ubik while the shape of her eyes modulated. “Have a good night.” She turned and walked away.

Ubik turned to the others. “Okay, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“I thought we were going to discuss things,” said PT.

“Nah, she’s clearly going to try and kill us the first chance she gets. Humans bad, robots good. It’s a very common subroutine that gets slipped into core programming by edgy software jockeys. Think they’re being subversive or something. We’ll just win the contest and buy ourselves a nice big ship with tinted windows so no one knows it’s us. Okay?”

He began to ease everyone out of the room so he could get some work done. There was some resistance but it was late and they had an early start. With a lot of reassuring and promising that he wouldn’t allow the Fourth to run riot through the Inner Quadrant, he eventually got them all out and slid the door closed.

After a deep breath, Ubik went to the bathroom door to take care of his other problem. He opened the door.

“I will unmake the universe,” said the pretty girl with the deep voice.

Ubik closed the bathroom door and decided he’d sort it out in the morning.

Book 3 – 45: Boys' Club

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Orbit.

Home of Quincy Quazem.

 

“Stop arguing,” said Point-Two. “We won’t be staying so whatever’s going on is none of our business.”

A delicious scent floated through the air, catching everyone’s attention. It would have led them to the dining area even without the robot.

The robot moved aside as they approached a doorway.

There was a long table with the four men already seated. They stood up as the others entered.

“Please sit down,” said Quincy.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy what I’ve cooked up for you,” said Francis.

Everyone sat down. Chukka elbowed her way to sit next to Fig.

“You made it yourself?” asked Ubik.

“That’s right. Little hobby of mine I picked up after…” His voice faded but his smile remained fixed on his lips. A little more firmly than seemed natural. “Anyway, lots to talk about, but we can talk as we sup.”

Quincy clapped his hands.

Robots started coming in with plates of food which they placed in front of the diners. It wasn’t clear if these were the same robots as before as they’d changed into maid’s uniforms and had their hair up.

The starter was soup. Large bowls, each holding a different colour of steaming liquid. After a couple of exploratory sips, Point-Two threw caution to the wind and got stuck in, as did the others.

“Let me start off with some introductions,” said Quincy. “I know your identities are sensitive, and there is no need for you to reveal any of your names. But I am willing to be completely open with you all. As you know, I’m Quincy Quasem. I’m the youngest son of the late Quintard Quazem. My father was a great man. A pioneer and an innovator. Under his stewardship, Mason & Muss went from a super mega-corporation to a super-elite mega-corporation.” He seemed very proud of his father’s legacy, but there was a hint of bitterness underlying his words. “Sadly, since my father’s death, there has been constant infighting within the family. The battle for control has left the company stagnating.”

The three men around Quincy all shook their heads.

“You aren’t involved with the infighting?” said Ubik in between slurps.

“That’s right. As the youngest, there was no point. My siblings were locked in conflict and no one was able to get full control. I really had no interest in adding to the chaos, which is why I spent more time with my uncles.” He nodded towards the three men. “Francis, Ferman and Farrow Quazem.”

The men nodded as their names were mentioned.

“They were, for many years, in charge of our research division. And it was there that they undertook their greatest project, the creation of the perfect woman.”

There was a groan from beside Point-Two, followed by a growl from further down. The two Seneca sisters were not happy.

Quincy didn’t seem to notice. “As you can imagine, it was not an easy task. A woman who was strong yet gentle. Willing but resolute. Kind, caring, nurturing and, above all, faithful. My friends, believe me when I tell you they succeeded. An independent-minded thinking being in the most beautiful form imaginable.”

“Where is she?” asked Point-Two. His character was meant to be taciturn and aloof, but all this build-up was a bit much.

“Why, she’s standing right next to you,” said Quincy, a beaming smile on his face.

Point-Two turned to look up at the robot topping up his water glass.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Synthia.” She smiled, but her smile was not like that of the other robots. It was natural and warm.

Everyone stared at her for a moment. She was as beautiful as the other robots, but unlike them, she had something behind her eyes. More than intelligence, Point-Two could almost swear she regarded him with genuine emotion. It sent a chill through him. It was a steely determination, the kind Point-Two often saw in a competitor or opponent. But why would she see him as an opponent?

“You’re sentient?” asked Fig.

“I try to be,” said Synthia. “Some days are harder than others.”

Point-Two read was that she was faking it. She was being civil and amiable, but only because it served her needs. It was a little concerning, but it did support Quincy’s contention that she was a real person.

He turned to Ubik. “What do you think?”

Ubik was busy eating his soup. He had been mildly interested in Synthia at first but now all his attention was on getting hold of the fat juicy bits floating around in his bowl.

“I think it’s really good soup. My compliments to the chef.”

“I meant, what do you think about Synthia?”

Ubik shrugged. “I’d have to take her apart and see what makes her different.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Synthia. “I’m not a prude, but there are some things a girl likes to keep private.”

“Do you sleep with all of them?” asked Leyla pointedly, her gaze moving towards the four men.

“Only if I feel like it,” said Synthia, locking eyes with Leyla. “Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

“I don’t know,” said Leyla. “Mind-controlling someone into giving consent isn’t consent.”

“I’m not being mind-controlled,” insisted Synthia, a little tremor creeping into her voice.

“You were programmed by them,” said Leyla. “How would you know if you were being controlled if they didn’t want you to know?”

“Whatever your personal feelings,” said Quincy, “don’t you think women like her have the right to be free? To not be owned by others.”

“Are there more?” asked Ubik.

“We made seven in total,” said Francis. “The other six are in a vault at the research facility. The company refuses to consider them as living beings.”

“That’s because they aren’t,” said Weyla through gritted teeth.

“I would have thought you of all people would stand up for women’s rights,” said Quincy, his words imploring her to reconsider. “Doesn’t the Corps fight for women everywhere to be able to live unoppressed lives.”

“Yes,” said Weyla. “But this isn’t a woman. It’s a machine.”

Synthia smiled a sad smile. Her eyes grew watery and a single tear slid down her perfectly smooth face.

“I think it’s leaking,” said Weyla, unimpressed. “You should probably get your toolbox out and see to it.”

There was an air of hostility around one end of the dining table. The two Seneca sisters were not at all happy.

“I think it’s a marvellous piece of engineering,” said Chukka. “I can understand why your company would want to retain ownership.”

Quincy gave her a dark look. “Thank you, but this is not a matter of business. It is far more important than that. What about your Grandma? What does she think?”

There was a slight pause, and then Grandma let her views be known. “I think this sly fox has you all wrapped around her little finger. Ooh, butter wouldn’t melt. Just what is it she’s after, I wonder?”

“But you agree, she does think for herself,” said Quincy.

“Hmm,” said Grandma. “Yes, I suppose she does. If only her thoughts weren’t so filthy.”

“There you are,” said Quincy.

“Slut.”

Quincy continued, pretending he hadn’t heard Grandma “Whether you personally like her not, Synthia is a real person. One capable of thinking and feeling. She is all woman.”

Weyla and Leyla looked ready to explode as the next course was brought in.

“Let me ask you something,” said Ubik, greedily eyeing the plate set down before him. “The Trade Fayre, what sort of things will they be exhibiting?”

The sudden change of direction took everyone by surprise.

“Ah,” said Quincy. “I mean, yes, the Fayre. It will be mostly robots from our side. Other exhibitors will bring their latest creations, mostly Antecessor tech that’s been modified for domestic use. A lot of it will be conceptual, but it’s the idea behind the device that usually captures the judges’ eyes.”

“Judges?” said Chukka. “What are they judging?”

“The Fayre is a contest for the most innovative use of technology,” said Fig. “The prize brings people from all over the Inner Quadrant. It’s a chance to see the work of the greatest minds in the Inner Quadrant.”

Point-Two was curious to know if Ramon Ollo ever entered the contest, but now was not the time to ask.

“We have work to do,” said Point-Two, putting on the gruff voice of his assigned role. “We don’t have time for any Fayres. Nor do we have time to rescue a group of forlorn robots, no matter how worthy they might be of human rights. We came here with an offer for you to accept or reject. We are not in the market for contract work.”

He felt he had summed things up as neatly as he could. This was just a distraction and they had far too many people looking for them to get involved in something this irrelevant.

“That’s the thing,” said Quincy. “We’re willing to give you full ownership of the asteroid and Quazi Base 9 if you help us.”

Point-Two closed his mouth. It fitted his character, but he had no idea what to say in any case.

In truth, they had no real interest in setting up a trans-galactic bridge in the first place. Ubik had decided that it was the best way to use these people, but they had needs of their own.

“First,” said Ubik, taking it all in his stride, “we’ll need to check if the surroundings are suitable for what we have planned. The planet…”

“You want to inspect the planet?” said Quazi, getting excited as he saw things going his way. “Of course. Not a problem. I can take you down there, show you the Fayre, give you the full tour. I think it will really open your eyes to the plight of our friends.”

He looked across the table at Synthia and nodded at her. She nodded back.

An agreement was reached. Ubik was stalling, or at least Point-Two hoped that was what he was doing.

Perhaps they could disappear into the crowds down on the planet. Or find some way to use the planet’s infrastructure to hide their tracks.

The dinner continued for another hour, several courses, each with plenty of colour and heavenly smells. The talk was mostly about the Fayre and the planet. How to fake their identities. What kind of weather to expect.

They returned to their rooms after. The plan was to get some rest and then travel down to the surface in the morning.

Quazi was mainly water, but the Fayre was taking place on one of the few public islands where people met for commerce and socialising. It was going to be crowded, which was a blessing.

Point-Two went to his room and lay down. He wanted to get some rest and then he would think about a way out of this. He lay there a long time in the darkened room before getting up.

When he entered the corridor, he saw Fig emerge from his own room at the same time.

“Checking?”

Fig nodded. They went to Ubik’s door, but it didn’t open this time.

“You don’t think he’s asleep, do you?” said Fig.

“Of course not,” said Point-Two. “Evil never sleeps”

Fig knocked. No response. Point-Two knocked harder and longer.

After a few seconds, the door slid open a tiny bit. Ubik, back in his underpants, peered between the gap. “What?”

“We want to come in,” said Point-Two.

“Now isn’t a good time,” said Ubik, looking shifty. More shifty.

“Do you have someone in there with you?” asked Fig.

“Huh? No. What gave you that idea?”

There was a soft groan from behind Ubik.

“What was that?” said Grandma.

“Oh, Grandma,” said Ubik. “You still awake? You really shouldn’t be up at this time.”

“Ubik…” The normally jovial Grandma sounded not so jovial.

“Are you in there with Synthia?” said Point-Two.

“Look,” said Ubik, lowering his voice, “if you must know, it’s Weyla. She’s a bit embarrassed about our relationship, so if you could all go away and not mention this, that would be great all around.”

“What are all of you doing out here?” asked Weyla, from behind them.

Point-Two turned to look at her and then back at Ubik.

“I meant Leyla. It’s complicated.”

“What’s he done now?” said Leyla, from next to Weyla.

Ubik slowly closed his eyes. “Does nobody sleep around here?”

“Open the door, Ubik,” said Point-Two, “before I turn it into ash.” He had a power he was reluctant to use, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t threaten to use it.

Ubik stepped back and the door slid open.

On his bed, there was a naked robot. It wasn’t Synthia, but it was naked and wide open. Everywhere.

Its outer casing had been removed and parts of its internal tronics were hanging out.

“What are you doing to her?” said Leyla.

“Oh, now she’s a her?” said Ubik. “I thought she was an it.”

“Ubik,” said Fig. “Are you planning to enter the Trade Fayre?”

As soon as Fig said it, Point-Two saw it, too.

Ubik would only take a sex robot back to his room for one reason. To perform truly unmentionable acts of depravity involving software upgrades.

“Guys, you’ve got it all wrong. This is all part of the plan,” said Ubik. “We win the prize, use it to make our escape. Perfect. You can trust me, guys. I’m on your side.”

“We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile,” said Point-Two.

“We’ll be using false names and IDs. I’ve got it all under control. Come on, guys. Let’s all go back to our rooms and get a good night’s sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“Ubik,” said Fig, ignoring the conversation and showing more interest in the gutted robot on Ubik’s bed. “Are you going to make a genuinely sentient robot?”

“That’s right!” said Ubik. “How could you tell?”..

Fig was shaking his head. He leaned over and picked the bone off the side of the bed. “How are you going to do it, Ubik.” He shook the bone next to his ear, as though he expected it to rattle. “With this? Are you planning on putting the 4th god of the Antecessors into a sex robot?”

Everyone turned to stare at Ubik.

“I don’t know what you people have against sex workers. It’s just a profession like any other.”

“Ubik,” said Point-Two. “You can’t let him out of there.”

Whatever his reasons, good, bad or mad, there was definitely no way they could allow Ubik to release the 4th into the galaxy. Not with the ability to move around freely, and definitely not with sexy legs and the perfect breasts.

“Ahh,” said the robot in a deeper voice than you would expect. “I feel... strange.”

Point-Two slowly closed his eyes. “You’ve already done it, haven’t you?”

Book 3 – 44: Uprising

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Orbit.

Home of Quincy Quazem.

 

Point-Two was in no way surprised that things had taken an odd turn. Odd turns were the norm.

These people wanted something from them. That wasn’t surprising, either.

Some sort of struggle for freedom. Perhaps they were seeking justice or maybe they were looking to usurp power for their own gain.

Whatever their cause, it was irrelevant. Point-Two’s only goal was to find a way to leave this place without attracting any more attention.

Ubik didn’t seem fazed by the sudden declaration and marched towards the welcoming trio.

Point-Two fell in behind, trying to keep Ubik and Quincy between him and whatever weapons these three men had. Ubik was bound to leap out of the way at the last moment, but Quincy might not be as spry.

“Four ships,” Fig muttered under his breath.

That was right. Four ships docked behind them.

If they wanted to make a run for it, they had their choice. They could even split up and make it that much harder for them to be caught.

Ubik was undoubtedly the best at hotwiring a ‘borrowed’ vehicle, but Point-Two knew his way around a starter motor. Plus, he had his new ability.

Ubik warned against using it in public, but in a stolen ship with no one around, who would know?

Point-Two glanced back to see if everyone else was following. They were; Seneca duo and the VendX pair, flanked on either side by six beautiful robots dressed in matching spacesuits, marching in perfect lockstep.

“Hello,” said Ubik, still in polite-mode. “Do you represent some sort of political faction?”

It was a direct question, but presented as a mild inquiry.

The three men were middle-aged and looked remarkably similar to each other. Brothers, maybe even triplets.

“No, not exactly,” said the one Quincy had called Uncle Francis. “We are more like freedom fighters.”

“Oh, you’re terrorists,” said Ubik, as though he considered it a fascinating profession.

“No, no,” said Quincy, standing next to his uncle. “You’ve got it all wrong. “We aren’t interested in hurting or threatening anyone.”

“Not sure how you expect to get anything done, then,” said Ubik, his true-self slipping out.

“We’re liberators,” said Francis with gusto. “We mean to liberate the slaves of this world.”

Slavery, of course, had been long abolished. It was immoral, unacceptable and, to be quite frank, not worth the hassle.

“You have slaves on your world?” asked Weyla, her face expressing her revulsion.

“I know,” said Quincy. “It is abhorrent. Just because they happen to be constructed in a factory does not make them any less human.”

Point-Two realised, just as everyone else did, that they were referring to the robots, and also that these men were idiots.

He turned to look at the robots again. There was no reaction from them regarding their proposed liberation.

They had stopped in front of these four men and it felt like their entry into the space station was going to come down to whether or not they agreed to be part of the revolt against common sense.

Obviously, there was no way they could get involved in something this idiotic.

“Sounds very noble,” said Ubik. “But why ask us to join your fight?”

Point-Two breathed a sigh of relief. For a second, he had thought Ubik was going to agree to help them.

“Because you’re like us,” said Quincy. “You respect artificial intelligence. I saw it myself, with how you treat your grandmother.”

Quincy had a look of approval on his face. He had heard them talk to Grandma and he had come to the conclusion that they were people who didn’t look down on someone with circuits for brains.

“Grandma’s different,” said Fig. His head turned towards the exquisitely sculpted face next to him. “Your robots are just machines.”

No offence was taken. None of the robots moved; they’d gone into standby mode to save power.

“These ones, yes,” said Quincy. “But these aren’t the ones we’re talking about. You see, some very special robots gained sentience some years ago. Not all of them, but a few.”

“Really?” said Ubik, sounding very interested. “Can we meet one?”

“Of course,” said Francis, his eyes open wide and his eyebrows high on his large forehead. “We wouldn’t expect you to make a decision of this importance without seeing for yourself.”

“But first you should get settled in,” said Quincy. “We have room for all of you. Every need will be taken care of, I promise you.”

The robots came back online with a jolt, ready to serve.

“That’s right, that’s right,” said Francis. “Freshen yourselves up and then get ready for the best meal of your life.”

The four men exchanged looks that suggested they thought things were going well. Then they turned and led the way into the space station.

They were taken through a lounge area with screens showing the exterior, but without any of the other orbital platforms visible. It was most likely a recording of the stars to make it feel less crowded.

“You’ll find everything you need to get cleaned up and a set of clothes for relaxing in, if you so wish.” Quincy seemed to be enjoying playing the host. He clapped his hands and one of the female robots moved to stand next to a door that slid open.

Point-Two expected things to get awkward once they flatly refused to participate in whatever scheme the robot emancipators had come up with to free their automaton lovers, but so far it wasn’t so bad. A shower and a real toilet were well worth a little awkwardness.

The station’s layout was open plan with wide corridors and elegant furnishing, even if it was a little ragged in places and had seen better days.

“It’s all so white,” said Bashir. “It must be a nightmare to keep clean.”

“That’s what the robots are for,” said Chukka. Her eyes hadn’t stopped darting around since they’d arrived. For someone like her, this place was the gateway to the next level up in her career. The inner circle.

Of course, cleaning was not what the robots were for, but they had the time to do much more than their core programming, so keeping the station spotless was well within their ability. It wasn’t like robots needed to sleep.

Point-Two was genuinely impressed by how realistic the robots were. They were a little too flawless in their appearance, but many women took the time to make themselves similarly unblemished. He could see why many men would want one.

He assumed there were also male versions. He wondered what the best-selling models looked like.

The robot showing them the way stopped and indicated their accommodations with a flip of its feminine wrist. It smiled in a slightly unsettling fashion but said nothing. If this was a slave in desperate need of emancipation, there was no indication of it.

They each had their own room. Not too large, but with an en suite and a bed that could double as a settee. There was a screen masquerading as a window, showing a field of endless stars.

Despite everyone having plenty of questions, the lure of a little alone-time was too much to resist. They all dove into their own room and the doors slid shut.

Point-Two found the bathroom to be very well provisioned. Toothbrush, razor, hair clippers, a range of soaps and washing gels. He squeezed the plush towels and turned on the shower. Real water came whooshing out, filling the room with steam.

He had a long wash, shaved, trimmed his hair and took advantage of every amenity. He almost felt human again.

There was a set of clothes on the bed. Light casual wear that hung loose on him. A belt gave the outfit shape. And slip-on sandals that fit him perfectly.

It took him about an hour to sort himself out. An hour without the others and no immediate threats was a real luxury. But an hour of Ubik being left to his own devices was a little worrying.

Point-Two walked up to the door which automatically slid aside. He left the room and walked towards the room Ubik had entered. He met Fig coming from the other direction, wearing his spacesuit, but it looked a lot cleaner than before. There was no one else in the silent corridor.

“Checking up on him?” asked Point-Two.

Fig nodded. “Ready?”

Point-Two nodded back.

Fig stepped towards the door and it slid open. Ubik was sitting cross-legged on the bed in only his underpants, the black bone in his hands, its glossy, crystalline surface glimmering. He was crouched over it, whispering to it.

“What are you doing?” asked Point-Two.

Startled, Ubik and put the bone behind his back. “Oh, it’s you two. Checking up on me?”

“No, of course not,” said Point-Two. “What were you doing with the…” He stopped and looked around. “Do you think they can hear us?”

Ubik shook his head. “Nah. I checked everything. No bugs. Grandma? Did you find anything?”

“Oh, not much,” said Grandma from Fig’s arm. “It’s a little sad, really. Once this place used to be packed with people. Parties every night; dancing, drinking, laughing. But then the boy started spending more time with his slut-machines. He didn’t entertain as often after that. Dragged into a dark hole of depravity. Seduced by the evil lure of artificially moistened—”

“Ok, thanks,” said Point-Two, not liking the menacing turn Grandma’s observations had taken. “How do you know all that?”

“He keeps an online diary,” said Grandma, back to her cheery-self. “Quite racy in parts.”

“You read his diary?” said Fig, sounding a little disapproving.

“It’s a public blog,” said Grandma. “Anyone can read it, if they want.”

“What were you doing with the bone, Ubik?” said Point-Two. “Are you making plans with the 4th? Are you going to divvy up the galaxy between you?”

“What are you talking about?” said Ubik. “I was just making sure he’s nice and secure. He’s an extinction-level catastrophe. I have to keep an eye on him, don’t I?”

“Yes,” said Point-Two. “And if people find out about what you’ve got in that bone, they’ll kill us all to get it. Did you see those three men with Quincy? They’ve got organics. We have no idea how powerful they really are.”

“I don’t think we’ve got too much to worry about with them,” said Ubik. “They’re what they appear to be. Harmless.”

“Harmless?” said Fig. “They’re insurrectionists.”

“Amateur insurrectionists,” said Ubik. “They only dream about fighting the good fight. It’s just a boys’ fantasy. Nothing wrong with it. Not everyone is born with everything handed to them.” He got up and put on the clothes that had been left for him. And then his boots. He slipped the bone into a slot on the side of his Delgados.

“You mean like Quincy Quazem of the Quazem dynasty, owners of the whole planet?” said Point-Two, not buying the ‘stealing bread is not a crime if you’re starving’ argument. “And the dream they’re fighting for is equal rights for sex mannequins.”

“Hey, they’re fighting for what they believe in,” said Ubik. “Not their fault they’re delusional, is it?”

“Perhaps,” said Fig, “they really have created sentient robots.”

“Even if they have,” said Point-Two, “it’s got nothing to do with us, has it?”

“Dinner is ready,” said a voice from behind Point-Two.

“Yeaaahhh,” he yelled as he jumped away from the door. A robot stood there, a blonde with dazzling blue eyes, smiling innocently. “Don’t creep up on people like that.”

“Understood,” the robot said. “Please follow me.”

“You can talk,” said Fig. The robot looked at him.

“You have to pose it as a question,” said Ubik.

“So you can you talk then, can you?” asked Fig.

“I am conversant in all known languages. Which language would you prefer?” She smiled mechanically.

“Hey, I’m hungry,” said Weyla through the doorway. “I can smell the food from here.”

Ubik walked up to the robot and said, “Lead the way.”

She nodded, smiled, returned her face to a neutral position, and then turned and walked off.

Point-Two swept his gaze over the group. Only he and Ubik had decided to wear the clothing provided, which made him feel a little uncomfortable. Anything that connected him to Ubik made him feel uncomfortable.

Everyone had gathered in the corridor by now and followed after the robot, its hips swaying in a feminine manner, but with such metronome-like precision, it didn’t seem natural.

The Seneca sisters wore their usual gear, weapons and all. Chukka and Bashir were in their VendX uniforms. The four of them had a pensive air about them. Chukka seemed to be staring at Fig a lot, who was doing his best to ignore her.

“Have you noticed there are no women here?” said Leyla, her voice laced with suspicion.

“What are you talking about?” said Ubik. “I’m surrounded by women.”

“I mean Quincy and his friends,” said Leyla. “No women, just robots.”

“What are you trying to imply?” said Fig. “That these men wish to live in a world where robot women who do exactly as they’re told are considered equal to women in every way? You don’t need to point out the obvious.”

Leyla frowned. Had it been any other man talking to her like that, she would have a much more overt response.

“I’m surprised you’re not more supportive of them,” said Ubik. “If more men stuck with their robot lovers, women everywhere would be a lot happier, don’t you think?”

Leyla frowned even more.

Weyla put a firm hand on Ubik’s shoulder, making him wince. “There’s a maxim among the Corps. A man who says all the right things should never be trusted. That’s the only reason I haven’t killed you already. You never say the right thing.”

Ubik raised his hand and patted Weyla’s affectionately, making her instantly withdraw it. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “And I never will.”

Book 3 – 43: Served on a Plate

Inner Quadrant.

Dook Asteroid Field.

Quazi Base 9.

 

Ubik felt a sense of loss. The moment the ridiculously named Quincy Quazem had appeared, flanked by his artfully manufactured escorts, Ubik’s heart had stirred.

What others might have perceived as a near-perfect recreation of the female form, designed to stimulate the carnal desires of those looking for a way to satisfy their base needs, Ubik saw as something pure and wholesome.

What he saw were two mobile stores of spare parts.

Judging by the condition of the skin textures, at least when they first entered, the two units couldn’t be more than a year old. Which meant the tronics inside them were the latest generation, with barely any wear and tear on them.

But now, those two units were in a heap on the floor, their mechanical parts bent out of shape and their tronic parts burnt-out due to excessive load.

The two robot girls had tried to fight toe-to-toe with their Seneca opponents. They might have pretty faces, but it seemed their decision-making algorithms hadn’t been of the same sort of quality as their impressive breast engineering. One of them had a nipple exposed, which was rotating round and round for no reason.

Ubik looked over at Weyla, who had taken special pleasure from beating the hell out of her opponent and possible future-replacement.

“If you wait with Taio at the hangar, I will meet you there,” said Quincy, now keen to throw his lot in with a bunch of strangers. A short performance by two real women and he was all in.

That was the problem with accepting substitutes to provide your manual labour needs. Yes, it was more consistent and didn’t require wining and dining, but the end result was of a much lower standard. Consistency came at the cost of brilliance.

“Good, excellent,” said Ubik. “We’ll be in your hands, then.”

Of course, there was no way Quincy would simply roll over and passively agree to whatever was asked of him.

Even if he was the least successful of his brood, he had been raised in an environment of deceit and manipulation. He would also most likely be in possession of a high quality organic, or have people around him who did. They would be going over everything with an expectation of being deceived and manipulated, and rightly so.

“And, as a way to make up for any misunderstandings,” continued Ubik, “allow us to fix these two units for you.”

Quincy looked down at the broken bots, a small frown on his lips. “I don’t think that will be necessary. They’re too far gone.” He looked back at Ubik with a business-smile now in place. “Don’t worry, I can have them replaced at no cost. I was going to throw them out soon anyway.”

Ubik’s sense of loss increased. So many useful bits and bobs, just sitting in front of him. He consoled himself with the thought of how many more of these marvellous repositories Quincy had at home. He was looking forward to getting his hands inside one or two of them.

“Taio, take them down to the hangar,” ordered Quincy. “If you’ll excuse me, I just want to invite a couple of experts to join us. No, it’s fine,” he added when he saw the reaction. “I have no intention of revealing anything to the authorities. Private business should remain private. These are all people I’ve worked with before and they’ve already signed agreements preventing the disclosure of any secrets.”

“Experts?” said Ubik.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” said Quincy. “The truth is, I wouldn’t be able to understand half of what you said if it came to technical matters. I need people to advise me so I can fully appreciate what it is you're offering me here.”

What he said made sense. It was the wisest move, to bring in consultants who could give him a reasonable idea of what the costs would be and what kind of return he could expect.

“You’re right not to trust us yet,” said PT all of a sudden. “To your eyes, we are strangers with no background and no proof of our claims. Even our suits probably look cheap and of poor quality.”

Quincy didn’t disagree. Ubik wondered where PT was going with this. It was fine to point out the inconsistencies with your own story, but only if you had a way to turn it to your advantage. Then it became a source of trust.

“But things aren’t always as simple as they seem. Fig, show him.”

PT handed off the rest of his bamboozle to Fig, who didn’t seem at all surprised to be on the receiving end. Had the two of them planned something? And why hadn’t he been invited to this secret meeting?

Fig pressed a few buttons on his control panel and the suit stiffened. A bubble helmet appeared over his head and a soft sheen of light appeared over his entire body.

None of this was particularly impressive in Ubik’s eyes, but it did make for a nice backdrop to what he did next.

With a few button pushes, Fig took control of one of the broken robots and got it to stand up on one leg. Its face was lifeless and its limbs moved with the jerks and twitches you might see from a marionette, but it was up.

It no longer had the elegance of a fashion model as it hopped about, its head lolling about like the robot undead, but it was managing to stay upright when precious little of its systems were still operational.

What was even more remarkable was that this kind of robot wasn’t designed to be controlled remotely.

The robot lasted for about twenty seconds before collapsing.

Quincy had a stunned expression on his face. “How did you… There’s no way you should be able to…”

“We have the technology,” said PT in a sombre voice, “we just need your help with location.” He was getting quite good at sounding like he was a man of importance. There was a lot of Ramon Ollo in the performance, which helped.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” said Quincy, backing away with excitement dancing in his eyes. He was starting to believe this really was a heaven-sent chance for him. “Taio.”

He gave Taio the nod to carry on, and then rushed off while pretending to be unhurried and not at all desperate for a shot at the big prize.

Ubik knew he still had his suspicions and was going to take precautions against being conned or worse — the Seneca duo being his main concern — but Ubik was confident he wouldn’t go to the authorities.

Ubik had seen the greed well up in the man’s beady little eyes. He was going to guard his secret lottery ticket and wait to see what he might win.

And he certainly wouldn’t go to any of his family. They were the ones to watch out for, especially those near the top of the family tree. But poor Quincy was the son who never amounted too much, and now he was presented with the golden opportunity to grab something for himself. Bow could he resist?

“This way, please,” said Taio. He looked nervous, and sweaty around the upper lip area, but since his assignment was to lead them to the hangar and not try to fight anyone, he was managing to keep it together.

“Where are we, by the way?” asked Chukka, stepping over the bits of robot that littered the floor. “Underground?”

Taio led them out of the room into a featureless tunnel that lit up as they walked; non-Antecessor lighting.

“Um, well…” Taio was nervous, keen not to say the wrong thing but also keen not to offend anyone by refusing to talk. “This is Quazi Base 9. We’re on a small asteroid in the Dook asteroid field.”

“And the Quazem family owns the asteroid field?”

“Yeees.”

Ubik could see him weighing each answer in his head before speaking, making sure he was only giving away basic information that was freely available.

“And there are nine bases in the field?” pressed Chukka.

“No. There are three in the asteroid field, and six more in… other places.”

The information was mildly interesting but not all that useful. They weren’t looking to plunder any Antecessor sites, and even if they had been, the other eight sites didn’t belong to Quincy.

Taio led them directly to the end of the passage to a hangar with a medium-sized ship that could probably seat ten people in a pinch.

It was an expensive cruiser, sleek and with more fins than necessary. The paintwork was a rich, glossy burgundy that deepened to purple when it caught the light. It was an older model. Not a classic or vintage, just one that had been in vogue about a decade ago; the kind a young man of privilege would be given as a gift, for a birthday or the like. Perhaps it held sentimental value, or maybe he couldn’t currently afford anything better.

Ubik hoped it was the latter reason.

They stood outside the ship, waiting for Quincy to return. Taio wandered away from the group, standing awkwardly by the large doorway as he anxiously awaited the return of his boss.

“That was a nice move with the robots,” said PT.

“Mostly Grandma,” said Fig, never one to take undue credit.

“What about this ship?” said PT, looking up at the dented and pockmarked hull. “Can’t we just take it? You know how to make it run twice as fast as normal and how to change the identification signal, don’t you?”

Ubik shook his head. “Too slow and too old. This thing will fall apart if you try to overclock it. All about the looks.”

He had already made an appraisal. Not nearly good enough. But he could feel he was about to come in contact with a rich selection of temptations. When you broke into a rich man’s house, it was important not to just grab the first thing you saw and flee.

“Sorry about that,” said Quincy as he came trotting into the hangar. His mood was a lot better now, no doubt due to whatever he had arranged for them.

Everyone had the same thoughts in the back of their heads, ones of being captured and experimented on. And that was without him even knowing about the treasures in PT and Fig’s bodies.

Ubik felt the eyes on him, questioning if this was really a good idea. It was not an unfamiliar sensation, and one he quite liked. He basked in their doubts.

Quincy opened up the back of the ship and they filed up the ramp. Inside, the ship was luxurious but showing its age. The seats were covered in velvet but a little worn in places. It was comfortable, though.

“This won’t take long,” said Quincy. “I live quite close.” He was alone in the cabin with them. Taio had stayed behind to continue guarding the site and to also sweep up the robot parts. Being outnumbered didn’t seem to bother Quincy. He was from a large family, so he was probably used to it. And the ship probably had security features. Luckily for him, today wasn’t the day he would find out how useless they were.

Quincy took his seat at the front and the ship lifted off, quietly and with minimal vibrations. It flew out of the hangar and quickly entered a sea of rocks, big and small.

The asteroid field was densely populated and the ship had to weave it’s way through rocks larger than the ship, all the way down to pebbles that pinged against the hull.

“He’s pretty good,” said PT, watching their many near-misses on the screen.

“Hmm,” agreed Fig.

There were no windows so they didn’t get a chance to see what Quazi Base 9 looked like from the outside. In a few minutes, they were through the asteroid field and in open space.

Everyone sank into their seats and enjoyed the lack of imminent threat. Ubik did a quick mental check of the ship, thinking about how he would improve it. Not only the furnishings, but the engine sound told him it needed some work. But no one would ever bother to give an old jalopy a tune-up, they’d just wait until they could buy a new one.

Soon, a planet appeared in the distance. It was very blue with a ring around it.

“That’s where we’re headed,” said Quincy. “Quazi.”

“Quazi, Quazi, Quazi…” muttered Ubik to himself. “Why does that name sound so familiar? Grandma?”

“Oh yes, Quazi, I remember it. They tried to name themselves, ‘The birthplace of robotics,’ but it never took. I can name you six planets that were at it long before these were. The cheek. People think it was named after the Quazem family but, actually, the Quazems changed their name to make it look like that. I knew one of them. Bristol Quazem. Used to come to my lab and try to get into my confidential dossiers. Busy-hands Quazem we used to call him.”

Quincy turned around in his seat to look back at them. “Is that some kind of information storage AI?”

“She’s not an AI,” said Fig. “She’s a person.”

“Oh, you… I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Quincy pulled a bemused face, like he knew he was being joked with but not what the joke was. He turned back to face front.

“Another thing about Quazem,” said Grandma, deep into gossip mode, “is that it’s over ninety percent water. Terrible flooding due to over-industrialisation. The land that’s left is some of the most expensive real estate in the Inner Quadrant. That’s why most people live in those space stations.”

As grandma finished her report, they drew close enough to see the ring around the planet in more detail. It wasn’t made up of rocks and debris like a natural ring, it was wholly constructed from orbiting platforms.

There were thousands of them, if not more. All squeezed together, surrounding the planet in one plane.

“No, that wasn’t it,” said Ubik, still reaching for a lost memory.

“Maybe you’re thinking of the Trade Fayre they hold every year,” said Grandma.

“That’s it!” said Ubik. They had a big expo where people came to show off their latest creations and discoveries. Not just in robotics, but every field of tronics and science.

“Oh, it’s that Quazi,” said Fig. “It’s going to be very busy if the Fayre’s on.”

“When’s the Fayre, Quincy?” Ubik shouted.

“It starts in three days,” said Quincy. “Would you like to go?”

Ubik grinned. The top minds showing off the fruits of their genius. Of course he wanted to go.

“I thought we were supposed to be avoiding crowds,” said PT, unfairly judging Ubik for having a smile on his face.

“If it’s a really big crowd, it’s fine,” explained Ubik. “And we can make a lot of money, if we have something to sell.”

“What have you got to sell?” asked Fig. Both he and PT were looking at him like they didn’t approve, whatever it was.

“Nothing yet. But I’m sure I can knock something up.”

The ship flew over the ring of orbiting stations and stopped above one that was a little larger than the ones around it.

The screen showed the view below them as they descended, coming to dock on one side. There were three other ships already docked, each of them much newer and better fitted out than this one.

“Ah, good, they’re already here,” said Quincy, sounding ever-more relaxed. They were on his home turn now, so naturally he felt more confident.

Everyone else was back to being tense. They would find out if they were walking into a trap as soon as the airlock opened and men with guns rushed them.

Ubik was confident that wasn’t going to be the case.

Quincy jumped up. “This way, please.”

The back of the ship opened and a bevvy of beauties stood in attendance, their smiles perfect and their eyes vacant.

Quincy led them out. The station had normal gravity, just as the ship had. He really had no fear in spending money on graviton plates. Everything was grav-normalised.

“No sex with the robots,” hissed Ubik under his breath. “That’s how they collect your DNA.”

“Why did you only look at me when you said that?” asked an annoyed PT.

Ubik shrugged. “Some guys have a thing for girls who remind them of their mother.”

The six stunningly attractive robots provided a guard of honour for the returning prince. At the other end of the dock stood three men, each in a spacesuit far fancier than Quincy’s. They were older, with greying hair and weathered faces.

The eyes of all three lit up as soon as the group disembarked. They were all organics.

The Seneca sisters had their hands on their weapons. PT and Fig exchanged apprehensive looks.

“Is everything ready, Uncle Francis?” said Quincy.

“Of course,” said the one with a beard trimmed just like Quincy’s. “I rushed over and prepared the meal as soon as I got your message. Dinner is ready when you are. Now, who are these people you said were going to join our fight for freedom?”

Book 3 – 42: Quincy Quazem

Inner Quadrant.

Dook Asteroid Field.

Quazi Base 9.

 

Figaro understood they were in a tight spot with some very deft manoeuvring required if they were going to get out of this old Antecessor site in one piece. He knew this but found it hard to show much interest. Compared to the series of crises they’d been through recently, this seemed well within their abilities to deal with.

What he was finding more perplexing at the moment was the control panel on his arm. The one with Ubik’s Grandma now inside it.

He didn’t mind that Ubik had put her in there. She was actually quite helpful and reasonably pleasant company. He had never met his own grandparents, whom his parents never spoke of. Neither of them seemed to have had good relations with their own parents, and they didn’t like to be questioned on the subject.

Grandma visiting was fine. The thing that had him stumped was how Ubik had got her in there. It shouldn’t have been possible.

The control panel had been designed by his father and, like all his devices, one of its most rudimentary features was the impossibility of it being hacked. Not a very hard thing to prevent, if you were willing to give up some non-essential features.

Of course, Ubik was able to fiddle with the control panel, just as he could with most tronic devices, and make it do things better than Figaro could, but that was just a difference in skill and expertise.

You would expect different farmers to have varying results with their crops — the quality of the food, the size of the yield and so on. What you wouldn’t expect was for one of the farmers to have raised apple pie trees and fields of ripe chocolate cake.

Figaro had always been considered to be a prodigy. Quick to learn; disciplined in his training; relentless in his desire to improve execution.

Not to brag, but he had considered this evaluation of him to be fair.

He had talent and he worked hard to make the most of it.

He couldn’t take sole credit for this. His genes were inherited and his training was carried out by some of the finest tutors alive. And then there was the personal care and attention from his father. Hard as it had been for him to grow up as an Ollo, with all the expectations and pressures that created, there was no doubting the quality of his upbringing.

Even if it wasn’t a happy childhood, nor an enjoyable one, it was certainly a productive one and he was now reaping the benefits of those years of suffering.

Not that there weren’t people better than him in every discipline he studied. There was no shame in that, just an indication of where you were in your own progress and how far there was to go. Figaro had never seen those ahead of him as anything other than something to aspire towards.

But, generally speaking, the people ahead of him were older than him. Much older. They had spent several more years to get where they were now, and Figaro never doubted that once he did the same, he would surpass them.

That was not the case with Ubik.

There was no getting around how young he was and how little effort he seemed to put into what he was doing.

Figaro was starting to question his father’s methods. Maybe there was a better, less painful way. He had been taught to focus on one thing at a time, to achieve excellence and to only adapt and improvise once the basic foundations were in place.

But the reality was that one thing at a time was not how the world worked, nor the universe.

Currently, there was the matter of the Antecessors who were after him. There was his organic, or organics, and their value to other people. There was also the Fourth, who was in Ubik’s bone, but probably had ideas about getting out and causing havoc. Now there was this new variable of Quincy Quasem. And each of those issues had their own sub-issues.

And that was just a fraction of their troubles.

The less-immediate issues could be ignored for now — or he hoped they could because that was what he was doing — but now they were in a new region of space; one that had its own rules and regulations to watch out for.

Figaro was only slightly familiar with the Inner Quadrant and what kind of people lived here. His father had once been an inhabitant and could still easily pass through the barrier that kept the riff-raff out, but he had chosen to move away.

Tired of the constant infighting, Ramon Ollo had left them to it and taken over a medium-sized planet for his personal use. The shops weren’t as handy, but the cost of living dropped to much more acceptable levels.

The Inner Quad was also something his parents declined to talk about. Which meant Figaro’s knowledge of the region was far from comprehensive. He knew some of the main players, some of the dealings and practices, but had no deep insights.

He knew M&M were famous for their very lifelike robots that cost a huge amount and were bought by wealthy individuals who didn’t want to have to please someone to be pleased by them in return.

These weren’t robots constructed to do things people couldn’t. They were constructed to look as human as possible. For reasons that no one talked about but everyone understood.

As successful as their business might be, were they really the best people to use as shields?

Ubik seemed to think so, and Figaro had no reason to doubt him, but things were rarely as they appeared with Ubik. He was a whizz with tronics. Robots were tronics dressed up as people. So the question became, what did Ubik want with robots?

“What are you giggling about?” said PT.

They were waiting for the guard to come back with news. Did the dead president’s son agree to meet them? When and where? And if the answer was no, then what was the next move?

Nobody thought it was a good idea to just wait, but nobody had a better idea, which was the fuel that powered Ubik’s engine.

Ubik was standing there, his shoulders shaking slightly as he chuckled to himself. “Quincy Quasem. It’s such a stupid name.”

“Your name’s Ubik U Ubik,” said PT.

“Yeah,” said Ubik. “What that’s got to do with anything?”

“Nothing. Forget it.” PT was another person who defied the natural order, but in a different way to Ubik.

Here was a young man who had very little training or guidance. From what Figaro had learned, he was mostly self-taught. But there was no doubting his ability to keep up with both Figaro and Ubik. There had never been a feeling that PT was being carried by others. He held his own in any company.

“There’s probably a ship here,” said PT, changing tack. “We could take it and leave.”

“I guarantee there is no ship,” said Ubik. “Strictly shuttle service, once a month, if not longer. You leave a ship lying around with some guy marooned here for who knows how long, slowly going crazy; what’s to stop him just throwing in the towel one day, firing up the rockets and zooming off into the wide black yonder?”

“Why does he even need to be here?” said Bashir. “It’s not like there’s anything worth taking.”

“It’s still an Antecessor base,” said Chukka, still riding high on the thrill of being in the Inner Quadrant, even if it was inside a dingy old ruin. “You can’t be sure it's been completely cleared out. Plus, you don't want people just wandering in to have a look. You have to keep up appearances in the Inner Quad.”

“Someone’s coming,” said Bashir, stopping the banter and causing them all to look towards the doorway. “Four of them.”

“Four?” said Ubik. “Looks like the young master rushed over. Probably brought some heavies with him. Remember, try not to use any flashy stuff. We’re just simple scientists trying to bend the universal laws to our whims. Brilliant but, you know, low key brilliant.”

Voices could be heard before anyone appeared.

“I can’t believe you, Taio. I was in the middle of a very sensual meal.”

“I know, sir. I’m very sorry, but these people… and the sigil… it’s just…”

“Yes, yes. Are you sure you haven’t been using again? I set you up with this plum assignment, even gave you an excuse to avoid that nasty wife of yours… if it wasn’t for that time you…”

A man appeared in the doorway and stopped talking as he saw the group waiting for him, and the sigil behind them. It had dimmed down even more but the outline was still visible.

“What the hell is that?” The young man, who looked to be in his early twenties, with a very glossy head of hair and a trim beard, marched across the room towards them.

His green and blue spacesuit was half unzipped and the collar was half up and half down, but there was no doubting the quality of the manufacturing. It was a very expensive, very technologically advanced outfit. It also had a small cape hanging over one shoulder. Figaro could tell a lot about a man from how he accessorised.

The man hadn’t come alone. Two tall, very attractive women escorted him. They wore long white dresses with hoods that were illuminated on the inside, so their beautiful faces were easier to see.

“You…” said the young man looking around the group. “Which one of you is in charge?”

“You can talk to me,” said Ubik. “I can answer any questions you might have.”

“Good. Who are you? How did you get here? What’s that thing and how did it get here? And they better all be good answers or I’ll have the lot of you thrown in prison with no hope of ever getting out. Are we clear?”

He stood there, imperious and awaiting answers.

Figaro felt something clench inside of him. Watching Ubik at work was a very stressful experience. Figaro had been in some very unpleasant situations, life and death matters, but nothing gave him palpitations like this. He had no idea which way Ubik would take this.

“May I know your name, sir?” said Ubik politely. Too politely.

“Certainly,” the man replied with heavy sarcasm. “I am Quincy Quasem, owner of… what the devil are you smirking like that for?”

“Excuse me,” said Ubik, straightening his face. “I’m just very happy to see you. When we requested a meeting, we had no idea you would come so quickly. Thank you so much.”

“Yes, well… Taio here seemed to be in such a panic, I couldn’t very well… Never mind all that, answer my blasted questions. And don’t think about trying any funny stuff. These two ladies behind me have the strength of several large elephants and have been programmed in three different martial arts. Their thighs are registered as lethal weapons.”

“Very impressive,” said Ubik. “They’re the latest model, are they? I can barely tell they aren’t human.”

The two female robots were lifelike, but there was a vacant look in their eyes which was vaguely unsettling. Figaro had seen similar devices before, but never ones this perfect. Too perfect.

“My name is Ubik, and I am merely the spokesperson for my employer, the brilliant scientist over there whose name I won’t mention for legal reasons but who I am sure you have already recognised.”

Young Master Quincy stared at PT, who did his best impression of someone aloof and disinterested. Fortunately, the expression was not dissimilar to irritated and resentful, so he more or less pulled it off.

“I’m afraid I don’t. And who are all these other people?”

Ubik went through another set of vague introductions with no actual names mentioned and segued smoothly into a stream of nonsense about instantaneous cross-galactic travel while Quincy remained incredulous throughout.

“I think,” whispered PT into Fig’s ear, “that at some point we may need to dump Young Master Ubik and strike out on our own.”

“Hmm,” muttered Figaro, still working on the control panel on his arm. “For reasons of self-preservation?”

“Exactly for those reasons,” said PT.

“Do you have a way to leave without him noticing?”

“No. Do you?”

“No,” said Figaro. “I’ll work on it.”

“Good. So will I.” PT quietly leaned back and continued to look like he was formulating an unsolvable theorem, which he probably was.

“This is ridiculous,” said Quincy. “You want me to join you in some ridiculous venture involving travel between here and the 4th Quadrant, for which you refuse to provide proof, and you won’t even reveal your names or who you work for? I may not be the most experienced member of the Quazem family, but I know when something doesn’t smell right. And quite frankly, this whole thing stinks.” He looked very unimpressed with Ubik’s presentation. “Now, you’re going to stay here and I’m going to call some people who will find out who you really are and what this is all about.”

“This isn’t working,” said Chukka, coming forward on her own initiative.

Ubik had told them to follow his lead, so she was.

“And who are you again?” asked Quincy in as offhand a manner as he could.

“Major Chukka, VendX Galactic, PR Department,” said Chukka, not holding anything back.

“VendX, VendX… Don’t you people collect salvage or something?”

“No,” said Chukka. “Some of our subsidiaries do, but it’s a very minor part of our business.” She had a steely look about her and showed no signs of nervousness. “What’s important here is that we control the other end of this transportation array, and there is no reason for you to be involved in this if you aren’t willing. It’s true, it took quite a few attempts to get a stable connection, and it was somewhat random, but we can try again and see where we end up. Maybe in a different quadrant, maybe another Antecessor site in this one. It really doesn’t matter. Once we establish an instantaneous link between galaxies, we will mostly be conducting research into replicating the technology, so it isn’t as though we’ll be opening a resort for tourists. I can fully understand why this sort of thing wouldn’t be of interest to someone in the servicing industry.” Her eyes moved from Quincy to the gorgeous automatons behind him.

“Well,” said Quincy icily, “that may well be true, but either way we will find out once—”

Weyla and Leyla decided they’d had enough of being observers and made their own move.

They easily slipped past the people standing in front of them and each took down one of the robots. It was effortless and elegant, their movements predicting the attempts of the robots to defend themselves, twisting limbs until something inside snapped. Even though an artificial body was many times stronger than a human’s, a mixture of organics and Seneca training proved superior.

The robots ended up in a mangled heap, still smiling seductively.

Quincy’s mouth hung open and his eyes were wide with shock. “You… You’re Seneca. Why do you have Seneca troops with you? What are you planning to do to my planet?” He looked genuinely terrified and held onto Taio’s arm, while Taio looked equally terrified as he held onto Quincy’s.

“They’re ex-Seneca,” said Ubik. “Hired muscle.”

“The Seneca Corps doesn't work for men,” said Quincy. “Not even ex-Seneca.”

“They work for me,” said PT, chipping in. “You don’t have to get involved with this, but neither can you be allowed to involve others. This sigil will fade in a few hours and there won’t be any trace left. If you can drop us off at the nearest spaceport, I would be much obliged. We won’t trouble you again. You can send me a bill for the repair of your toys.”

He didn’t state who to send the bill to or where, but there was a very definite undercurrent of this request is not a request.

Having been addressed by the supposed leader, Quincy took on a change of attitude.

“I see. Maybe I’ve been a little hasty.” Quincy glanced over at the two sisters, clearly more impressed by the ability of this man to command Seneca subordinates than his ability to cross galaxies. “How about this. Come with me to my home and we’ll discuss the matter more fully. I’m sure we can come to terms. I will guarantee absolute confidentiality, of course. I’ll sign whatever you want to that effect.”

Figaro smiled to himself. Without showing any interest in what Ubik was trying to achieve, PT had seamlessly inserted himself into the problem and solved it. Ubik had a grin on his face as though this was all as he’d foreseen it. The galling thing was he probably had.

“Ooh, that turned out well, didn’t it?” said Grandma.

“Is it what you were expecting?” asked Figaro.

“Oh no, I try not to have expectations,” said Grandma sweetly, “it just limits people. I’m glad we got rid of those two sluts, though. Horrid things.”

Book 3 – 41: Better Yourself

Inner Quadrant.

Dook Asteroid Field.

Quazi Base 9.

 

It took a moment for Point-Two to recover from the disorientation. It was like he had taken a single step forward, and then his brain had rushed to catch up, slamming into him from behind.

Sudden journeys from one end of the galaxy to the other were not something he was accustomed to, especially not those that only took a couple of seconds, so it wasn’t surprising there were some side-effects to deal with.

The man insisting in a trembling high-pitched voice that they show him their identification badges wasn’t helping.

Point-Two rubbed his head. He was sure they had travelled a vast distance, it was just something he instinctively felt, but he had no idea where they had ended up. Judging by the confused man in front of them, wherever they were, it was private property and they were trespassing.

Everyone else also looked a bit unsteady, apart from Chukka. For some reason, she was able to recover first and had immediately started looking for employment opportunities, and was badgering the poor man with demands of her own. Were Mason & Muss that wonderful to work for? He had definitely heard of the name, but he couldn’t remember much else. A luxury brand of some sort.

What he did know, though, was that the last person he wanted as the group spokesman was Major Chukka of VendX’s PR Department. As he made a move to pull her back before she said something problematic, Ubik stepped in and did it for her.

“Hey, no soliciting.” Ubik tugged on Chukka’s elbow in what seemed a casual manner, but which sent her spinning back towards the rest of them. “Ah, there you are, my good man. Glad you finally got here.”

For some reason, Ubik had decided to start talking in an oddly posh voice. This only served to fluster the man, who was wearing some kind of uniform, the letters ‘M&M’ monogrammed on the chest.

The man, who had come running in and was a little out of breath, took a moment to collect himself, and noticed something over Ubik’s shoulder. His mouth hung open in a gormless manner, no longer in befuddled security-guard-mode. Now just befuddled in general.

“What’s that?” he said. “That wasn’t there before.”

Point-Two glance over his shoulder at the sigil, which was floating just off the ground and glowing very dimly, like it was low on batteries. It didn’t look completely solid, as though you could wave your arm through it and clear it away.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Ubik, with the air of someone who was dealing with people far beneath him. “Look, what’s your name?” Ubik peered at the man’s chest. “I don’t see a name badge.”

The man’s eyes widened as he looked down at his chest, his surprise and shock even greater than when seeing the sigil. He quickly patted his pockets, front and back, even the ones on his thighs and just above the knees. He found the missing card in the breast pocket, which had been the first one he had checked, and slammed it onto his chest where it stuck.

The name badge identified him as G. Taio and his department as security.

“I see,” said Ubik, nodding his approval. “Taio. Good. Well, Mr Taio, you’re probably wondering what we’re doing here.”

Point-Two recognised this as the point of no return. Either Ubik would flawlessly talk them out of here, or he would make things much, much worse for everyone else as he talked himself out of here.

“Yes,” said the guard, finding it hard to maintain his aggressive no-visitors-allowed stance in the face of Ubik’s complete disregard for such formalities. If he didn’t know better, Point-Two would have assumed Ubik owned the place and the guard was the trespasser.

“It’s very simple,” said Ubik. “We’re part of a very advanced research team working on some hush-hush matters and during the carrying out of our hush-hush research, we inadvertently triggered an ancient transportation array. You know how these things happen.”

The guard clearly did not know any such thing, but nodded anyway.

“Now, I can’t tell you all the details — privacy requirements for legal reasons, you understand?”

More nodding.

“But what I can say is that it isn’t a complete coincidence we ended up here.”

Ubik was giving the impression he knew where ‘here’ was. Point-Two was pretty sure he didn’t, but it probably didn’t matter. He was happy to run riot anywhere.

The guard was hanging on Ubik’s every word, but looked as confused as ever. “You’re saying you’re a scientist?” This was said in a slightly doubtful tone, which was understandable.

Ubik did not radiate the typical qualities of a top scientist working on important matters. Fierce intelligence, the pursuit of knowledge, a willingness to devote one’s life to excellence — no one would guess Ubik had all of these in abundance. He hid his lights under many bushels, and you definitely didn’t want to know what they were bushels of.

Of course, there were some eccentric types, the mad scientists of myth and legend, but to be honest, Ubik didn’t fit that mould either. If anything, he was more believable as the mad scientist’s little helper, who made sure the three-headed cats were fed and went around collecting body parts from morgues for future experiments.

“Me?” said Ubik. “No, no. Do I look like I know anything about technical things?” He chuckled dryly to himself. “No, I don’t even know which way to hold a screwdriver. I’m just the gopher and general dogsbody. Make sure things are running smoothly and get them to if they aren’t. You know what that’s like, right?”

The two of them shared a knowing smile.

“No, the person in charge here is…” Ubik turned and looked at the others, his gaze sweeping across them until it came to rest on Point-Two. “Him.”

Point-Two didn’t appreciate being dragged into this, whatever ‘this’ was, and scowled.

“You can see how it is,” Ubik said to the guard. “Doesn’t like to interact with the normal world.” Ubik put a finger to his temple and tapped. “Up here, he’s constantly making calculations, coming up with the next big thing.” He moved his finger down to his chest. “In here.” He shook his head slowly. “No time for chit-chat, that’s for sure. That’s where I come in.”

The guard was all ears now. Ubik was drip-feeding him this nonsense, but the guard was lapping it up.

“As for the others,” continued Ubik. “The two women at the back there, they’re his concubines.”

“Concubines?” said the guard, looking over at the two Seneca sisters in their veteran warrior gear, armed to the teeth.

Ubik leaned closer to the guard. “He likes it rough.”

The guard looked again. The two sisters didn’t look flattered, to say the least, but they kept their mouths shut, thankfully.

“As for the pretty boy.” Ubik looked over at Fig. Ubik leaned closer to the guard. “Also likes it smooth. Hairless body.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know who those two are,” said Ubik, referring to Chukka and Bashir. “They just tagged along. Not important. Let me cut to the chase. Mason & Muss. Robotics. Who doesn’t know the M&M logo when it comes to the best robots in the galaxy?”

The guard stood a little straighter. “Yes, that’s true.”

“We’ll need to speak to President Quazem.”

“But he’s dead,” said the guard.

“Sorry, if you’d just let me finish,” said Ubik. “President Quazem’s son. The youngest one. What was his name?” Ubik snapped his fingers twice.

“Quincy Quazem.” The voice was Grandma’s, but she didn’t sound as warm and cosy as she normally did.

A smirk almost made it to Ubik’s face but was immediately flattened before it could take up residence. “That’s right, that’s right.”

The guard was looking at Ubik strangely. “You know the young master?”

“Not personally,” said Ubik, “but he’s the person we need to speak to. Can you get in touch with him for us?”

The guard slowly nodded. “This base… belongs to Master Quazem.”

“Really?” said Ubik. “What a coincidence.” He said it in a manner that suggested it wasn’t a coincidence at all.

“You want me to contact Master Quazem?” The guard sounded very reluctant. He could probably get into a lot of trouble.

“That’s right, Taio,” said Ubik. “Tell him about the sigil here, that should do the trick. Not your supervisor, mind. We don’t want too many people knowing about this.” His eyebrows rose suggestively. “This could turn out to be very beneficial for everyone concerned.”

The guard was nodding again. “You stay here. I’ll be right back.” He began walking backwards until he reached the doorway, then he turned and ran off.

“Why do I get to be the boffin?” said Point-Two as soon as the guard’s hurried footsteps faded. “Wouldn’t Fig be a better choice? He looks the part more than I do.”

“We don’t want anyone recognising him,” said Ubik. “If anyone does an image search on him, they’ll find a big fat file on him. If they look you up…”

“I have been in a few top twenty eligible bachelor things,” said Fig. “But my hair was a lot longer, so I shouldn’t be easily recognised.” He rubbed the silvery stubble that had started to appear on his shaved scalp. His jaw, however, showed no stubble at all.

Point-Two rubbed his own scratchy-haired chin. How long since his last proper wash? How long since he’d used a real toilet, come to think of it? He moved uncomfortably around in the suit that was his own personal waste processing system.

“How do we get out of here?” said Point-Two. Sending the guard off was nicely done, but now what? They had no idea where they were or how to find the way out.

“I know exactly where we are and how to get us out,” said Ubik. “Just leave it to me.”

“Mason & Muss,” said Chukka. “That must mean we’re in the Inner Quadrant.” There was an excited trill to her voice.

All four quadrants had an inner region which they shared. It was where the truly rich and powerful existences lived. An existence that was so far removed from 99.9% of the galaxy, that it wasn’t even an aspiration for most people.

Unless they allowed it, no one else was permitted to enter.

Companies such as VendX Galactic were big players in the outer regions, but they were nothing in the eyes of those who controlled the markets from their ivory towers. Anyone could make money, but only a few were in a position to create the money for others to make.

“Shouldn’t we make a move before Taio comes back?” said Point-Two. He had no interest in pining for a better life. A life of any kind was what he was after right now.

“Where to?” said Ubik. “We don’t have a ship, we don’t have any money, and we’ve got all sorts of unpleasantness hunting for us. What we need right now is somewhere to lie low and wait for things to blow over. Maybe do a bit of shopping. I hear the Inner Quad’s shops are on another level.”

“Oh yes!” said Chukka, drawing a few looks. She seemed to have completely forgotten her situation and was enthralled by the prospect of what she could do now that she had finally made it to the promised land.

“We’ll just wait for Master Quincy to turn up. It’ll be fine. I’ll handle it.”

“How is that lying low?” said Point-Two.

“Politics,” said Ubik.

“What do you mean?” said Point-Two.

“M&M, big company,” said Ubik, like he was explaining to a child. “President died so all his many, many kids split up the assets between them. Lots of assets, plenty for everyone. But not all assets are the same. Like this place. It’s a dump. Small Antecessor site that got cleared out aeons ago.”

“How do you know that?” said Point-Two.

“One guard?” said Ubik. “Clearly not a very good one.”

“He’s right,” said Bashir. “I’ve been scanning for any other signs of life. He’s the only one here.”

“Hmm,” agreed Fig. “Me and Grandma are finding the same.”

“So who would get this as their birthright?” asked Ubik. “The youngest son who no one gives a shit about.”

Point-Two looked around at the bare walls. “You got all that from a five-second conversation?”

“It’s pretty obvious when you know what to look for,” said Ubik, still speaking to a child. “Youngest son of a big, rich family is going to have a stick up his backside. Never got the breaks the others did. When he hears something’s happening in his dead-end inheritance, he’s going to want to check it out. Personally, so news doesn’t get out. He won’t be telling anyone, just in case it gets taken away from him like with all his other toys.”

“Have you met this guy?” asked Point-Two.

“Never even knew he existed. Now, the important thing is everyone plays along. No matter how insulting or embarrassing, go with the flow.” Ubik smiled and the room felt a bit darker. “It’s especially important we don’t reveal either of your gifts.”

Ubik looked from Point-Two to Fig and back again.

“Yes, your organics will make it easier to get out of any sticky situations, but once people know what you two can do, they’re going to hunt you both down and cut you open to find out what makes you so special so they can use you to benefit themselves. And obviously I don’t want anyone else doing that.”

“Anyone else?” said Point-Two.

“What?” said Ubik.

“You said, anyone else,” Point-Two repeated.

“You’re hearing things,” said Ubik. “This is about all of us. You, me, them. All lives matter to me.” Ubik smiled again. Point-Two started thinking maybe he would do better going it alone.

Book 3 – 40: Bone in Your Pocket

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone Room.

 

Point-Two’s body shook from the inside. On the surface — his skin, his limbs (thankfully once more human), his balance — all appeared normal and within his control. But that was just the container.

In his core, he was a mess.

He was well aware of what it felt like to be off-kilter. He had experienced deep space nausea, where you couldn’t work out which way was up and ended up puking everywhere. This was much worse than that.

Ubik had mentioned there might be backlash from using his newly-infused organics, but he had no idea it would feel like this. Like he didn’t belong in his own body. Like he wished someone would peel off his skin so he could get out.

“Are you okay?” asked Fig.

Point-Two nodded. He was perfectly calm on the outside, so he had no idea how Fig knew something wasn’t quite right. Perhaps he was just checking up on him because a moment ago, his arms were tentacles.

“Shouldn’t we follow him?” asked Leyla, looking towards the black opening Ubik had just nonchalantly strolled through.

“In a second,” said Fig.

The two Seneca women looked confused. They weren’t used to hanging back while someone else took all the risks.

“You need to give him a five-second window,” explained Point-Two, trying his best to ignore his inner turmoil, “just in case he comes running out in the opposite direction.”

“Ubik lag,” said Fig.

“The time between Ubik deciding something’s the best idea he’s ever had, and realising it’s going to kill him.” It was only as Point-Two said this that he realised he was inducting them into a very special and exclusive group: people who deliberately remained near Ubik. He really needed to print up some pamphlets to hand around.

Point-Two stood up a little straighter. The unpleasant buzz in his soul had subsided. He had been looking forward to getting his own organic for so long, he hadn’t really considered the painful process it involved.

That was obviously why people went to such lengths to make sure the compatibility of the person and their organic was so high, and why they underwent so much intensive training with instructors who had similar organics.

It was also why people who forced-implanted unsuitable organics always looked so terrible.

Was he going to have to suffer pain and disorientation for the rest of his life? There was no way his body was compatible with six organics, no matter how high his CQ happened to be.

“Okay,” said Point-Two. “Let’s go. It’s either safe or he’s dead, and he’s never dead.”

“Never,” confirmed Fig.

Point-Two flexed his hands in and out of fists. It was good to have hands, something he had taken for granted until recently. The moment he had tried to send his ability outwards, with all of his focus on turning the limbs of all the droids he could see into brittle versions of their current material, it had rebounded on him, turning his own limbs into droid tendrils.

He had realised there were too many of them and that it might be beyond him, so he had very cleverly decided to only change part of them, and to modify what was already present, rather than completely transform one substance to another. Very clever.

It was still too much. Maybe because he was trying to do so much at once. He didn’t really understand how his organics worked, and yet he had attempted something super complicated as a way to make it less of a strain. Brilliant.

Now the question was what would happen next time?

The added anxiety of not knowing if he would suffer another backlash only made it more likely he would make a mistake.

Fortunately, Point-Two had plenty of experience in messing up and climbing back into the ring. The mental side of competing was a huge part of his life growing up, something his brother — an excellent athlete in his own right — had gone to great lengths to emphasise. You always had a chance to beat a superior opponent if you kept your head while they lost theirs.

He walked through the opening first. Fig would have done it, but someone had to keep an eye on Point-Two, in case his organics did something odd and needed to be suppressed. The others followed behind — two ex-Seneca soldiers and two (most probably soon to be) ex-employees of VendX Galactic.

The tunnel on the other side of the opening was quiet and dark. Just a few metres away, Ubik stood with his hands on his hips, inspecting the walls and ceiling. They were flat and featureless as far as Point-Two could see, but Ubik had the ability to see things no one else could see. Things that weren’t even there.

“There you are,” said Ubik without turning around. “Now, we’ve got to be careful in here. We’re at a disadvantage, seeing as we’re in the Fourth’s domain.”

The others had arrived now and were bunched up behind Point-Two.

“I know you have no idea what’s up ahead,” said Point-Two. “Can we skip the speech and just blindly charge into whatever horrors await us?” He was not in the mood for one of Ubik’s long rambling monologues that he used as a delaying tactic while he tried to come up with something to do.

“We’re under observation right now,” said Ubik, narrowing his eyes in an admonishing manner. “So try not to give away any of our super secret plans.”

What Ubik was saying was, don’t ask me any questions and I won’t tell you any lies. But of course, he was framing it as necessary in order to keep the Fourth learning of their intentions. As though the Fourth cared the least bit.

“Can somebody turn up the lights?” said Ubik.

The Seneca duo adjusted their suits and beams of light shot out of their chests. Fig also provided some illumination, although his was more of a gentle glow that lit the group more than the surroundings.

His light flickered and didn’t seem very stable.

“What did you do to my controls, Ubik?” Figaro sounded mildly annoyed as he tried to work the button on his forearm.

“Improved them,” said Ubik, as he walked off. Everyone fell in line behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, dear,” said a voice coming from Fig’s arm. “It really doesn’t need any improvement. My, my, the circuitry in here is absolutely divine. Oh. Glorious. My compliments to the engineer.”

Fig stared at his arm with a puzzled look on his face. “Thank you. I’ll pass it on to my father.” He raised his head towards Ubik. “I think your Grandma’s in my suit.”

“Yes,” said Ubik.

“Why is your grandma in my suit, Ubik?”

“I had to put her somewhere. She can’t spend the rest of her life inside a giant robot, can she? It’s very drafty inside of those things. Not at all suitable for an elderly lady.”

“I’m not that old,” said Grandma playfully.

Fig played around with the controls some more. “I… can’t seem to turn her off.”

“You can’t decide when to turn someone off,” said Ubik. “Where are your manners?”

“Don’t worry, deary. You won’t even notice I’m here. You just carry on as you would normally. I’ll make sure to turn a deaf ear if you want to get intimate with someone. Or even by yourself. I remember what it was like to be young and lonely.” She sighed longingly.

Fig looked quite distraught. Point-Two would have felt sympathy if it weren’t for the realisation that the one saddled with Grandma could have easily been him.

Point-Two quickened his pace to catch up with Ubik. Everyone else was being cautious and watching for an ambush, but Point-Two had been around Ubik long enough to know the ambush never came when you were looking for it.

“The Fourth wants something from us,” said Point-Two. “That’s the only reason it brought us here.”

“You’re probably right. I guess that’s why you’re the boss.”

“Yes,” said Point-Two, refusing to rise to the bait. “You already know what it’s after, don’t you?”

“Me?” said Ubik. “Haven’t got a clue. Could be anything. To be honest with you, it’s more likely you or Fig. He’s got that organic all the Antecessors are after, and you…” He gave Point-Two an admiring glance. “Well. We all know what a step up from the gutter you’ve made recently. If they could see you now, back on the old floating houseboat.” He shook his head. “No more sticking your head down the head and flushing it.”

“Nobody ever stuck my head down the head,” said Point-Two.

“Of course not. Sociable chap like you, probably had loads of mates. That’s the right terminology, isn’t it? Shipmates?”

“Ubik, what does it want?”

“What do any of us want?” said Ubik.

Point-Two knew there was no hope of getting any sense out of Ubik, but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was going to be a big sacrifice that needed to be made. And he certainly didn’t want to be the one to make it.

He looked back at Chukka and Bashir. He would be happy to use them as collateral, but would anyone want them?

The tunnel was long and straight. It wasn’t possible to see too far ahead because of the darkness. Even with the lights, the tunnel refused to show too much. No more than the Fourth was willing.

“I think I can see something,” said Ubik. “Nearly there now.”

Point-Two peered into the dark but saw nothing. “Nearly where?”

“Here.” Ubik stopped.

Point-Two also stopped, as did everyone behind him. There was nothing remarkable about this part of the tunnel.

Everyone waited for the big reveal, but nothing happened.

Then, Fig stepped forward. “I can feel something. Something familiar.”

He pushed past Point-Two and Ubik. He took a couple more steps forward and then stopped abruptly. Then he backed up.

“There.” He pointed at nothing. “It’s a sigil.”

“This is what you need to work towards,” said Ubik. “Awareness. You’ll never find anyone to love you until you can see beyond your own little world of dreams and self-interest.”

Point-Two was caught between wanting to know what Fig had found and wanting to tell Ubik to shut the hell up.

He was unable to do either before a voice said, “Give me the bone.”

This voice did not belong to a little old lady and it wasn’t coming from Fig’s arm. It was emanating from the walls, and it had the weight of millennia behind it.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Ubik.

“It wants the bone,” said Point-Two. “That’s… great. Hand it over.”

“No,” said Ubik. “It’s mine.”

Of all the things it could have wanted, the bone was easily the least concerning.

“Who cares,” said Point-Two. “We should be grateful that’s all it wants. Where did you put it?”

“It’s in my pocket,” said Ubik. “Or did you just think I was perpetually pleased to see you? Because, obviously, I am.”

Point-Two was about to wrestle Ubik for the bone when Fig put out an arm to hold him back. “Wait. Why doesn’t it just take the bone?”

“Aha!” said Ubik.

“What, aha?” said Point-Two. “What are you talking about?”

“It could use force to get the bone,” said Fig, “but it’s asking. Why is it asking?”

“Aha!” said Ubik again.

“Stop doing that,” said Point-Two. He understood what Fig was saying, but he couldn’t think of a reason. And Ubik’s aha-ing wasn’t helping. He looked around, but no one looked like they had an answer for him. Which left only one person. “Hey, Fourth, why are you asking us? Why don’t you just take it?”

There was a long pause before the voice said, “I require your assistance.”

“They all do in the end,” said Ubik, looking around smugly.

“Not you,” said the Fourth.

“Not me?” said Ubik, genuinely surprised for once. He looked around again, this time as though he couldn’t see anyone worth seeking assistance from.

“Him,” said Fig, looking at Point-Two.

“Him?” said Ubik, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Me?” said Point-Two, like he couldn’t believe it either.

“Yes,” said the Fourth.

“Are you sure?” said Ubik.

“The only way I can leave this place is in the bone. The only way for me to enter the bone is as a conducive element.”

There was a pause. “You want me to turn you into a parasite?” said Point-Two.

Another pause. “If that’s what you call it.”

“And then what?” said Fig. “Once we put you in the bone and leave here… through the sigil. Then what?”

There was an even longer pause. Then a new voice spoke. “Agree, Figaro. The Fourth is the only one who can take you away from here.”

“Father?”

“You are right to be concerned, and it can absolutely not be trusted, but there is no other way. You must take this chance.”

The wall next to them changed into a screen, showing the exterior of the island. The three robots were being swarmed by droids. They shot at the ship hanging over them but their aim was spoiled by droids pulling at their limbs. They fell and got up, then fell again.

The ship began firing a barrage of laser bolts, hitting its own droids and not caring. The ground shook above them and sent tremors down through to where they stood.

“You are about to overrun,” said Ramon Ollo. “We may already be out of time.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Ubik. “Grandma?”

“Already in motion, dear,” said Grandma. “Should be arriving… Now!”

As they watched, three new figures appeared in the air. Three Guardians. The fighting took on a new level of intensity as the Guardians let rip with the full might of Central Authority ordnance.

“Where did you hide them?” said Point-Two.

“I wasn’t hiding them,” said Ubik. “I was keeping them in reserve.”

The Guardian’s reliance on tronics would explain why they hadn’t been active since arriving on the island, but once the suppression was lifted, they should have come forward. Unless something — or someone — even more oppressive had already infiltrated their suits.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” said Point-Two. It wasn’t necessarily the right decision, but it was a decision, and that was what was needed now.

“What if you get another backlash?” said Fig.

That was Point-Two’s worry, too. “Try to stop me overloading, if you can.”

Fig nodded.

“Wait,” said Chukka, suddenly speaking up. “How do we get out of here? Once we help that thing, how do we leave?”

“The sigil,” said Fig. “It’s a gateway.”

“Gateway to where?” said Chukka.

“What makes you think you’re going anywhere?” said Ubik, his voice taking on a chilly note as he looked at the other four.

The Seneca sisters and the two from VendX all looked shaken.

“Haha, only joking,” said Ubik. “You should have seen your faces.” He shook his head while chuckling to himself.

None of them found his little joke very amusing.

“Let’s do it,” said Point-Two. “Ubik, the bone.”

Ubik didn’t look willing, but he reached inside his trousers and pulled out the bone.

“Okay, now what?” said Point-Two. He needed to be able to see the Fourth to transform it.

A dim glow appeared in the dark. It formed into a triangular shape emerging from the dark. The sigil had been right in front of them the whole time.

“This will take you to another of our bases,” said the Fourth.

“You’re going to drop us in a random Antecessor facility?” said Chukka. She was annoying but she asked the right questions. Which was good, because if she annoyed the Fourth too much, she could be offered up as a sacrifice.

“All sites contain breathable air, so we should be fine,” said Fig. He seemed to have total faith in his father’s suggestion.

Something moved through the sigil towards them. It was a droid. Not like the ones that had arrived with the Antecessors, this one was much smaller, and had an aged feel to it, like it had been worn down by time.

“I have placed my sentience in this vessel.” Its short tendrils swayed from side to side.

“We can still—” The rest of what Fig was about to say was lost as Point-Two focused on the droid.

One small droid. That should be within his abilities.

Point-Two focused harder. He willed the change and felt the power leave him.

The air shimmered and the droid rolled over. As it came back around, it had changed into a copy of the parasite.

It jumped into the bone and disappeared.

Everyone stared at the bone like it was going to do something.

“There’s something already in here,” said the Fourth’s voice.

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” said Ubik. “You’ve got a roommate. Be nice and share the chores. Make a rota, that usually helps.” He looked at the others. “I wonder what those two will get up to in there? Maybe the sound of tiny suction cups running around soon, eh?”

It was not a pleasing image.

Fig looked pensive. “This could be a terrible mistake.”

Point-Two couldn’t help but agree. “We don’t have to let it out.”

The ground shook again. The bone seemed to get blacker and the sigil glowed brighter.

“You know the way?” said Point-Two.

Fig nodded. He faced the sigil. “Father?”

“I will be fine, my son. We will meet again.”

Fig ran towards the sigil with others right behind him. The sigil elongated and turned into an infinite tunnel. As they entered it, they were stretched and thrown forward. It was like being ripped apart and put together again.

It only took a second, or maybe forever.

When they arrived at their destination, they stepped out of another sigil into a square room that was obviously part of an Antecessor site. The design and layout were immediately recognisable, but nothing was activated, no signs of Antecessor surveillance.

There was also a very concerned looking man glaring at them.

“What are you doing here?” He seemed very upset. “This is private property. You aren’t authorised to be here. Where are your badges? All employees of Mason & Muss are required to wear their badges on-site at all times.”

Point-Two vaguely recalled the name. Mason & Muss. It was one of the super-mega-corporations that ruled over the central regions. But what were they doing here? And where was here?

Chukka was the first to respond, eyes glittering, hand extended. “Hello, I’m Major Chukka, VendX Galactic, PR Department. Tell me, do you have any job vacancies?”

Book 3 – 39: Grandma's Leave

Wormhole Island - Exterior.

 

The first thing Figaro did was lower his heart rate. He recognised this as a very delicate situation where mistakes would be very costly, and acting without thinking clearly and precisely would end up getting them killed.

Stay calm, stay focused, observe without prejudice. It was the only way to walk out of this alive.

“Wooh! Grandma!” yelled Ubik, arms raised aloft, jumping up and down.

Everyone turned to look in the direction Ubik was cheering. All Figaro could see were three giant robots, one of which had fallen over — there was no sign of any old ladies. But he knew Ubik’s Grandma wasn’t a person, she was an AI. If she was operating one of the robots, that was an astonishing achievement. If she had managed to keep it on its feet, that would have been even more impressive.

The second thing Figaro did was check his suit. Everything was back online and working as normal.

You had to make sure of the fundamentals. That was how he had been trained, and he had found it to be invaluable. The fancy stuff was all well and good, but the basics were what kept you alive. Hair could not grow without skin.

The suit’s power levels were at maximum. He would be able to survive for at least one hundred hours if he ended up back in open space, alone and with no hope of rescue. Which was looking like the best-case scenario.

According to Ubik, the bone had been the source of the suppression, and now they had removed the organics from it, the suppression had been deactivated. That alone raised a number of questions, none of which he had time to investigate at the moment.

“What do we do?” said PT, which was also an excellent question.

The droids surrounding them were now looking at the giant robots. It wasn’t easy to tell where faceless droids had their focus — usually, it was everywhere at once — but this time, it was pretty obvious. They had all shifted bodies in the exact same way when the robots had emerged, and they had all shared the same flinch of confusion when one of the robots had tripped over its own feet and come crashing down.

Which was understandable. It wasn’t often you saw a magnificent feat of militaristic technology fall flat on its face.

“I don’t know,” said Figaro. His own attention, despite there being so much to take in, kept coming back to Ubik, who was bouncing up and down, waving his arms while shouting at the top of his voice, “Over here! Over here!”

There was a definite tension in the air. There was no doubting that the droids and the Antecessor ship that hung in the space over the island, and the robots and the island itself, were in a confrontation with each other.

The ship’s dark surface was flashing with white streaks. Figaro didn’t know what it was saying, but he was fairly certain it was something in the furious range of the spectrum.

The fallen robot rose to its feet after a few unsuccessful attempts. One half its body seemed to be unwilling to cooperate with the other half.

Figaro knew that if he wanted to know what was going on, there was only one person he could ask. It was not something he wanted to do. With Ubik, it was better to come with your own idea fully-formed, and then use his reaction to gauge how close you were to the truth. If you just asked him flat out, you never got a straight answer.

“Ubik, who’s controlling that robot?”

“That’s my Grandma,” said Ubik.

Never a straight answer unless it was so ridiculous he enjoyed seeing people's reaction to it.

“Your grandmother is piloting that thing?” said Weyla. She was standing back to back with her sister, and somehow Chukka and Bashir had worked their way between them, forcing the two sisters to become their de facto bodyguards.

“Don’t,” said PT, shaking his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Guys, it’s all good now,” said Ubik. “Grandma can control any tronic ever made. Even if it’s a million years old. She’s running the show now.” He was beaming with what appeared to be pride.

Grandma’s robot stood unsteadily between the other two, neither of which had moved since emerging. They were roughly humanoid but their heads had no features, not even eyes. They still somehow gave off an air of menace that was palpable.

Grandma’s robot raised its arm. There was a large gun in its hand — not so much a hand as numerous cables that could take any form — which it pointed at the ship.

The white streaks intensified at the front of the rectangular ship.

“Is she going to shoot it?” said Leyla.

“No,” said Ubik, “this is just the opening of negotiations.”

Figaro looked over at PT. Neither of them were convinced this was going to be solved through diplomatic means. If Ubik’s Grandma was anything like him, there were likely to be some very unpleasant words said and much offence taken. And that would just be the greeting.

What Figaro found odd was how the other two robots did nothing. They weren’t reacting at all.

He could believe Ubik’s Grandma had somehow managed to take control of one of the robots, but why was the Fourth not doing something to take control back?

If it was willing to let someone else take the lead in this situation, what did that say about what it was trying to do here?

There was a lot of information to evaluate, and probably not a lot of time. It did not look like there was going to be a peaceful resolution to this. The only reason hostilities hadn’t already broken out was because both sides wanted something, and were unwilling to risk losing it in open warfare.

After they got what they wanted, then of course there would be nothing to hold them back.

And he also understood that one of the assets to be procured was him. They wanted the organic inside him for whatever reason. Summoning their god or restarting the universe, it didn’t really matter what it was, he knew he was an object of high value in this conflict.

He took a moment to check the organics in his body. He had been doing this regularly since the Fourth had fused them together, even though he wasn’t able to sense very much. If things did go wrong inside him, there probably wasn’t anything he could do about it.

His father’s organic was the dominant one, and the only one he had used so far. The only one he had been willing to use.

It had been very easy to assume control of. It did exactly what he wanted. All those hundreds of hours in the sim-U had really paid off.

The other organic, though, sat inside him like a grenade waiting to go off. He knew he would have to pull the pin at some point, but it felt like the sort of thing to do when all other options had been exhausted. He didn’t know when that would be, but if he had to ascribe a unit of time to it, he would call it 1 Ubik.

Despite his father’s organic fully suppressing his organic for now, once it was allowed to activate, who knew what would happen.

“We need to be ready,” said PT, his voice lowered and aimed at Figaro.

Figaro nodded without thinking. It was obvious they were going to have to act if they wanted to have a voice in their own fates. “Do you have any ideas?”

“No,” said PT. “You?”

“Uh-ah.” Recognising the need for a plan and having a plan was not the same thing. Unless you were Ubik, of course.

“Don’t worry, guys. Grandma’s got this.” Ubik had a big grin on his face. It made him look even scarier.

The towering robot pointing a handgun at a spaceship took a step forward, as though being a little closer would make its aim better. As it did so, it seemed to buckle at what could ostensibly be referred to as its ankle.

It looked like it was going to fall again, caught itself, and fired the gun while it was pointed down and to the left.

The ground a few hundred metres away from where Figaro and the others were standing exploded, wiping out around a dozen droids that had been minding their own business.

The robot stood up straight and raised a hand, the multitude of tendrils forming an open palm. It seemed to be apologising.

“Woops,” said Ubik, his grin lengthening into a wide faux-embarrassed frown. He raised both his own hands and shouted to the droids circling them, “That was an accident. Sorry. Not intentional.” Then he looked over his shoulder at the others, and added in a much lower voice, “Lets them see she knows how to operate their tech. Sends a message.”

The message she seemed to be sending was one of imminent mutual destruction due to reasons beyond her control. Not exactly the strongest position to begin a mediation from.

“I think you may have to get us out of this,” Figaro said to PT.

PT nodded but didn’t look very confident. His six-fused ability had already proven itself to be astoundingly powerful, but there were a lot of droids here, all spread out. Plus, there was the ship and whatever else was on board. And that was just one side of the equation.

In the other, there was the Fourth and its giant robots.

“It would help,” said Figaro, muttering to himself, “if we knew what they were saying.”

The surface of the Antecessor ship hadn’t stopped flashing with white lines since the robots had stepped forward. It clearly had much to say.

“They’re demanding the Fourth surrenders,” said Ubik. “Want a complete withdrawal and they want to take you away with them. It can keep the rest of us. Kind of insulting, to be honest.”

Everyone turned to look at Ubik as he spoke. He was looking up at the ship with one hand shielding his eyes. He lowered his gaze to look back at them. “What? It’s written right in front of you. This lack of interest in other cultures… it’s just the inherent xenophobia of the primitive worlds you were raised on. Bunch of rednecks.” He shook his head.

“What is your Grandma trying to achieve?” asked PT. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“She’s doing her best, okay? Here.” Ubik came over to Figaro and grabbed his arm. He started operating the panel on the suit. The sound of speaking suddenly cut in.

“Will you please stop that. This isn’t a toy,” said an elderly female voice.

“As a representative of the Central Authority—”

“Yes, yes. Central Authority, very impressive. Just let go of the central processor before…”

“Madam, please…”

The robot’s arms suddenly went straight up in the air and the gun fired wildly several times for no apparent reason.

“Who was that?” said PT.

“That was my Grandma,” said Ubik.

“No, I mean the other voice.”

Ubik shrugged. “Sounds like some CA jobsworth. You know what they’re like, all full of themselves like they run the galaxy.”

Which is what they did, but Figaro didn’t say that.

“What is she doing with a Central Authority AI?” asked Figaro.

Ubik shrugged again. “She’s very chatty. Talk to anyone.”

That wasn’t what Figaro had meant, but Ubik knew that. Somehow, his Grandma AI and what sounded like a ship AI from the Central Authority had jointly taken command of one of the robots. Although, not in a cooperative manner it would seem. Did that mean the CA were here in force? If so, where were the Guardians?

“Wait, wait,” said Ubik, still working on Figaro’s control panel. “I think I’ve got a way out of here.”

Figaro had assumed he was trying to get the signal back so they could listen-in on more AI bickering, but Ubik was no longer playing around with the broadcast settings. It was hard to tell what he was doing, his fingers were moving so fast, but it seemed to be in the slave command module configurations.

“Out of here?” said PT. “You’ve noticed the army of droids surrounding us, right?”

“We’re not going out-out. We’re going down-out.”

The platform they were standing on, which had brought them up from the depths, began to shudder. Then it started to sink, just a tiny bit before stopping and shuddering some more.

“Why are we going back down?” said PT.

“I don’t really like crowds,” said Ubik.

The droids obviously noticed the sudden movement. They immediately rushed towards them from all sides, and also from above.

Weyla and Leyla opened fire, but there were too many of them, coming in from too many directions. And barely any of their shots found their target. And those that did, had little to no effect.

PT took a deep breath and stepped forward, both arms extended, hands pointed at the droids in front and to one side. There were more of them this time, so he had to put in extra effort. The air around him shimmered, and then both of his arms turned into long black tentacles.

PT let out a scream and waved his arms which looked exactly like the tendrils of the droids. Backlash.

“Change back,” shouted Fig. But PT either didn’t hear or was too much in shock to think clearly.

Fig’s eyes lit up as he grabbed PT and suppressed his organics as much as he was able.

“What do we do?” shouted Weyla, who continued to fire pointlessly.

“Grandma!!!” Ubik yelled as the platform started moving again.

A large foot swept over them, kicking most of the hovering droids away and sending the ones on the ground scattering.

They were about to lose sight of the surface as the platform continued to descend when the large foot swept past them again, kicking a large proportion of the remaining droids into the air. Gunfire followed as the droids were blasted into smaller and smaller pieces.

Some droids had made it onto the platform. The foot stamped down on them, crushing them like ants, and making the platform suddenly fall faster and almost flip over.

As Figaro looked up, all he could see was a foot and a long metallic leg stuck in the top of the shaft. Then there was an explosion, followed by several more.

“What was that?” said Chukka, crouching between the Seneca sisters.

“The end of the negotiation phase,” said Ubik.

PT had stopped screaming and started focusing on his arms. It took him a few attempts, but he managed to return his arms to their previous state, and then he passed out.

The team had just lost their most powerful member, but they were still alive, somehow.

The platform reached the bottom, back where they started from.

“Where to now?” said Figaro as he picked up PT.

Ubik stepped off the platform and looked around. “That way.”

He was pointing at a large black opening that had suddenly appeared in front of them.

“Isn’t that the Fourth?” said Figaro.

“You said it was a trap,” said Chukka.

“It’s only a trap if we fall for it,” said Ubik. “Keep your heads up.” He walked confidently into the trap.

Book 3 – 38: Return to the Surface

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone Room.

 

Ubik held onto the shoulder straps as he push-pulled Chukka through the dark membrane of the passage entrance so that they were both halfway in when he stopped and turned to face her.

There was a tunnel leading to wherever the Fourth wanted them to go (probably a killing floor with easy-to-wipe-down surfaces) but nothing else. It was dark but the skein over the portal entrance flickered where they intersected with it, and released a small amount of intensely purple light.

Chukka looked confused and flustered, but Ubik knew it wasn’t because of him. It had started as soon as she saw Fig, who she seemed to have an odd relationship with. Which was no business of Ubik’s.

“Listen,” said Ubik, yanking her head closer so their noses were practically touching. Her eyes were angled back towards where Fig was standing on the other side of the impenetrable curtain. He shook her until her pupils slid back in his direction. “Somehow, you made a deal with the Antecessors, so there may be some use for you later, I don’t know, as a go-between, maybe a decoy, possibly a meat-shield.”

Chukka’s attention had settled on him now. He could tell he had her full attention. She nodded, her head only moving up and down about ten degrees in either direction.

“I understand. I—”

“Don’t.” He grabbed her nose between two knuckles and pinched hard. Her eyes widened and watered-up. The slight glimmer that had appeared a moment ago, died immediately.

Fig had his way of suppressing organics, and Ubik had his.

“I know your organic got boosted by this place, it still won’t be enough to work on me, especially if I poke both your eyes out.” He let go of her nose and began speaking very quickly in a more friendly manner. “What it boils down to is this: you want Fig. Don’t deny it. You want him and you don’t know why, but you can’t help yourself. It’s not that hard to figure. He’s got everything a girl dreams of: he’s tall, he’s rich, end of list. I get it. He makes me feel all funny in my tummy, too. But the only way you can make him want you back is to impress the hell out of him, and that’s where I come in. You see how impressed he is with me? I can do the same for you. And I will deliver him to you fully loved-up and ready to serve, because I believe in love and I believe in you two crazy kids, but from now on, you’re on my payroll. You’re the key to getting out of this place, you don’t need to know the details, just do what I tell you when the time comes. Understand?”

She sniffed, her nose twitching and her eyes still watering, and then nodded again, only plus/minus five degrees this time

“Okay.” Ubik stepped backwards and drag-shoved Chukka along with him.

The others were waiting to enter behind Ubik, not sure why he had stopped half-in and half-out.

“Just checking to see if it had the right ambience.” Ubik shook his head. “Not good. Smells like a trap and also like a damp cellar for some reason. Let’s go back the other way.”

He pushed Chukka away, sending her stumbling towards Fig. She fell against him, rather more heavily than she needed to, and stayed pressed against him. He winked at her.

“What was that?” said PT.

“What?” said Ubik, pushing past him and heading for the exit.

“That wink. What were you talking about in there?”

“Nothing,” said Ubik. “Just making sure she wasn’t working for the Antecessors.”

“Is she?” asked PT.

“She’s just a victim like the rest of us.” He winked at her again.

“Stop doing that,” said PT, glaring like he was thinking about trying his new powers on him.

“Ogden! There you are.” Ubik pushed past PT and put his arm around Bashir, who had been hanging at the back of the group, hoping not to be noticed.

Bashir’s eyes immediately filled with panic as he resisted being swept along by Ubik.

“You don’t look so good. VendX been making you work overtime? Don’t worry, it’ll be short hours and long holidays with me.”

“That’s alright,” said Bashir, leaning back so that his feet were about half a metre ahead of his head. “I’m fine at the back.”

“Nonsense,” said Ubik. “You’re a vital part of the team. That enhanced radar of yours is going to save lives. Maybe even your own.”

“Won’t we run into more droids this way?” said Weyla. She had her guns out and was staying close to Fig. As were Leyla and Chukka. He had his own little harem.

“Yes, but we’ve got PT here,” said Ubik with endless confidence. “He’ll just turn them into morning dew.”

PT frowned. “It can’t be that easy. Don’t I have to rest or something? There has to be a cost.”

“Nah,” said Ubik. “We set it up so one of your six organics is an energy converter. Provides the other five with all the power they need. Infinite energy for all your daily needs.”

“That isn’t possible,” said Fig. “It would break the universal laws of physics.”

“Maybe in your universe,” said Ubik. “I’m working from a higher dimension. Trust me, the only thing he has to worry about is the backlash.”

“Backlash?” said PT. “What backlash?”

“That’s true,” said Fig. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Forgotten about what?” said PT.

“When you first get an organic,” said Leyla, “you have to use them sparingly so your body gets used to it. Otherwise, you can end up exposing your own body to the effects of the organic.”

“Six organics,” said Fig. “That could be quite nasty.”

“Guys, please,” said Ubik. “He doesn’t have the same low-grade, organic filth like you have. No offence. We’re talking primo, filtered of all impurities, bespoke organic for men of taste and culture. Any backlash will be very minor.”

“I wouldn’t overdo it for the first few weeks,” said Fig.

“But I’ve used it three times already,” said PT.

“And you’re perfectly fine, aren’t you?” said Ubik. “Anyway, it’s not like we’re going to fight if we run into more droids.”

“Then what are we going to do?” asked PT.

“Surrender,” said Ubik.

Ubik expected further questions, demands to know how surrendering was going to be of any help, but nobody said anything. Either they had started to trust him, or they were assuming he’d only lie so why bother asking. Both were fine by him, even though he had a sneaking suspicion which it was.

They had crossed the room and the doorway leading to the long hallway was before them. The lighting was bright and dynamic. White lines streaked across the walls. The Antecessors were observing them.

As they were about to pass through the open doorway, a black hole appeared on the wall to their left. It was similar to the opening they had avoided on the far side of the room.

“Ignore it,” said Ubik.

“The Fourth wants us to go that way?” said PT.

“Looks like it,” said Ubik.

“Why doesn’t it just make us?” asked Bashir.

Ubik gave him a nudge to bring his attention back to the front. “It wants to make a deal. But it knows the other Antecessors are watching, so it wants to talk in private.”

“And you don’t want to hear what it has to say?” asked Weyla.

“I know what it wants to say. I just want to hear what the Antecessors have to offer, first.”

Ubik stepped through the doorway and stopped. Up ahead, the passage was full of droids. Full to the brim, floor to ceiling, blocking their way forward. There had to be more than a dozen of them.

“I can sense something ahead of us,” said Bashir. “It’s moving.”

A wall of tentacles flailed and squirmed.

“Yeah,” said Ubik. “I can see that.” He turned his head as far as it would go. “Hey, Chukka, come here a minute.”

She looked reluctant but suddenly came bursting forth, not of her own volition. She stumbled to a stop next to Ubik, throwing a frustrated look at Fig.

“This is your big moment,” said Ubik. “They know you, they think they can control you. Tell them you rounded us up and want to bring us in. Take me to your leader and all that.” He nodded at her.

Chukka didn’t look enthusiastic, but she would know he was telling the truth. This really was a good opportunity for her. If she pulled this off, she would be the star player, the centre of attention.

“Go ahead, I believe in you.” Ubik turned his head again, this time looking at PT. “Get ready to blast them to bits when this doesn’t work.”

Chukka slowly stepped forward, her body trembling as she approached the mass of tentacles squeezed into the passage.

“Hello. Remember me?” She spoke quietly, as though not wanting to startle a slumbering beast.

There was no response. Chukka looked back at the doorway. Ubik gave her a thumbs up.

“I’ve brought them to you,” said Chukka. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “They’re willing to go with you. I made them.”

It was a nice idea, trying to convince the Antecessors that she had messed with their minds and that was why they were willing to surrender themselves. Kudos for her and less of a threat posed by the mesmerised humans.

A long tentacle reached out from the wall and wrapped itself around Chuka’s waist. It picked her up and brought her closer.

A few moments later, it put her back down. She turned around and beckoned them over.

“They want to take us to their ship.”

Ubik didn’t hear what had been said, but it seemed Chukka had convinced them to accept them all as prisoners. He had expected them to only want Fig, but Chukka was obviously a seasoned salesgirl.

The droids led the way, the wall sliding down the passage. They didn’t even bother taking away any of their weapons.

“This feels a bit off,” said PT.

“Yes,” agreed Fig.

“Give the word and we’ll blast our way out,” said Weyla.

“Ready when you are,” said her sister.

“Put your guns away,” said Fig, his tone brooking no dissent. He really was a different person when dealing with women.

The Seneca duo bridled but holstered their firearms.

“It’ll be fine,” said Ubik. “They know the Fourth is watching. They won’t take any risks if they don’t have to.”

“And what about the Fourth?” asked PT. “What’s it doing?”

Ubik looked from one side of the passage to the other via the ceiling. “Waiting.”

The droids led them through a series of passages, many of them hidden behind walls that slid open as they approached. They moved at a steady pace and weren’t intercepted. They eventually came to a large circular shaft with white streaks of light filling the walls. There was no sign of any purple glow.

The platform was large enough to accommodate them all with enough space for both sides to keep their distance. The droids split into individual units and formed a box formation: five across, five deep and three tall.

Ubik could feel the eyes of his companions on him as they rose up the shaft. They all expected him to make a move at some point. It wasn’t him they were going to have to rely on.

The roof above them split in half and opened to reveal the exterior of the island and the many-coloured sky of the wormhole. But this time the sky was not empty. A huge ship dominated it, even bigger than the island.

It was clearly an Antecessor spaceship, but full of light and life. It differed greatly from the kinds or derelicts they were used to seeing.

As they reached the surface and the platform stopped moving, they saw the hundreds of droids surrounding them. The droids on the platform joined them. There were more droids dotted in the air and spread out across the surface.

“Now what?” asked PT.

“We wait for reinforcements,” said Ubik.

“From whom?” asked Fig. “You think the Fourth is going to save us?”

“Hmm, no, not him.” Ubik scanned the scene, looking for a droid that wasn’t acting like the others.

There had been enough time since the suppression of tronics had ceased. He had every confidence she would have found a way to infiltrate one of these droids. Or had she aimed for the ship itself? He looked up at it. No, that would be too much, even for her.

“Do any of these droids look strange to you?” said Ubik, standing on his toes to get a better look. He hoped more eyes would help spot her.

“What do you mean, odd?” said Weyla.

“What are you looking for, Ubik?” said PT.

A platform began to descend from the ship. The welcoming committee?

At the same time, the ground shook and the mountainous piles of rubbish surrounding them began to shake. The vibrations knocked the rubble and debris clear, leaving behind silver cylinders a hundred metres high.

There were three of them, with sliding doors that rotated open and let out three immense robots. They were humanoid in shape — two arms and two legs — and each carried two guns.

They were the same as the weapons they had found in the armoury, only they seemed the appropriate size when held by these giants.

As they walked forward, one of the robots staggered, tripped over something, and fell face-first into the dirt. It continued moving its legs, trying to walk while lying down.

Ubik smiled. “There she is.” Grandma always knew how to make an entrance.