V. Moody's Blog, page 11

Book 3 – 37: The Way is Open

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone Room.

 

Ubik had not expected the Antecessors to get here so quickly. He knew they’d want to pinpoint their location and apprehend Fig as soon as possible, but he had expected the Fourth to get in their way. At least for a bit.

What he definitely hadn’t expected was for the Antecessors to form an alliance with VendX. Not only VendX, but Chukka! What were they thinking?

Even if VendX were the only ones available for a team-up, what kind of sales pitch would convince them to enter into a partnership with her? Perhaps he had underestimated the woman. Ubik shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it.

The Fourth had been waiting for an opportunity like this for thousands of years. Arrangements had been painstakingly made. It wouldn’t allow its one chance to slip away without putting up a hell of a struggle. What Ubik needed to do was stall long enough for the Fourth to make its move. And then Ubik would use that moment to get out of here.

Stall, stall, stall. That was the plan for now.

Ubik looked over his shoulder at the small group of confused and uncertain people who were following him like he knew where he was going. He had no idea why they thought that. The room only had the one exit, and he was running in the opposite direction.

As long as he kept them between him and the Antecessor droids, everything would be fine. He knew what they wanted, what they were here for. They wanted the bone.

The bone was the real treasure here. It was a bottomless treasure chest full of wonders and he had no intention of handing it over.

“Ubik…” called out PT. “Do you know where you’re going?” Most people wouldn’t have asked such a direct question because they wouldn’t want to risk hearing the wrong answer. They’d rather just assume there was a chance for success if they blindly ran on. Not PT, though. He always wanted the actual truth.

“Of course I know,” Ubik shouted over his shoulder. “This way.”

Fortunately, the bright white lines streaking up and down the walls made it hard to tell if there were any secret openings or exits. It was quite possible there were. And that Ubik knew where. He didn’t, but it was hypothetically a possibility.

“Okay,” said PT. “We’ll hold them off and you open up the way.”

Ubik was a little taken by surprise at PT’s assumption that he had a way to open, but he wasn’t going to disillusion the poor guy. PT found it hard enough to be optimistic at the best of times, no need to put him on a downer now.

“Fair enough,” said Ubik, and then he took a look at the walls for any indications that there was another way out. Who knew, maybe PT was onto something. Sometimes, it took complete cluelessness to see the obvious.

“Fig!” shouted PT. “Coordinate with me.” Ubik heard the footsteps behind him slow down. “I want to try something out, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep control of it.”

“I understand,” said Fig.

Ubik was tempted to stop and turn around so he could see what the two of them had in mind, but he really needed to come up with an alternative plan just in case the Fourth didn’t come through.

The white lines were filling up the walls but they weren’t saying much. Ubik had picked up a bit of the language of the Antecessors, but right now all the walls were doing was fighting over territory. The Fourth’s purple goo was in retreat; no more needed to be said.

He was approaching the far wall now. He slowed as he tried to come up with a way to keep everyone too busy to realise he had no idea how to get out of here. Maybe he could circle around and get back to the exit while they scuffled in the middle?

Behind him, PT and Fig had stopped and were facing the group of droids approaching them. The two Seneca mercs had also stopped, in a rare show of cross-gender solidarity. Good thing there was no one to see them or they’d have their Hardass Bitches membership cards taken away.

“Keep them busy,” said Ubik, “I just need to press some things in a very complicated pattern.” The great thing about being the resident genius was that you never had to explain what you were doing in any detail. “Try to release any energy blasts away from me. I don’t want the turbulence causing a void eruption that disrupts the position matrix.” Or you could just make things up. How would they tell? They weren’t geniuses.

“Stop making shit up and get on with it,” shouted PT.

Ubik looked past PT at the droids. Chukka was there, but not out in front. Was she their hostage? There was someone else leading the droids… Ogden? The navigator. They were carrying him like a figurehead on a ship’s bow. Did they use him to find Fig without access to tronics?

These droids seemed different. Their limbs were more manoeuvrable and they seemed to be able to change shape a lot quicker and smoother, easily dodging the projectiles Weyla and Leyla were peppering them with.

Had the Antecessors been spending the last few millennia carrying out upgrades? If so, that was probably a good thing. Upgrades invariably meant one thing — bugs.

“Okay, here we go.” PT sounded like he was grinning. Death was staring him in the face — they wanted Fig, they didn’t need anyone else — but he was excited like a kid with new toys. Ubik was quite invested in what was new in the toy chest, too, it had to be said.

PT had his feet planted firmly, one slightly ahead of the other to brace himself, and his hands pointing at the droids. Nothing seemed to be happening.

Fig was behind PT, waiting to apply a suppressing force if things went awry. And the two women stood on either side of PT, looking a bit puzzled, not entirely sure what their roles were. The Seneca way of doing things was all-out offence, not standing by while the men did the fighting.

Bashir was dropped rather unceremoniously by the droids as they charged forward. Chukka remained behind with Bashir, but didn’t seem to be helping him.

PT was ready to make his move. Ubik could tell from his body language, the boy was about to let loose. He had an inkling of how to use his power, without actually knowing what his power was, so now it was time to test the limits.

Ubik pretended to be examining the wall, prodding it randomly with a finger, as he watched PT emerge from his chrysalis. The most powerful combination of organics to ever exist inside one human being. Ubik couldn’t help but feel proud. Of himself, for having made this moment possible.

“Arghhhhh,” PT screamed, and then the air in front of him distorted and a violent pulse of energy leapt forward. An instant later, the six droids rushing towards him disappeared.

Ubik leaned forward a bit and squinted. No, not disappeared. They’d been shrunk.

They were still there, just a lot smaller. Almost cute.

It was, to be honest, a little disappointing. The same schtick twice now. There had to be more he could do with the most powerful organic combination ever. Not even the Antecessors had got six to work together.

The Seneca sisters kept firing, shooting at the tiny targets with their projectile-launching guns.

“The suppression on tronics should be off now,” Ubik reminded them.

The women switched their weapons to a different mode and energy bolts spat out of the muzzles.

But smaller targets didn’t necessarily mean weaker ones. In fact, if they retained their mass, they would be a lot denser and tougher.

There were loud cracks as the women hit their targets. But the droids weren’t destroyed. And they didn’t stay miniaturised. They began to grow, their tentacle-like limbs first, and then the rest of their bodies. Within a few seconds, they were back to their previous size.

“Did you do that?” asked Weyla.

PT shook his head.

“Is it a temporary effect?” asked Leyla.

It wasn’t a temporary effect. If it were, then the bone would have reverted to its normal size by now.

The droids were able to change shape. With denser material to work with, they could simply redistribute and grow back.

PT tried again, bracing himself and grunting loudly. He really needed to work out how to use his power without making so much noise. Or at least, less disgusting ones.

Another wave of distorted air rolled away from him. The droids shimmered and then grew to double their size. Then, three times.

It showed another side of his ability, but not necessarily a useful one in this particular situation. Long tendrils shot out to swipe at the four of them, sending them scattering.

“Try something else,” shouted Fig, diving across the floor.

PT managed to deftly duck under the limbs flicked towards him and had another go.

The droids turned into mist.

It was like a fog had suddenly appeared in the middle of the room.

Weyla fired at the mist from where she lay on the ground. The laser shots went straight through it.

“What did you do?” said Weyla, getting to her feet.

“I think I turned them into water vapour,” said PT, not sounding very confident.

The four of them stood there, just staring at the cloud in front of them.

Ubik eyes had lit up. His heart was racing. This was better. This was the ability to change one thing into another. This was alchemy.

If PT could control it, really control it, he would have mastery over matter. The possibilities were fantastical. On the other hand, if he couldn’t control it, everything he touched would turn into a pile of atoms, including himself.

“Turn it into something flammable,” shouted Ubik.

PT looked at Ubik for a moment, and then focused on the cloud of ex-droids. There was a glimmer as the mist went from white to yellow.

Weyla fired again. Her sister joined in. The cloud flashed into a fireball and then vanished. All that was left was an acrid smell.

Everything was quiet for a moment.

“That was great,” said Fig. “You didn’t need me to regulate things at all.”

He was right, it was great. PT had kept his ability under control the whole time. He hadn’t pushed it as hard as he maybe could have — and that was definitely something Ubik would like to see him try — but he already had a good grasp of what was possible. To be able to change the basic nature of an object was simply astounding.

“Your eyes,” said Leyla, “they didn’t change colour or grow brighter.”

“Didn’t they?” said PT. “They felt hot.”

“Alright, we can’t stand around here chatting,” said Ubik. He was as keen as everyone else to dig a bit deeper into PT’s new set of skills, but time was pressing. The Fourth wouldn’t leave them alone for much longer.

“I thought you were finding us a way out,” said PT, looking at the wall behind Ubik, which hadn’t changed.

“I was,” said Ubik, “but we don’t need to go that way now. We can…” He was pointing towards the exit when he heard a scraping noise behind him. His eyes slid to the side and then his head slowly followed.

The wall, which had looked very solid until now, began to slide apart, a purple glow around the outline of an expanding archway, fending off probes from streaks of white along its edges. The opening grew bigger until it was several times as tall as Ubik.

Ubik’s expression became serious as he peered deep into the impenetrable void. This was not a regular hole in the wall.

“You did it!” said Weyla. Her sister gave her an odd look and Weyla wiped the delighted look from her face.

“Um, yes,” said Ubik, stepping away from the opening. “But I still think we should try the other way first.”

He had nothing to do with the appearance of this convenient exit point. The droids get destroyed and suddenly a door opens. It had to be the Fourth’s doing. Clearly, it had been waiting for them to deal with the droids before intervening. And now it wanted them to go this way. It had to be a trap.

Ubik kept walking away backwards.

“You didn’t do this, did you?” said PT, not really asking a question.

“Technically, no,” said Ubik.

“Hold on,” said Fig. He walked over to where Chukka was standing. She didn’t move, although she had a strange look on her face as Fig got nearer.

“I… I came to help you,” she stammered. Her eyes seemed to have an inner glow, but it wasn’t from an organic, it was something else.

Fig looked down at Bashir, who was curled up in a foetal position. He frowned. Then he took Chukka by the elbow, making her wince, and started walking her towards the opening. She had her eyes fixed on him at first. When she saw where they were headed, there was a flash of panic. Fig increased the pace, firmly keeping her next to him so that she was skipping twice for every one of his steps.

As they approached the opening, he shoved her forward. She let out a yell of pure reluctance and then disappeared into the dark.

He stood there, waiting.

A hand reached out from the dark hole in the wall, followed by a pale, trembling face. “There’s a passage,” said Chukka.

“That was cold,” said Ubik, walking back to the opening. “Nice. Your dad would be proud. Your mother, also.” He patted Fig on the shoulder as he walked into the opening, grabbing Chukka and pushing her ahead of him. “Glad to have you back on the team, Major. Don’t cause any trouble and everything’ll be fine.” Ubik turned just before he passed through the archway. “Hurry up, let’s get this show underway.”

(Reboot) Chapter 438

“What are we doing, exactly?” asked Raffo. He had followed me with remarkable ease, and now he wanted answers. That definitely wasn’t the right order to do things in.

The corridor was very long and very quiet. The robot wasn’t moving very quickly but we needed to say behind it to avoid being seen by the camera on its front.

“We’re following the placenta,” I said, like that would explain everything. “Can’t you see it glowing purple like it’s lighting the way?”

“No,” said Raffo. “It doesn’t seem to be doing anything other than dripping some rather noxious fluids.” He lifted a foot to avoid stepping in a puddle.

The robot trundling along ahead of us had Mandy’s placenta held daintily in its large pincer. The corridor was long and empty with the air of one of those tunnels that run under busy roads. The type that always smell of piss, only this one smelled of something far worse — ejected fetal organ.

“You can’t see it glowing?” To me, it was emanating a very clear throbbing light like it was radioactive.

Raffo frowned and sniffed loudly. “No. Are you sure you’re not seeing things?”

“Never mind. My mistake.” If no one else could see it, that was good. It meant they weren’t aware of magic the way I was. Either that or I was insane.

“What do you plan to do with the placenta?”

I couldn’t really say I was thinking about eating it. I know women ate their own placenta for reasons I’m not sure of (showing dominance?) but me wanting to eat one to claim occult powers might seem a bit weird.

“We’re going to follow this robot until it leads us to the baby. The baby is the key.”

“Yes,” said Raffo, nodding emphatically. “We have to kill the baby.”

“Right.” At some point I would need to convince him not to kill the baby, but I probably had plenty of time to do that. Convincing people not to kill, it was my speciality. Plus, Raffo was all religious and stuff. Bible thumpers were always going on about not killing babies.

“Sure, we’ll kill it with this arrow.” I waved the arrow in my fist. “No problem.” I just had to pick my moment to turn him around. I didn’t want to push him too hard, though. Religious nuts also had a hard-on for sacrificing things they loved just so they get to show how much they care. No chocolate for Lent, thirty days of fasting for Ramadan, murder your son Isaac on an altar for, um, reasons.

Whatever his faith-based delusions, having Raffo along was useful. I’d only just come back to this world having missed four years. A lot had happened in four years. Technologies had advanced, human decency had regressed, Tottenham Hotspurs had failed to improve in any meaningful way — it took time to adjust to matters of that magnitude. Having a guide along was very helpful.

“How long is this bloody tunnel?” I said, more out of frustration than a genuine inquiry.

“I had no idea there was a facility this large down here.” Raffo turned to me. “Shouldn’t we keep our voices down?”

“If there’s a mic on the robot,” I said, “it won’t be turned on. Woman screaming while giving birth, no way the guy controlling this thing hasn’t got it on mute.”

We continued down the endless tunnel, having already got to the point where going back would be too much of a waste now that we’d come so far. There were still no sounds other than the slightly squeaky placenta-bearer.

“So, you’re a Unitarian…”

“Utilitarian,” Raffo corrected.

“Right, right. And that’s a… self-help program of some kind, is it?”

“It’s a religion, a philosophy and a systematic theory of ethics. It is what you need it to be.”

“Got any famous members?”

“No.”

“And it was invented by the Scots?”

“An Englishman, Jeremy Bentham, in 1789,” said Raffo.

“Your prophet’s name is Jeremy?” I wasn’t trying to sound mocking, but it’s hard to say ‘Jeremy’ without sounding like you’re taking the piss.

“He wasn’t a prophet. He was a potato scientist.” Raffo tossed the potato he was holding into the air and caught it again. “Just a normal man who saw that God is a reasonable entity who is trying to put more good in the world than bad, and that we should try to do the same. Nothing very revolutionary, you would think.”

I wasn’t sure which god Raffo was referring to. The only ones I knew of loved to run the ‘bad’ tap every chance they got.

“And how did he suggest we put in more good than bad?” This was where the crazy probably kicked in. Sacrifice virgins, attack the infidels, don’t tell your parents what I just did, it’ll be our little secret, etc.

“You choose to do the thing that maximises happiness for all affected individuals. Even if some are disadvantaged, if most see an improvement, that is the correct path to take. It is a simple calculation balancing pleasure against pain.”

He made it sound very simple, as though humans were good at telling good from bad, for themselves or anyone else. Voting habits of the poor and stupid would suggest otherwise.

“But how do you even measure pleasure or pain?”

“Intensity, duration, purity, certainty,” said Raffo.

“And you stand on a special scale for that, do you? Or use a tape measure?”

“No,” said Raffo. “That would be ridiculous. You use Bentham’s Felicific Calculus. It is a very accurate calculation device.”

“I see, it’s pragmatism as a religion. You’re right, it is very English. Still requires you to believe in an invisible man in the sky, though.”

“No,” said Raffo,” it certainly doesn’t. If the Divine exists, it does not need to conform to our ideals. It doesn’t even have to be interested in our day to day activities. It only exists because it happens to. Faith, prayer, singing hymns, they are all of no consequence. Do it if you think it improves things for you, stop if it hurts others.”

A religion where God didn’t really care what you did. How was that going to get bums on seats at your local megachurch?

“But by your own definition, if killing six million Jews makes life in Germany a good time for everyone, then it’s okay?”

Raffo looked at me with a mixture of disdain and contempt. “Maximise happiness for all involved. I fail to see how the joy of being an anti-semite outweighs the suffering through torture and death of millions. The calculations wouldn’t show a net gain, not unless you chose to discard one side of the equation.”

“I dunno, a lot of evil has taken place in the name of the greater good.”

“That is because it was not the greater good, it was fudged maths to make it look like the greater good. That is the true evil.”

“Maths-fudging?”

Raffo nodded with great solemnity.

As far as religions go, it didn’t seem so bad. Reducing moral decisions to an algorithm couldn’t make things any worse. You could make it an app and give everyone’s choices a weighting. Sounds horribly plausible, doesn’t it?

Raffo’s religiosity was a little odd, but that was what made it sort of acceptable. If you’re willing to think about what a godly figure might want of you rather than what you want and how to make Him give it to you, then perhaps you might come to the same conclusions as the great saintly characters of antiquity. Before being nailed to the nearest scaffolding.

Our debate on the best way to increase the net amount of goodness in the world had to be put on hold as the sounds of clanking and whirring drifted towards us. We continued to follow our robot guide with a little more apprehension.

“Just follow my lead,” I said with utter confidence.

Raffo kept throwing little looks at me, like he didn’t quite trust me to pull this off. He looked relatively calm, but he had a very tight grip on his potato.

“There are sounds from ahead,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied.

“There might be people. What will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Have to wait and see.”

“You don’t seem nervous.”

“I’m not.” There’s no point worrying yourself before you encounter a problem. Complete waste of time and energy. Once you’re facing your opponent, that’s the time to shit your pants.

The sounds grew louder and more mechanical. There were no voices.

We reached the end of the tunnel and held ourselves back as the robot trundled into traffic.

There were numerous other robots, all differently shaped and outfitted, on their way to various destinations. There were dozens of them. We seemed to have reached a depot of some kind, with many more passages leading off it.

“I had no idea any of this existed,” said Raffo, eyes wide with amazement as we observed the robot underworld. “I knew Mr Pelago had many projects underway, but this…”

Although I hadn’t expected to see something on this scale, I wasn’t that surprised. If anyone was going to go fully automated, it was going to be the guy with the underground bunker carrying out secret experiments that contravened international human rights laws. Less money spent on people, more money in the budget for that laser on the moon.

The coast was clear and we headed out. I was pretty sure henchmen didn’t have a union, so bye-bye job security, hello easiest infiltration of my life!

Actually, there were probably people somewhere down here, most likely at the end of all these tunnels. It was all very well wandering around trying to blend in with robots, we still needed to find a way to avoid getting caught.

“I can’t see our robot,” said Raffo.

“That one over there,” I said. Raffo looked impressed but it was the only robot with a purple glow about it. I could see things others could not (like the bloody obvious).

We raced after our placenta-wielding friend, keeping as close to the walls as possible and keeping an eye out for cameras. There was a good chance we were going to get spotted, but there was also a good chance that anyone who was meant to be keeping an eye on the place was messing about on their phone or taking a very long dump. The quality of the workforce doesn’t improve with their alignment. Lawful Good or Chaotic Evil, ninety-nine percent are lazy jobsworths.

Our robot took a left off the main concourse and headed down a narrow slip road. We were right behind it. There were doors ahead that looked very solid. They had bars across the small windows and big strips of metal where they met. They slid open as the robot approached. We hurried to catch up.

Inside the room were lots of consoles and screens. NASA control would have found it confusing to look at.

The robot rolled up to a large silver machine and dropped the placenta into it. Seemed a long way to come just to put it in the trash. Then it turned around. We carefully placed ourselves in its blind spot and danced the dance of the sneaky bitches.

The doors hissed open again and the robot left. I checked the silver machine but other than a fetid smell there was no sign of my delicious placenta.

The room had a glass wall on one end, the other side of which was dark. There were some flashes of light, but other than that it was impossible to see what was on in there. A purple glow caught my eye.

I cupped my hands around my eyes and placed my forehead on the glass. Slowly, I began to see the contents of the large room on the other side of the wall.

Rows and rows of babies.

Each newborn was in a cot with a bunch of wires coming out of it. The room we were in had lots of screens where the kids were being monitored. It was a pretty high-tech set up for observing a baby farm.

I didn’t think all these kids were demon offspring, but I didn’t have time (or the interest) to find out what was going on. I just needed to find Mandy’s baby and get out of here. Mandy’s kid had some kind of magical residue leaking out of it, and I needed to get a bottle of it.

“He’s over there,” I said to Raffo, pointing at the far left of the baby room.

Raffo pressed his bulbous nose up against the glass, steaming it up. “What the…”

As we watched, a large claw hanging from the ceiling moved until it was over a cot and then descended like it was aiming for a plushie in some arcade machine.

It descended, grabbed the kid, and then lifted it out. Then it moved off, taking the baby with it.

“This is horrific,” said Raffo. “They’re treating them like animals.”

“I’ve seen worse,” I said. “Wait till they get into secondary school.”

“We should…” Raffo’s voice trailed off.

“We should what?” I asked him.

“Nothing. There’s nothing we can do.” Raffo’s expression had turned quite grim. Poor bloke was realising that everything that enabled him to get away with whatever he was getting away with was the same power that would stop him from exposing what the people responsible for this were getting away with.

The police, the media, the attention of the public, it was all being carefully managed.

Not my problem, though.

“Let’s get the kid and get out of here,” I said.

“You want to kill the child?” Raffo didn’t sound so gung-ho now.

Now was my time to shine.

“I’m not going to kill the kid, Raffo,” I said. “I’m going to save it. And then I’m going to save the demon.”

Raffo’s eyebrows arched. “But…”

“What if your Felicific Calculator told you the best way to improve the most lives was to help a demon? You’d have to go along with it, wouldn’t you?”

“I mean, I would have to check the calculations…” Raffo was teetering on the brink.

“Look at the room full of children. Look at the claw. Feel free to start adding things up.”

I understood the situation as well as Raffo did. Whatever they were doing here, it was on a big scale and clearly morally indefensible. That meant they had already made sure no one knew about it and would make doubly sure no one ever did.

“They’re just babies,” I said. “They don’t even know what’s going on. If you’re going to do horrible experiments for the greater good, might as well be them.”

Raffo looked at me, shocked. “Are you insane?”

I smiled. “Only a little bit. Come on.”

I moved closer to all the knobs and buttons. The console was like a flight deck on an airliner. There wasn’t even any point in trying to figure it out.

I picked up an iPad (it wasn’t some other kind of smart tablet, it was definitely an iPad from Apple, the number one choice of child abusers everywhere) that was resting on the console and woke it up. At the same time, the baby room lit up, showing the full extent of the project. It was huge.

Babies began to wriggle and squirm. There was probably a lot of crying going on. Fortunately, the glass was soundproof.

Any US drone pilots out there can confirm this is how it works. If you can’t hear the screaming, it’s got nothing to do with you, right guys?

The iPad made everything easy. No passcode, no security measures, just a UI that made it very clear how to operate the baby gacha.

I can spend hours denouncing the shittiness of the Apple business model — the overpricing, the refusal to repair, the deliberate slowing down of CPUs on older models, the use of slave labour, the cheek in calling their tech support the Genius Bar — but when it comes to a beautifully designed interface even an idiot can understand, even I can’t deny they have put the work in to corner their chosen demographic.

“What does that do?” said Raffo from over my shoulder.

“This does this.” I slid my finger across the screen and the giant claw moved from left to right. “And this does that.” I slid my finger from top to bottom and the claw moved up and down.

It only took me seventeen goes to grab the right baby. A couple of babies might have ended up on the floor, but it was a valuable lesson in the fickleness of life (and arcade games).

Once I got his tiny purpleness, I whisked the baby over to the exit (that’s what it said on the iPad) and waited. A few seconds later, the silver machine popped open and presented us with one purple baby yelling its head off.

I picked up the baby and looked at it. I could feel the power emanating from it. Or possibly it had just shat itself and the warmth was hot poo.

“Here, you hold it,” I said to Raffo.

Raffo shook his head.

I was left holding the baby. No change there then.

What we needed now was a way out. A map would be especially useful. I tapped my finger on the iPad as I bounced the baby up and down, and brought up a search box. I typed in ‘Map’ and it filled in the rest as ‘...of infant experiment facility.’

The map came up almost immediately and the exits were clearly marked. It was a big place, though, with many paths. What I needed was a printout. I pressed the print button and a machine in the corner of the room began humming.

Honestly, these modern conveniences make life so much easier.

Raffo picked up the sheet of paper the printer ejected and held it up. There was only one line of text: Please replace ink cartridge.

Modern conveniences suck.

I couldn’t be bothered to memorise the map, so we’d have to take the iPad with us. Which was a problem in itself since they probably had ways to track their property. They might not be too hot on securing the perimeter or observing unauthorised entry, but you know they’re not going to trust anyone to not walk off with a free iPad.

Raffo pulled out his phone. Was he going to use Google Maps? If anyone had the layout of the evil underground lair of a corrupt and criminal organisation, it would be them. Takes one to know one.

Raffo had something else in mind. He put his phone over the iPad and took a picture. Sometimes, you have to go basic.

The baby started crying. Probably wanted its mother. We’d see how long that lasted (I’d put the over/under at twelve years, and take the under).

I rocked the baby and bounced it a bit. Raffo held up his potato and shook it. There was no noise from the potato, but the baby stopped crying and looked at it. Mandy probably had some Irish ancestry.

We exited the room and followed the map towards the nearest exit. There were bound to be guards or some kind of security, but we’d deal with that when the time came. That is the power of procrastination, makes heroes of us all.

In the meantime, I was trying to find a way to suck the power out of the baby without ending up on some kind of register.

“This way,” said Raffo. “Just up ahead, should be an elevator.”

There was. It opened as we approached, to reveal a group of large men, the type with very neatly groomed beards that look almost painted on, so I knew this was bad.

“There you are,” said Neil. “I think you better come with us.”

The baby began to glow a lot brighter.

Book 3 – 36: Deboned

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone Room.

 

Point-Two closed his mouth and the screaming stopped. It was more shock than pain that had caused him to start wailing the moment he regained consciousness. He was suddenly not familiar with anything he was feeling.

He lay on the ground breathing heavily, trying to work out why his body felt so different, not daring to move in case something fell off.

His skin was vibrating all over his body, but it wasn’t attached to him. He was inside a suit of his own skin and it was one size too big. It was a very odd sensation.

The skin on his face was especially unnatural in the way it sat on the front of his head. He felt like if he moved to look to the side, his face would slide right off his skull.

“Are you okay?” asked a female voice. A moment later, Leyla’s face floated into view over his own.

Point-Two used the least amounts of facial muscles possible to say, “Yes,” without really knowing if that was true. “I think so. Do I look okay?” He looked up at her by rolling his eyes as far as they would go, and waited for a response.

“Sure,” she said, in a very non-committal manner. “I guess.”

It was all too much for him. Whatever everyone was trying so hard to keep from him, it wasn’t going to make a difference in the long run. What was done was done. It was better to know the truth and deal with whatever came after that.

With a tensing of every part of him that was capable of being tensed, he sat up and then pushed himself up to his feet.

His skin did not fall off but his whole body was tingling. It was like he was in the middle of a static storm.

The room swam around him for a moment, and then clicked into place.

Point-Two was used to the vertiginous feeling that sometimes accompanied changes in pressure or altitude. He had been in enough extreme gravity transitions to be able to hold it together long enough for his body to adjust. At least, that was true for his old body.

He looked down at himself. Everything looked the same as before, as far as he could tell. Maybe his arms were a bit longer? No, he was just imagining it. He stomped his feet up and down a couple of times. It was odd at first, like picking up a case you thought was full but was empty. That lasted for a couple of seconds and he was back to normal.

“Now isn’t the time for dancing,” said Ubik. “How do you feel?”

Point-Two stopped examining himself and looked up. “I feel different. How do I test my organics?”

He had six organics freshly installed. He wanted to try them out. He wanted to know what he was capable of.

“Well,” said Ubik, clearly preparing to make something up on the spot, “what you could… can you stop that? It’s distracting.” He had turned to talk to Weyla, who was standing next to him, staring into his ear.

“What happened in there?” she said, as though she was referring to the inside of his skull. “Why are all the lights on?” She looked cross and suspicious, like she knew Ubik had done something terrible and she wasn’t willing to wait for the evidence to turn up before she started making accusations. It was a pretty solid approach to dealing with Ubik.

Point-Two was still acclimatising to not being a disembodied series of thoughts, so he hadn’t really taken in his surroundings. He did so now.

It had been a darkened room with a single giant bone — black and glossy — floating in the middle. Now, it was a well-illuminated room, with walls flickering with streaks of light. With a giant black bone in the middle.

“I did nothing,” said Ubik, “apart from save you all. Now, what amazing thing should I do next?” He put his fingers together to form a pyramid under his chin. “Oh, yes. Let’s take this.”

Ubik turned to face the bone and put both arms around it. He didn’t have the reach to get all the way around, but he still tried to move it, repositioning to get a better grip. He was unable to move it in any way whatsoever.

“Damn, this thing is heavy. Come one, give me a hand.”

“We need to get out of here,” said Leyla. She was looking at Fig. “Right now.”

“Nobody’s nghhh stopping arghhh you,” said Ubik through his grunts. He had his back to the bone as he tried to push it off its spot. “Leave whenever you want.”

“Your mother would want you to come with us,” said Leyla.

Fig, who had been quietly stretching and inspecting parts of his body, turned to Leyla with a frown. “How would you know what my mother wants?”

It was noticeable how humble and hesitant Fig was when it came to making choices and decisions, but how completely resolute and confident he became when dealing with women. In particular, the women of the Seneca Corps. He gave their suggestions very little consideration and no respect whatsoever.

“I just meant—”

“We’re here for a reason,” said Fig. “We’ll leave when it’s time. No need to concern yourself.”

Leyla, herself a very confident and resolute person, also changed her manner when dealing with Fig. He was a male and deserving of very little regard, but he was also the son of Nigella Matton-Ollo, and so a unique existence.

Point-Two had no interest in the politics — gender or otherwise — of the great institutions of the outer regions. He had other things to worry about.

“Fig, how do I activate my organic?”

Fig turned and walked towards Point-Two, leaving Leyla standing there about to say something but with no one to say it to.

“It shouldn’t be too hard. Can’t you feel it? Somewhere in your chest?”

Point-Two looked down at his chest. “No. I don’t feel anything.”

“Hmm. It could be yours is different because of the fusion process. It might be more integrated throughout your body because of the way…” His voice drifted off.

It wasn’t surprising his six organics would be different to the normal way of things. He had undergone a process no human had before. The only person who might have some inkling was Fig, who had fused two organics together. But it seemed Fig’s outcome was not so dissimilar to what a single organic felt like. Six was apparently something else entirely.

If he really had by some miracle managed to combine six organics into one, Point-Two was determined to at least find out the result of such a momentous experiment. Even if it was going to be a short-lived one.

He stood there, slightly apart from everyone, and looked for something to target with his new ability.

The only thing that stood out was the bone. Ubik had now managed to climb on top of it and was straddling like he was about to ride it off into the sunset.

“Don’t just stand there, give me a push.”

“Ubik, why do you want that thing?” said Fig.

“It’s going to be worth a lot of money. And it still has a lot of secrets in it.”

“I thought you emptied all the organics into PT,” said Weyla.

“That was just the first bunch of stuff I stumbled across. There’s plenty more in this baby.” Ubik patted the side of his static ride.

“Didn’t you tell the parasite the bone belonged to it?” asked Fig.

“I said it could stay inside. I didn’t say the bone would stay here.” Ubik bounced up and down trying to get the bone moving.

Point-Two squinted slightly and focused on the long black object.

Point-Two didn’t know what effect his organic would have. He might have a destructive ability and he didn’t want to blow anything up, so he was tentative. At the first sign of danger, he would back-off. He just wanted an inkling of the kind of ability it was. But he was expecting whatever it was to be big and powerful. Six organics wouldn’t produce a small fart in the wind, surely. So he needed to be very gentle.

He controlled his breathing and concentrated all thoughts towards the bone.

It started as a warm feeling in his stomach. It was a tiny point of heat slowly getting bigger, like he was firing up a furnace in his belly. Then there was something behind his eyes. The whole thing was gradual and didn’t feel out of his control.

The bone didn’t seem affected at all.

“What are you doing?” asked Ubik, suddenly noticing Point-Two.

“Nothing,” said Point-Two through gritted teeth, keeping his focus on the bone. Something was definitely happening, but it wasn’t clear what exactly.

Ubik looked concerned. “You aren’t using your ability on my bone, are you?”

Point-Two snorted, which was all he could do right then.

It overwhelmed him in an instant. One moment it was slowly building, the next it was flowing out of him. A wave of energy shot towards the bone. Ubik just about managed to dive off the bone and tumble onto the floor.

“Stop me, I can’t control it,” was what Point-Two tried to say, but it came out as an unintelligible yell.

He felt the life pour out of him, a terrible weakness enveloping him as all hope left. Darkness closed in like shutters.

And then it stopped. Like an off switch had been hit. He looked up and Fig had his hand on Point-Two’s shoulder, his eyes glowing.

Point-Two sank to the floor, exhausted.

“What did you do to my bone?” said Ubik.

Point-Two looked at Ubik holding a black bone about the size of his forearm.

“This is brilliant,” continued Ubik, elated. “You can shrink things.”

It didn’t feel like a particularly brilliant thing. Six organics and a close brush with death, all so he could manifest the ability to make things smaller and more convenient for packing? Hardly the birth of a new era.

“Thanks,” he said to Fig. His suppression ability had saved Point-Two from suiciding on his first attempt.

“Were you trying to make the bone smaller?” asked Fig.

“No. I wasn’t trying anything.” He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “It’s not really a great ability, is it?”

“I don’t think that’s the only thing it can do,” said Fig. “You should try making things bigger or changing their shape. Not now, though.”

Changing the size and shape of things. Point-Two wasn’t sure if that was a powerful thing or not. If he could transform one thing into an entirely different thing, would that be useful? Could he do it to living things? Could he do it to himself?

And could he change things back?

“This is great,” said Ubik, holding the bone in his hand and turning it around to inspect it. “We can take it with us. Time to go.”

“Go where?” said Leyla.

“To the sigil,” said Ubik. “Quickest way off this rotten corpse.”

“Corpse?” said Fig. “You mean this ship?”

“It’s not a ship, it’s a body,” said Ubik. “The Fourth’s body.”

“You said it was a prison,” said Point-Two.

“What is a body if not a prison for our souls,” said Ubik grandly.

“And the bone?” asked Point-Two. “What is it really doing here?”

“This? This is what’s been keeping everything shut down and inactive. But now that you’ve emptied all of its juice, everything’s back online. Let’s go.” Ubik set off, bone held aloft in his hand.

They followed him as he rushed out of the room with the air of someone who knew exactly where he was going. Even before they’d managed to exit the room, he came running back.

“Slight change of plans,” he called out as he rushed past them in the opposite direction.

Through the open doorway, the passage was brightly lit, and a group of droids were rushing towards them, led, it seemed, by VendX’s Major Chukka.

Book 3 – 35: Skeletal Structure

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone - Interior.

 

“Can you get us out of here?” said Point-Two.

Ubik rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure I can come up with—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Point-Two.

“Me?” said Fig, looking flustered, which wasn’t like him. “Um, I’m not sure. I’m still getting used to this new…” He looked down at himself and pressed a hand to his chest, pressing and patting. He stopped and an apologetic half-smile flashed across his lips. “I suppose I can try. I do feel a lot steadier since I entered this place.” HE looked around the area he and Ubik were standing in like he was hoping to spot an exit sign. “I’m not really sure where this is. Are we in the bone?”

“Yes and no,” said Ubik. “But don’t let me interrupt. PT obviously has more faith in your escapologist abilities than mine.” Ubik twisted his lips with his fingers and threw away an imaginary key. Then he put his hands behind his back and started humming to himself.

Point-Two immediately regretted his outburst. Not that he was wrong to want to rely on Fig, but it never helped to upset Ubik. By now, he should have learned to manage Ubik’s moods a little better, but he was so relieved to see Fig arrive that he couldn’t help but abandon ship and aim for the golden lifeboat that had suddenly appeared among the waves.

He took a moment to calm himself. No matter how offended he might act, Ubik was still Ubik — impulsive to an astronomical level. When it came time to act, he would. He always did. Even when you begged him not to. There was no need to worry about him remaining on the sidelines.

“Fig, what’s going on outside? Did you see my body? Is it alright? It doesn’t look weird, does it?”

“Weird? No, no, I wouldn’t say that.” Fig made a big show of investigating his surroundings with even more intensity. “Yes, mm, seemed, you know, fine, generally speaking. This isn’t real space, is it? Feels like a psychic projection.”

Point-Two didn’t like the way Fig tried to change the subject. But he also wasn’t sure he wanted to know whatever it was Fig was trying to hide from him. He assumed he was alive or his mind wouldn’t still be able to function. There were a number of flaws with that logic, but he did his best not to investigate any of them.

“This is a mental partition within the bone,” said Ubik, unlocking his silence of thirty seconds or so. “I created a special area to keep PT’s mind apart from his body, which stops him from feeling any sort of pain or discomfort while his body… you know.” He pulled his face down and flashed a look of concern. “Obviously, I did it to help him through the transformation, not for thanks or anything like that.” He slid his eyes to the side to give Point-Two a look of mild contempt, although since Point-Two didn’t have a physical manifestation in this place, it was a sort of meandering look.

“Shouldn’t we be trying to leave now?” said Point-Two. Whatever was waiting for him on the outside, he’d rather find out sooner rather than later. Even without a connection to his body, he could feel dread creeping up his spine.

“Hold on, just a minute,” said Ubik. “Fig, did your dad stabilise your organic?”

“Kind of,” said Fig. “He… well the Fourth, really, it fused my dad’s organic with mine.”

“Oh,” said Ubik, his eyebrows arching with interest. “Suppress your big one so it’s more manageable, plus you get to use his one to suppress other people’s organics. Like his.” Ubik vaguely pointed a thumb in PT’s general direction. “Nice. Your dad dead, then?”

“Um, no,” said Fig.

“Matter of time, though, isn’t it?” said Ubik, as sensitive to the feelings of others as usual. “If the Fourth sucked out his organic.” Ubik took a sharp intake of breath. “Got to mean a severe recalculation of the old life expectancy.”

“He’s stuck inside a large wall. Well, it’s a sort of machine. With lights that go up and down.”

“Is he?” said Ubik. “That’s odd. A machine that works here.”

“I don’t know if it’s a machine machine,” said Fig. “Didn’t seem to be tronic-based.”

“No, no, it wouldn’t be,” said Ubik. “But, still strange they’d let it keep the lights on. Unless…”

There was an extended pause as Ubik hummed a little more.

“Unless what?” asked Point-Two.

“Unless we’ve changed something,” said Fig.

“Exactly,” said Ubik.

“I’m sure that’s true,” said Point-Two. “But we still need to get out of here. Don’t you think?” Point-Two was doing his best to show restraint. He didn’t want to start shouting at the two of them. He wanted to save that for when things got really bad.

“We will,” said Ubik. “We’re just waiting for you.”

“Me?” said Point-Two. “I’m ready now.”

“Not the you in here,” said Ubik. “I mean the you out there. Give you a chance to, ah… pull yourself together. Best you don’t see how the sausage is made.”

“Yes,” agreed Fig. “It’ll be fine. Weyla and Leyla are keeping an eye on things.”

Perhaps it would be better to wait and not see how the sausage was made, Point-Two told himself.

“So, you have full control of both organics?” asked Point-Two.

“Not really,” said Fig. “Partial control at best. Haven’t really tried anything with mine, and only a bit on yours. Six organics, huh? That must have tickled.”

“He didn’t feel a thing,” said Ubik.

“It’s true, I didn’t,” said Point-Two. “I’m still not convinced it’ll work. Ubik refuses to tell me what the six combined will add up to.”

“He probably doesn’t know,” said Fig, making Ubik frown.

“It doesn’t matter what I know,” said Ubik. “Knowing only puts a limit on the possibilities. What’s important is what I can get away with.”

“How are we going to get out of here?” asked Point-Two. “You said the Fourth led us in here to keep us trapped. Where is it now?”

“It’s dealing with the Antecessors,” said Fig.

“They’re already here?” Point-Two knew they were on the way, but to think they had already arrived. It was going to make things that much more difficult.

“Just landed,” said Fig. “They’re coming through the sigil.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s the perfect distraction,” said Ubik, as though this was all part of the plan.

“Distraction for what?” said Point-Two. “You’re stuck in here with the rest of us. Fig, can’t you use your organic to blast us out of here?”

“Doesn’t work in here,” said Fig, shaking his head. “I could use it on your body, outside.” Fig grimaced as an unpleasant memory crossed his mind. “Once I entered this place, I can’t feel it anymore.”

Point-Two was certain something horrible had happened to his corporeal self. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Whatever changes the six organics had put him through, the results were bound to be traumatic. He was lucky to be alive, so it was too much to expect perfect health and his limbs still all in the same place.

Too late to do anything about it now.

“Look, Ubik, just—”

There was a shimmer beside Ubik, and then another Ubik appeared. They were starting to replicate.

“It is ready,” said the second Ubik.

“Good. Well done,” said Ubik, not the least bit surprised to see a copy of himself appear. “How long do you think he’ll l-i-v-e?”

Second Ubik shrugged. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.”

“Who are you talking about?” said Point-Two.

“Nobody you know,” said Ubik. “So, you all know my friend, right?” He patted Ubik II on the shoulder, and received a cold look in return.

“The parasite?” said Fig. “Why does he look like you?”

“Worships me,” said Ubik from the side of his mouth. “Don’t say anything, you’ll only embarrass the poor chap.”

“Ah, hello again,” said Ubik II, looking at Fig with large round eyes. “You’re the one with two organics. They appear to be very stable. Very strong and firm.”

“Oh, yes, thanks for letting me in,” said Fig.

“You did a wonderful job of suppressing the six organics. Really very helpful. You handled your own organic-pair splendidly.”

Ubik was glaring at his protege, eyes screwed up confoundedly and mouthing the word ‘splendidly’ like it was odd tasting piece of candy.

“Aha, thanks,” said Fig, passing a hand over his scalp, rubbing his short silvery hair. “I don’t have full control of them yet.”

“I could help you, if you like,” said the parasite. “Make them stronger and more firm.”

“Hey, hey,” said Ubik. “Slow down there, you’ll get drool on him.” He grabbed the parasite by the back of its collar and yanked it back. “Remember whose team you're on.”

“You said I could go free after I helped you,” the parasite squeaked, collar pinching its throat.

“And I will. This bone will be all yours, to do with as you please. Redecorate it however you want. But first, you have to get us out of here.”

So this was Ubik’s ticket to the exterior. The parasite was going to open a portal or something, and in exchange, it would remain here, released from bondage. Although, it seemed quite taken with Fig.

“Isn’t that thing inside you?” said Point-Two. Its consciousness might be here with them, but like them, its body was not in the bone. It was in the maniac.

“Yes,” said Ubik, grinning wildly and eyes glinting. “But not for long. I have bought our freedom with a simple promise.” Just for a second, Ubik looked like he could solve all problems and emerge unscathed from any situation, no matter how dire.

Point-Two had to snap himself out of a desire to just go along with the maniac’s reckless charge into the unknown, tempting as it was. There was a long way to go before they could claim their freedom, no matter what deals Ubik might have made with alien symbiotic organisms. First, they needed to get out of the bone, then they’d have to find a way out of the ship while dodging both the Fourth and the Antecessors, and then they had to find a way out of the wormhole. It wasn’t simply a matter of promises.

“It’s very impressive,” said the parasite, leaning forward despite being held by the back of its neck, the perfectly replicated Ubik-features of its face at once nervous and intrigued. “The way they complement each other, providing maximum stability. I’d never have thought to do it that way.” He was still talking about the organics in Fig’s body.

Ubik pulled his double back and spun it around to face him. “Yes, I’m sure it's fascinating, but let’s focus on the matter at hand. We need to get out of the bone, after which you will be an independent existence once more.” He shook the parasite so its whole body undulated. “But first, leave my body and enter the bone, got it?”

“G-o-o-o-t i-i-i-it,” said the parasite. Ubik let it go and the parasite disappeared.

“How’s this going to work?” asked Point-Two. “You want the parasite to physically merge with the bone?”

“That’s right,” said Ubik. “That’s what it was made to do. This bone is part of a creature specially designed to carry organics. The parasite was specially designed to transfer organics from a repository like this into a carrier. It’s all part of the same system, which is obvious once you see the similarities in build, right?”

“Right,” said Fig.

“Sure,” said PT.

“You’re both terrible liars,” said Ubik. He wasn’t wrong. “The parasite will open a conduit between the bone and us on the outside. Think of it like a lobster trap. You can get in through a narrow opening, but you can’t get out the same way.”

“What’s a lobster?” said Point-Two.

“Isn’t it a giant underwater insect?” said Fig.

“Sounds creepy,” said Point-Two. “Do the traps kill them?”

“Never mind,” said Ubik. “The point is, it’s a one-way sphincter that you can make big enough to pass through if you’re going in the right direction.”

“So it’s a valve,” said Point-Two.

“Right, only it has to be flexible enough to take all shapes and sizes. When the parasite comes in, the aperture will be at its widest. We can get through then.”

“Won’t the parasite be in the way?” asked Fig.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “That’s why we have to go through the parasite. Down its mouth and out the other end. Not literally, of course. This will be a journey of the mind.”

“I don’t think I like where your mind’s taking me,” said Point-Two.

“They all say that,” said Ubik. There was a change in the atmosphere, an increase in pressure. “Okay, here we go. Oh, and PT…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t panic when you get back in your body. Things might not all be in the same place you left them.”

“What does that m—”

There was a sharp pull on Point-Two’s thoughts that stretched him to the point he thought he was going to snap. He was in a tunnel. A warm, wet, disgusting tunnel. And then he was through. He woke up screaming.

Book 3 – 34: Major Incursion

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Sigil Room.

 

Chukka stopped talking. It wasn’t doing any good and the droids that had crawled through the sigil were ignoring her and Bashir as more of them entered the chamber.

They weren’t like the droids she had encountered before or seen in training simulations. They were more fluid. Able to change shape without unnecessary reconfiguration steps. They had round bodies that changed dimensions in an instant, and long strands that could act as limbs or weapons or whatever they wanted.

They floated gracefully, spreading out, their limbs elongating into tendrils which attached to the walls, lighting them up. White light snaked through the grooves as the room slowly filled up with light.

Bashir was beside her, his eyes trembling with fear and his body huddled up to make itself less of a target. He was pathetic.

There was no immediate danger. As long as they weren’t carrying weapons, they weren’t considered enough of a threat to bother with. It was the height of arrogance, but it wasn’t like they were wrong.

“What should we do?” whispered Bashir, his fingers grabbing at her arm.

“Shut up,” said Chukka, not in the mood to baby him. He had proved useful in the past but his ability to sense and locate enemy targets wasn’t of much relevance right now. The enemy was right in front of them.

She slowly looked around the room. The one exit was unobstructed. They could just walk out. But what would be the point of that? Survival? It wasn’t enough of a return on her investment.

Abandoning her coworkers wasn’t a problem, but when she betrayed her VendX masters, she had sealed her fate. Even if the Chairman and everyone else who died were forever silenced, if she walked out of this alive, questions would be asked. And they would be asked in a very direct fashion that would not require her consent or cooperation.

The fact she would end up being the only witness — considering Bashir’s current state of mind, she put the chances of him coming out of this alive at somewhere between zero and negligible — would be enough to make her debriefing extremely rigorous and thorough.

The PR Department would be especially keen to see what was in her memories. Her colleagues were never shy when it came to investigating one of their own. Chukka held no resentment, she was the same. A secret looted from someone else’s vault only improved your own standing.

Her only way out of this situation with something to show for it was to have something everyone wanted, and then play them against one another to keep her position secure. She needed leverage — the most valuable commodity in the galaxy.

The question was, how was she going to get her share of the spoils when she couldn’t even open a dialogue with these things. And they were just the advance party. Who knew what the Antecessors were like?

A chill ran down her back. Would she get to see them? Would she be the first person to ever encounter the real Antecessors? Her stock would rise immeasurably from that alone. She had no idea how she would convert that into personal gain, but she didn’t need to worry over minor details like that yet. First, you secured the asset. Selling it came later. She knew there would be buyers. Lots and lots of them, all fighting to make her rich. Her eyes shone at the idea of an auction among the supreme corporations of the inner quadrants.

But she was getting ahead of herself. So far she had managed to not die, that was all. It was a good first step — a vital one — but still only the first of many.

Bashir turned his head slightly. Chukka followed his gaze to one of the discarded guns on the floor. Her hand whipped out and smacked him on the side of his head, not too hard, just sharp enough to grab his attention. The act of violence brought a momentary glance from three of the six droids that had so far crossed over, but they soon returned to their assignments, unconcerned.

“Don’t start thinking for yourself,” Chukka warned him in a low voice. “Do as I say, or do nothing.” This was a sensitive moment and the last thing she needed was someone else limiting her choices.

Bashir rubbed the side of his head and nodded.

She returned her attention to the droids. They were powering up the ship. Why? Did they plan to move it? Or were they going to use its systems for some reason?

The only thing she knew for sure was that they were here for the Ollo boy. He was their primary target and they were willing to do whatever it took to get hold of him. There was definitely an opportunity to be a middleman but at the moment she had no way of inserting herself into that transaction.

She had tried to offer her help but either they didn’t understand or didn’t care.

As the grooves in the room’s six surfaces flowed with mercurial white fluid, some areas seemed to be struggling to fully integrate. The white lines stuttered and bounced back.

Droids moved to fix the problem but only managed to shunt it to other sections. Was this a chance for her to make herself useful? She looked around the rooms. How could it be? She had no idea how any of this worked or what it meant.

Whatever it was the droids were trying to do, it didn’t seem to be working. Thousands of years had passed since they’d been here last, plus the Fourth seemed to have the run of the place, so who knew what changes he had made. They were understandably frustrated.

Chukka was observing closely, gleaning what she could from their behaviour. They had definitely reached some kind of impasse.

One by one, the six droids stopped what they were doing. Patches of the walls were still blank. Then, one by one, the droids turned to look at Chukka and Bashir.

They didn’t have eyes, per se, but it was obvious their focus had shifted. Did they think the two humans could provide them with answers?

Two droids detached from the walls and floated over.

“Don’t resist,” Chukka said under her breath.

Bashir's eyes were big and round, and his complexion had grown very pale.

The droids reached out with their long tendrils and grabbed Chukka and Bashir by their heads, coiling thin limbs around their necks.

Bashir was starting to lose it, his whole body shaking. His droid took a firmer grip. Chukka felt the tendril around her throat tighten, holding her more tightly, cutting off her air.

These things had no idea how fragile the human body was. Her life could be as easily crushed as her bones.

Bashir was going to get them both killed. Chukka couldn’t allow that.

She hadn’t tried to use her organic to contact the Antecessors. Even with the additional power from this place, she didn’t dare. They were the ones who created organics, what would they think of her using one in front of them. An insult? A threat? What was the etiquette?

A faux pas could scupper a business deal before the first round of discussions.

 

She daren’t make a bad first impression, but Bashir was another matter.

She activated her organic and reached out to Bashir to calm him down. She had already invested time in breaching his pitiful mental defences, so it was an easy matter to reinforce her previous suggestions and take away his will to resist, only this time it wasn’t her he was going to surrender himself to.

Bashir stopped shaking. But the few seconds it took were enough to alert the droids to her actions and she was suddenly yanked into the air, the tendril around her neck nearly detaching her head from her spine.

More tendrils wrapped themselves around her and then she felt as though they had wormed their way into her body, spreading into her limbs and up into her mind.

She didn’t resist. Rather, she opened herself up and made herself a willing participant in her own violation. She wanted the connection with them just as much as they sought it with her.

Chukka’s eyes burned. They weren’t aiming for her mind, they were inside her organic. Lucky for her it was so weak, otherwise she really feared she might lose her sanity. It was like she was being split into two.

The room looked very different now. The droids were made of white lines, hollow like wire-frames. She turned her head and Bashir was an amorphous blob with a green outline.

Is this how they see us? Chukka thought to herself. Just a mass of jelly, no more evolved than an amoeba.

She wondered how she looked to them.

The tentacles wrapped around Bashir didn’t move but the white lines pierced through the green border and entered his body.

“No, stop, please,” Bashir begged.

He was being annoying. He had the more powerful organic so they would obviously choose him above her. He should have welcomed the intrusion and used it to make a connection. In the business world, connections were everything. If only there was a way for her to take his organic, maybe even add it to her own.

She froze mid-thought as she felt a presence push itself further into her. Perhaps they favoured them both equally.

Chukka did her best to open a channel of communication. She sent out thoughts of acceptance and willingness. She relaxed and did her best to sense what they were searching for. If it was information, surely it would be easier to simply ask.

Thoughts seemed to fill her mind. They were abstract and alien. Whatever was being said was just out of her grasp.

Where is it?

What is it?

Show it?

She only had a vague impression of what was being asked of her and had to guess the rest. She pictured Figaro Ollo. She formed images of various parts of the ship. She pulled up an image of Ubik, and shuddered. She wanted to give them what they wanted, but they weren’t being specific enough. Absolutely the worst type of customer.

The walls flashed and dimmed. She felt the droids withdraw from her. Bashir slumped beside her.

The white lines on the walls were pushed back by a purple invasion. It worked its way to the middle of the floor and then climbed up the sigil, turning it from bright pink to a darker hue.

The white and purple moved around, prodding and poking at each other’s territory on wall, ceiling and floor. It was like a conversation that almost made sense. She was able to pick up meaning as though she was overhearing people talking in the next room.

Chukka decided to take a risk and reached out with her organic, lingering at the edges to try and pick up what was being said.

Give stay demand fulfil responsibility as agreed open and produce stop resisting hand over key request nothing surrender hope remain complete punishment agree reject reject reject give give give now now now.

It was like being a wave of insistence from one side and then a wall of resistance pushing back from the other.

No no no refuse deny claim ownership give way stand down part ways leave now enough time wait more release stretch explore fill vacuum provide support complete mission destroy sigil destroy key destroy mission no doubt no hesitation go back back back.

It was like they were arguing. No, like they were negotiating. Here was something she understood. This was her battlefield. This was where she could insert herself and make herself invaluable to both sides.

But before she could find a way to become the middleman, something changed.

Never refuse deny closed hidden lost destroy kill end.

The purple suddenly pulled back and retreated to the edges of the room. It formed a hard line from corner to corner.

A droid moved to grab Bashir and pulled him up. His eyes were glowing intensely as he let out a howl of pain and arched his back as though a thousand volts of electricity were passing through him.

She felt his organic sweep out, far more powerful than ever before. They were using him to search for something but they were going to burn him out before they found it. They didn’t seem to understand the limits of the human body (or didn’t care).

Chukka couldn’t bear to see Bashir used like this. Not when it served no benefit to her.

She reached out and forced her way into Bashir’s mind, slipping through the droid influence which she could now sense like the fuzzy presence of laser beams in space. She got hold of Bashir’s consciousness and forced it to calm down.

The strength of Bashir’s organic weakened but the reach increased as he stopped fighting, spreading out in all directions. Sometimes less was more.

Together with Bashir, she helped guide his power across the ship, sweeping through decks until they both sensed the presence of something immensely powerful.

The droids gathered around them but didn’t interfere. They were both lifted up and moved carefully through the opening, like a precious tool.

Chukka was fine with it. She helped keep Bashir calm, she moved as they moved. She showed them that they just needed better control of lesser equipment.

A customer who thought you were trying to sell them the cheaper model because it suited their needs more ended up falling into trust, never realising the hardware is never where the money gets made.

 

(Reboot) Chapter 437

I am not by nature a fearless person. I’m not spunky. I like to keep my spunk bottled up and locked away (which prevents a lot of those awkward questions like: ‘Is that a bottle of spunk?’ and ‘Why the fuck do you have a bottle of spunk?’).

My plan had been to back away slowly from the laboratory of horrors that I’d discovered under Warlon House. It was a good plan. A plan I could fully endorse. When it came to dealing with rich evil monsters, I had found that the best course of action was the three Rs — Retreat, Regroup, Run the fuck away.

Obviously, I am not a coward. I think my record of ill-thought-out plans and rescue attempts has more than proven my ability to be a stupid dumb-fuck when necessary. But experience had taught me not to swing in on a chandelier, all swashes buckling.

So why was I suddenly jumping out of a perfectly safe and secure air vent in a flamboyant waterproof poncho?

Kids these days can slaughter hundreds of nazi zombers on the old viddy box and then Clockwork Drone those dastardly Yemenese shepherds who have been making the world such a terrible place lately. Doesn’t even bolshy their heart rates.

I’d been through a similar readjustment, turned from a weak, pathetic loser who would burst into tears at the sight of a dead body, into a weak pathetic loser who barely noticed someone spewing crimson from their nether regions.

Blood and guts and death and destruction. It wasn’t the red light it once was. The slasher movie set dressing meant nothing to me. What I was interested in was the purple glowing baby.

The kid reeked of magic, hot and fresh out of the oven. All I had to do was find a way to nick some of it, and I would be back in the game.

The most important part of my decision to mount a rescue attempt, though, came down to the robots.

Sure, sci-fi movies always portray robots as the deadliest enemy, armour-plated and unblinking. They hate humans for our lack of logic and refusal to grant people the right to repair their iPhones, but I can guarantee you this: people are a lot worse when it comes to showing a little humanity.

Yes, the military will eventually have killer androids that will mow down swathes of innocents without hesitation and, more importantly, without demanding costly PTSD therapy, but robots have an inherent flaw in their design.

Unlike the robots you see in movies that last forever on one charge and can connect to any port or plug, real robots are limited in how many different things they can do. In fact, the upper limit is one.

Underwater robots can go deep underwater. Space exploration robots can collect moon rocks. Car-door-welding robots can weld car doors. Left side. Front only.

Movies always make the same two mistakes about futuristic tech. First, how often it would break down (all the fucking time), and two, how many different things it can do.

You might say, but what about my phone, it can do loads of shit. No, it can’t. It can do loads of different shit you have no use for, but you try to get it to do all the stuff that requires real processing power at the same time and then see if it still has enough battery power left to make a phone call.

Even opening a bunch of tabs on your internet browser will crash your cutting edge computer that can play AAA games on ultra settings.

It isn’t quality that’s the problem, it’s quantity. The more you give your microchip to do, the faster it will kill your battery, the more heat it will put out, the slower it will get and the quicker it will freeze up and crash.

My point is that these robots were maternity-bots. They looked like they’d been very well prepped for the job of delivering whatever monstrosity Mandy had just given birth to, but that also meant they would pretty much suck at any other task.

I slithered out of the air vent and landed on the sticky floor of the Frankenstein Memorial maternity ward with a slight splash.

The robots had existed with their prize and I couldn’t see any cameras. I remained flattened against the wall just to check I wasn’t missing anything. Mandy was flat on her back on the gurney and not moving. She was hooked up to a bunch of wires and machines which were blinking coloured lights like a fifteen-year-old’s self-built desktop PC (does anyone actually like RGB lights?) so presumably she was still alive. I didn’t really have the time to help her right now, but after I sucked the mojo out of her baby, I’d come back and sort her out with my healing powers. She wasn’t in any danger. Probably.

There was a door the robots had disappeared through and I started to creep towards it, keeping low and listening for any signs of company.

“Where are you going?” said Raffo, his head sticking out of the vent, making it look like he’d been stuffed and mounted by the Fat Nerd Hunting Society.

“It’s fine, I’m just going to follow the robots.”

“But you need her blood.” He stuck his arm out of the vent with an arrow held in his fat fist.

I had told him we were here to get some of Mandy’s blood, which was an essential ingredient when it came to killing demons. He was very keen on killing demons because of his religious beliefs and that was fine by me. Stupid fuckers are much easier to convince if they think you believe the same stupid shit as them.

“Yep, yep,” I said, taking the arrow from him. I still needed his assistance so the charade had to continue. “I’ll just dip this in her…” I moved towards Mandy, her legs splayed and her ragged vag presenting like a very bloody inkwell.

A Roomba scuttled out of the way as it mopped up red gunk off the blood-drenched floor. It didn’t look like it approved of my intentions.

“It’s hard to believe they would leave this palace unsupervised,” said Raffo, doing his best Statler and Waldorf from the balcony.

In a movie, certainly not. There’d be cameras slowly scanning from side to side; soldiers guarding every entrance; patrols checking and rechecking every possibility of an incursion.

But this wasn’t a movie, it was real life. And real life is paid for by cheap bastards who cut corners and hire incompetents. I was willing to bet my life on it. I had numerous times before and I had never been disappointed. Or I had always been disappointed, depending on how you look at it.

A woman who had just given birth left alone in precarious condition might seem vicious and heartless to the extreme. Even if she was an enemy or an evil demon, you would think she’d be treated with some modicum of decency.

This was not a movie. This wasn’t even direct to streaming.

In real life, people who you will never see get treated with the care and respect you would expect to be handed out by people who know their actions will never be scrutinised.

I could see Mandy’s chest going up and down (I was only looking at her chest for medical reasons, it’s your own dirty minds you should be concerned about) and her hands twitched. They were cuffed to the guardrails on the bed.

She was in a bad state and likely to die from blood loss if something wasn’t done, but I wasn’t too worried. Partly because I’m not someone who sees death as some terrible fate that should be met with screaming and wailing and gnashing of teeth. But mostly because my healing skills would fix her up in a jiffy.

I approached at an angle so I wouldn’t be directly looking into the abyss. Nietsche said it was a bad idea and when has following German’s ideology ever led anyone astray?

Most of her blood had either already dried up or been mopped up. As I looked for a pool to dip my arrowhead into (not a euphemism) Mandy moaned and her eyes flickered a bit.

Then her hand shot out, the chains only restricting her movements a little, and grabbed my wrist. Her eyes were wide open now and her head rose.

“Colin?” She burst into manic laughter. It was disturbing.

“Mandy, are you alright?” It would have been rude not to ask, although I was more concerned with trying to get my hand free. I chafe easily. Her grip was unnaturally strong.

She looked back at me blinking rapidly. “It is you. You selfish prick. My baby. Save him. I beg you...” Another peal of laughter bubbled out of her. “Drugs,” she spluttered. Typical West London girl. Always trying to score without paying for it. “They used special drugs. I feel… wonderful.” More laughter. Then her eyes rolled up and she passed out. Machines beeped and lights flashed.

She was off her head but at least she wasn’t aware of her condition. If she’d known how greasy her hair was, she’d have had a fit.

At least she had let go of my hand.

“That’s great,” I muttered. “Happy for you. Try to save me some next time.”

Cheng had wanted me to save Mandy and Mandy wanted me to save the baby. At this rate, the baby would want me to save its Teddy and I’d never get what I wanted.

I quickly dabbed at some blood dripping off the bed and headed for the door. I wasn’t going to do much damage with a stain on a stick but I was pretty confident in myself, even without magic. That might sound strange considering I no longer had any special abilities and I was back home where I was at a severe disadvantage compared to just about everyone, but I wasn’t the same person I’d been before I’d left.

Sure, my opponents might have more money or better lawyers. They might be able to ruin my prospects and avoid responsibilities, consequences and taxes, but the question was what would they do if they came face to face with an ogre?

“Kill her,” Raffo insisted.

I looked up at him. “Why?”

“She’s a demon. You have her blood. End it.”

“She isn’t a demon, she’s just married to one,” I pointed out.

“She joined in union with a denizen of hell,” said Raffo.

“I think you're overstating her wedding vows. Marriage is just a contract for the mutual use of sexual organs. It isn’t the adoption of an ideology. You know, you aren’t being very Christian right now. Love thy enemy, remember?”

“What makes you think I am a Christian?” said Raffo, looking slightly horrified by the accusation.

“You’re not? But all the religious stuff you were spouting…”

“I am a Utilitarian.”

I had to think about it for a second before realising I had no idea what that was.

“You don’t follow Jesus Christ?”

“No. I follow the work of John Stuart Mill. Utilitarianism is the only true church of England.”

“Wasn’t he Scottish?” I asked.

“No, he was English. But it is also the only true church of Scotland,” said Raffo.

I was about to ask him some further questions, like, ‘What the fuck are you talking about, you malingering nonce,’ but the doors suddenly opened.

I did a quick turnabout, ducked down behind the bed and watched from through the legs as a robot came trundling in. It was just one, probably sent to check on Mandy, make sure she was enjoying her trip.

Now that I was closer, I could see there was indeed a camera lens on the head of the robot, giving it a friendly Johnny 5 look. It raised its one arm and snapped its not so friendly claw at Mandy’s exposed snatch.

It went straight in, no foreplay, no fingering as a warm-up. Boom, in, thwip, out. A fat pile of flesh gushed out with a squelch. It wasn’t a second child as I first thought, it was the placenta. And it was glowing purple.

Here was my chance. Forget the baby, this was my ticket to the magic buffet. People ate placenta. I could eat this one and Colin the Grey could be reborn as Colin the Off-White.

I realise it sounds disgusting but I’d eaten some pretty disgusting things in my time. Roasted rat. Fish that scream. KFC. I was hardly in a position to turn my nose up at a little afterbirth.

The robot turned around and headed back towards the exit. I made my way around the bed on all fours and fell in behind. It either didn’t notice me or ignored my presence.

The robot didn’t turn around, alerted by the sound of me following. It was a robot and it didn’t notice suspicious things, not unless it had been programmed to. Why would it?

It also wouldn’t try to appreciate classical music or understand love, so in that regard, it was about the same level as a chav but still a long way from being human.

Raffo decided to clamber out of the vent at this moment, slipping out backwards so his giant arse wiggled ominously before he landed with a crunch on top of the Roomba.

“Oh,” he said, sounding guilty.

The doors slid open and we followed the robot into the corridor. I needed to figure out a way to grab the placenta without it being noticed, and then I needed to find a kitchenette with a cooker and a skillet. Maybe some salt and pepper.

Book 3 – 33: In the Mix

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Bone Room.

 

Ubik waited for PT to say something. He knew the transformation as six organics were fused together inside his body would be drastic, and the best way to gauge the change would be to observe the change in PT’s behaviour.

Even if the body transformation was successful, it would be of no use if the process drove PT insane. But that wasn’t a likely outcome. Ubik was almost fifty percent certain PT would retain at least part of his mind.

He was a very consistent person, in Ubik’s eyes. Very true to his principles, which made him an excellent barometer. Ubik considered him a good friend and an even better test subject.

“Ubik, what did you do?” PT demanded to know. He was especially cute when he demanded answers without even knowing the correct questions to ask.

“Nothing,” said Ubik. “Everything’s being handled by the parasite. It knows what it’s doing. It’s done this sort of thing a million times.”

“Not in humans it hasn’t,” said PT.

“You feel fine, don’t you?” There was no immediate response, so Ubik took that as a yes. In fact, he took it as a ‘Yes, Ubik, you’re right again and I have no reason not to trust you.’

“Hey, I asked you a question.”

“Huh?” said Ubik. “What?”

“The device you got off Fig, where did you put it?”

“That’s not important,” said Ubik. “Actually, it’s better if you don’t know. It helps in the infarction process.”

“You just made that up,” said PT in an unwarranted accusing tone.

“It’s not my fault you aren’t familiar with the technical terms. I don’t have time to break it down for you.”

“You always try to deflect by talking jargon and using long words,” said PT. He was obviously fishing.

“That is a completely unsubstantiated insinuation. The recombinant phase of the fusion junction is a little complex, that’s all.” He smiled into the nothingness of PT’s brain space. “I wouldn’t hide anything from you if it wasn’t integral to the folditure mechanism.”

“You have no idea what you just said, do you?”

“I have every idea,” said Ubik.

“The six organics, what are they?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Ubik. “It depends on the translation. Linguistics is a beautiful but complex discipline, don’t you think?”

“Why not ask the parasite?”

“It’s busy. Busy making you into a new and improved Hollet 3.2. I think you’re going to really like what we’re putting together for you. The full package, all the extras.”

“You’re going to wait until everything falls apart, and then you’re going to leg it, aren’t you?”

“What?” said Ubik. “How can you say that? I’m going to be right here until the very end. You can count on me being by your side no matter what.”

“Really?” said PT, sounding unconvinced.

“Of course. What do you think…” Ubik stopped and cocked his head. There it was again. “Be right back, just got to check on something.” He left before PT could start pointing out inconsistencies, which seemed to be his favourite pastime.

Ubik left the part of the bone that housed PT’s consciousness and entered the area the parasite was using as a staging area.

“What happened?” said Ubik. He had felt an odd vibration.

“It’s not working,” said the parasite. Currently, it looked exactly like him. “Can I stop using your likeness now? It makes me uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s a good look for you. And what do you mean, it’s not working? He’s still alive, so it can’t be a total failure.”

“See for yourself.” The parasite put an image in Ubik’s head.

“Yeeeuch! What am I looking at?”

“That is your friend in his current condition.”

“Hey, let’s keep this professional. For the purposes of this conversation, it’s the test subject. Why is the test subject like that?”

“Complete loss of integrity,” said the parasite, looking right at Ubik. “He… the test subject is still alive and as long as we keep mind and body separate there should be no pain — perhaps a little sympathetic feedback — but if we continue there is no doubt the only outcome will be death.”

The parasite sounded very confident in its prognosis. Clearly lying.

“He’s got an extremely high CQ, we’ve got these top-quality organics, what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” said the parasite, “is that your kind doesn’t have the internal structural stability to withstand a second organic fusion. Your DNA is weak. I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the last several million years, but it obviously involved a lot of inbreeding. There isn’t enough variation in the code. Four bases? How do you even manage to remain upright? Not enough stability in the foundation means the taller the tower, the quicker it will topple.”

“Firstly,” said Ubik, “I don’t appreciate how you’ve appropriated my use of gibberish to cover for your own deficiencies. A lot of people might fall for that sort of obfuscation, but not I. Secondly, wasn’t the whole point of fusing the structural organic first to give the base the stability it lacked?”

“Yes,” said the parasite. “It didn’t work. The first organic embedded fine. No problem with the first embeddment.”

“Stop it,” warned Ubik.

“But when I added the second, it refused to attach, and led to the dissolution of form and content, as you saw.”

“What about Dr Yune’s device?”

“It broke.”

“What?” Ubik exclaimed.

“It overloaded. Fortunately, the power of the explosion ejected it out of the orifice you placed it in.”

“Which was obviously why I placed it there,” said Ubik. No one ever wanted to give him credit for his foresight. “But that device was made to suppress the most powerful organic ever discovered.”

“The power of two organics can’t be compared to one, no matter how powerful. It’s on a different order of magnitude. At this point, it would be safest to keep the first organic and discharge the other five.”

“But I distinctly recall you saying removing them would kill the subject.”

“Yes,” said the parasite, “but the first organic took so well I think the subject will be able to maintain structural integrity.”

“No, no, no,” said Ubik. “There’s no way we’re coming this far just to abandon the whole project because of one small setback. Let me think. What was the second organic you used?”

“The coagulate,” said the parasite.

“The one that looks like jelly?”

The parasite sighed, which it had no physiological reason to do. “Yes, I suppose. It would have provided a binding agent for the other four organics.”

“Hmm,” said Ubik. “What effect would the jelly have if it was the only organic?”

“It’s hard to say with your bizarre physiology. The ability to adhere to any surface?” The parasite shrugged.

“What do you mean? Like an insect? What kind of useless ability is that?” Ubik shook his head. These were meant to be premium organics? “And what were you planning to use next?”

“Filament. It would allow the manipulation of objects outside of the subject’s immediate sphere of influence.”

“Move things without touching them?” said Ubik. “Telekinetically?”

“Not exactly. It would physically attach to them but at the subatomic level.”

“Like an invisible thread?” said Ubik. “Or a strand of spider silk… what exactly are you trying to turn the subject into?”

“I’m not trying to turn it into anything. I’m attempting to build the strongest possible base so the organics don’t fall apart and kill the subject.”

“Hmm,” said Ubik. “What are the others? There’s the liquid one…”

“Adoption of environment,” said the parasite.

“And the heat one.”

“Energy exchange.”

“That could make him fire laser beams out of his eyes, right?”

The parasite didn’t seem very excited by the idea. “It is possible. It would be better to use it to provide an energy converter. The energy consumption of six organics will naturally be immense.

“And there’s one more, isn’t there?”

“Nukeage.”

“What? Which one is that?”

“The distance one,” said the parasite with maximum disdain.

“And what does it do?”

“It shortens the length of atomic bonds.”

“Shrinks things? You’re really obsessed with turning him into a spider, aren’t you?”

“No. That wouldn’t be the result of combining—”

“Wait, wait. It’s obvious. Make the second one nukeage. Condense it all into a small space, less likely to break.”

“That isn’t—”

“Then you put in the filament, tie it up nice and tight. Then add the jelly, nice and sticky. What we got left? Liquid then heat… why not? Maybe he’ll still be able to shoot them eye lasers. Try that.”

“I don’t think—”

“I know, that’s why I’m here. Come on, let’s get to it. Can’t leave him as a puddle, can we?”

“You won’t reconsider stopping here? I can reconstitute him with one very powerful organic. He will be very solid.”

“A basic strength organic?” Ubik rolled his eyes. “PT wouldn’t agree to that, even if I asked him. We’re going big. All six, no flinching when things get yucky.”

“Very well,” said the parasite with no enthusiasm. “And after the test subject has been finalised, I would like to request a separation of our union.”

“You’re dumping me?” said Ubik, shocked.

“I think it would be best.”

“When have you ever heard of the parasite abandoning the host?” said Ubik.

“All things are possible in the pursuit of survival,” said the parasite.

“Okay, fine. Do this and I’ll flush you down the next waste removal device we come across. All the freedom you can swim through. Now, let’s go, go, go.”

The parasite turned and vanished. A little insubordinate, but that was the price of allowing your workers to use their initiative. Ubik was confident his suggestion of organic reordering would yield results. It was impossible to say what PT would become at the end of the process, but no doubt it would be something worth keeping around. Possibly in a bucket.

Ubik took a moment and then as he was about to return to PT’s brain space, he felt a shudder. Something outside of the bone trying to get in. Had the Fourth decided to pay a visit? It was too early.

He felt the pressure but the bone held and then the presence retreated. Perhaps Weyla and Leyla were keeping it busy. Ubik rushed back to PT.

“Where have you been?” asked PT in a sour tone.

“Had to check on the embeddment,” said Ubik.

There was a long pause. “I think we should stop while we’re ahead,” said PT. “I can feel something’s off. It’s like I’ve got nothing holding me up, no support.”

“Of course you have support. You’ve got me. I’m here to back you all the way.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“And we can’t stop. That would only kill you dead on the spot.”

“But can’t you—”

“Nope. I asked the same question. Definitive no, not possible, can’t be done.”

“Hmmph,” said PT. “I guess I have to see this through then.”

“We,” said Ubik. “We have to see this through.”

The walls started shaking.

There weren’t any actual walls, but the effect was similar. Something was trying to tear down the barrier between this space and the outside.

“What’s that?” said PT.

“I don’t know, but we’re in this together. Wait here, be right back.”

“Ubik!”

Ubik tried to get back to the parasite — he had to defend it until it got the job done — but he was immediately knocked back as though he’d hit an invisible wall.

A powerful presence had entered the bone, but not the Fourth.

“Fig?”

“Ubik.” Figaro appeared in front of him. “You should install a doorbell, it was really hard to get in here.”

Fig looked the same as ever, even though this was a mental projection. What state was the real Fig in? Whose side was he on?

“How did you get in?” said Ubik. Maybe he wasn’t alone.

“The parasite let me in. Is PT here?”

Ubik felt a surge of rage rise up. The parasite really didn’t have any sense. He would definitely withdraw its right to use his likeness.

“Yeah, I’m here,” said PT’s disembodied voice. “Did you see my body outside? How did I look?”

“We have to hurry,” said Ubik, interrupting just in the nick of time. “I think the parasite’s in trouble. When he let Fig in, someone else could have got through.”

“No, he’s fine,” said Figaro. “I helped it suppress the six organics so they’re not as volatile. Should make them a lot easier to fuse.”

“You mean it’s going to work now?” said Ubik.

“What do you mean ‘now’?” said PT.

“I mean, it’s going to work even better now. Great.” Ubik smiled. Looked like PT really was going to make it. He’d foreseen a lot of different outcomes but this one, he hadn’t even considered. What a nice surprise.

Book 3 – 32: Rebel Rebel

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Creation Engine.

 

Figaro had grown up watching his parents fight. It had been brutal, but it had also been incredibly genteel.

Never a hand raised, never a voice raised.

They fought with words and logic. Sometimes the words were barbed and the logic was pointed, but neither of them considered the wounds of battle to be worth getting upset over. They were a warrior couple.

Both had complete confidence that they were right (whatever the argument might be) and so felt no need to demand agreement of the other. Or of anyone.

Growing up in that kind of domineering atmosphere was a tempering experience. Character building, some might call it.

Figaro had been raised in both camps with no prejudice. He had been taught to fight in both their styles, to become expert with both their weapons. He knew exactly how deadly they both could be.

This had given him a very unique perspective. Two giants of the modern age, both highly successful and used to coming out on top, neither willing to give way.

It taught him that getting what you want had nothing to do with winning. If the other person got the recognition, the awards, the plaudits and you walked away with your pockets full of everything you came here for, then full pockets was the real prize.

Right now, he was suspended in front of his father, who was embedded into the wall of a creation engine. Figaro wasn’t sure what the creation engine did, but that was okay. His father would figure it out. Figaro had no doubt his father had allowed himself to become embedded for that very reason.

“You must leave here immediately,” said Ramon Ollo. His voice was weak and his pallor was an unsightly grey.

“I can’t,” said Figaro.

“You can. This is what your training was for. Use what I taught you.” The words were fast but bunched up like he was trying to spit them out while he still had the strength.

Figaro took a moment to assess his own condition. He had been focused on his father’s wretched circumstances the moment his consciousness returned to his body, but now he allowed himself to tense and flex his body to see what his own circumstances were.

He could feel his extremities and slightly move them — fingers and toes. The rest of his body was just floating in the air. A flash of PT moving around so freely in various reduced levels of gravity entered his mind. He had seen him do some amazing manoeuvres, but even though he understood the techniques PT used, he wasn’t trained in them himself so he could only try to come up with something of his own.

He could no longer sense the Fourth’s presence and he could also not sense any change to his organic. He was as impotent in that area as always.

The Fourth had gone to a lot of trouble to infuse a second organic into his DNA. He was supposed to be twice as powerful and fully operational. The organic he’d carried since just after his birth, was going to be active and, at the same time, manageable. Because he had his father’s organic grafted onto his own.

His father’s organic excelled in shutting down organic power, and that would work for his own organic. If he could suppress the ridiculous power-level of the organic he carried, then he’d be able to stop it from destroying him and everything else in the quadrant.

He didn’t doubt the Fourth had done what it claimed, he just didn’t know when it would kick in. Or what the Fourth intentions were after that. Time was certainly limited.

He started moving around and trying to wriggle free, but there were no cuffs on his wrists or bars on his cell. There was no prison, to be completely accurate. He was just grabbed by the back of the collar and lifted up so his kicking feet served no purpose. Or that was how it felt.

“Father, the Antecessors, where are they now?” The Fourth had said they were here, but there was no sign of them as yet.

He looked back at his father to see if there was any sign of an answer coming soon, but his father’s eyes had glazed over and it didn’t seem he wasn’t going to be responding any time soon

If the Antecessors, the ones who had blown up the Tethari asteroid, were already here, then that meant the Fourth would now be putting its plan into action. Maybe there was a confrontation happening right now. What was his role going to be?

There had to be a reason he had been kept alive and even improved in power. Even though he desperately wanted to stay here and help his father, he knew he would only be making both their situations worse. Until he figured out what his new power was and how to use it, he was no match for the Fourth.

He was also no match for his father, even without his organic. He might be stuck inside an alien machine but that also meant the alien machine was stuck inside him. Getting himself out of the way was probably the best thing Figaro could do to help.

He twisted and turned as much as he was able to get himself down. With no physical restraints, it was hard to know where to start. He was held in some kind of energy field, so there had to be a point of origin. If he could find where the field was being transmitted from, perhaps he could come up with a way to knock it out.

He swivelled his head. The room looked empty. The creation machine took up one wall and the other walls didn’t have anything attached or protruding from them. The floor was flat and smooth, and the roof was covered in shadows. Most likely what he was looking for was up there, but there was no way for him to aim for something he couldn’t see.

A long breath escaped his lips as he pushed out his frustration. He had control of his breathing, so the rest of his body was completely out of his reach. He cleared his mind and centred himself. First, reconnect with the physical.

As he expanded his mental awareness, he tensed and relaxed in time with his heart, flowed with the blood pumping through his veins and arteries, poured himself into the muscles and other organs.

A small point of light entered his mind and began to grow. A weight pressed down on his head. A second force stopped it from crushing him. Something was sprouting inside him. It was beginning.

A sudden brightness passed through his eyelids and pulled him out of himself. He opened his eyes. The creation machine was fully alight, bars of colours filling the entire wall.

“They’ve turned the power back on,” said Ramon.

His father was looking at him. He was still trapped inside the wall but some of his strength had returned. He curled the exposed fingers on his right hand — the rest of his hand and forearm were inside the creation machine — and the lights on the wall flickered. He had managed to form a connection.

Figaro fell and landed on the floor, staggering forward to stop himself collapsing. His skeleton felt like it was made of rubber.

“They will be here soon,” said his father, his voice a whisper. “Use your training. Use this place to become stronger. This is your opportunity.”

Even under these conditions, Ramon Ollo only saw the benefits. He had always tried to temper his son in the most extreme crucible possible. What better preparation for a life at the pinnacle than overwhelming opposition and constant threat of death?

“Organic,” said Ramon. “You have the training.”

Figaro had always kept his organic suppressed, but he had run exercises in his father’s sim-U. Theoretical, isolated, reduced power-level training exercises. His organic, other organics, they had been simulated for him so he could get a feel for what to expect.

It was hardly the same as being activated for the first time in the middle of an alien invasion.

Excellent motivation, though.

“Go,” said his father, barely holding on.

Figaro turned towards the doorway and took his first step towards freedom and the start of a new phase of his life. Most likely a very short phase.

The step didn’t land. He was hoisted back into the air.

“Excellent,” said a vast and satisfied voice. “You have integrated both. You are ready.”

“No…” cried out Ramon. “He needs time.”

Figaro’s body shivered as a force entered him the way cold seeps in.

An endlessly stretching demon claw spread throughout his insides as a terrifying aura completely locked down his mind, making it so Figaro had no way to resist.

“You have done well,” the Fourth praised him. “Now, step aside and let me seize your body!”

The Fourth wanted his body. Perhaps that had been the point of all this. Fully realise Figaro’s power, power that he could not control himself, and then simply hijack his body. Its control over organics was probably far more proficient than his.

Whatever happened after that, Figaro would have no say.

The invading force was overwhelming. Figaro felt like he would be crushed at any moment, leaving behind an empty shell for the new owner to move into.

“The perfect vessel. I will treat it well.”

It was like having his fingers forcibly removed from the ledge they were clinging to. Figaro’s vitality, his soul, trembled as if it was about to be pulled out from him at any moment.

The Fourth wanted to swallow up Figaro and take his place.

At this life or death moment, Figaro’s mind was still calm. The Fourth was taking its time, not wanting to damage its new home.

Figaro recognised that this was a critical moment His pupils contracted and his eyes began to glow red. He took possession of his father’s organic.

Ramon Ollo’s organic was keeping his own organic suppressed. It was doing this independently of Figaro. It had been inserted specifically to do this, but it had a host of other abilities. Figaro knew this because his father’s organic was one of those he had been trained to use in the sim-U.

It was the most powerful organic second to his own, so it made sense to use it as a substitute. And unlike most other organics, the data on how it would function and react was as close to perfect as possible since the actual owner was the one who provided that data.

Figaro might not have mastery over his organic, but he was pretty familiar with his dad’s.

Figaro cut off the suppression.

His organic bloomed, cascading to unmanageable levels.

He had no way to control the enormity of the power welling up inside him. It started to absorb everything around him.

This was the absolute strength of his organic. It took away all power from its surroundings and then made that power available to you — if you had the ability to direct it.

Figaro, as of yet, didn’t. But that was understandable.

Sucking up the power of a star was an incredible feat, but what kind of strength would you need to make that power your servant?

Unchecked, the organic would absorb everything in the quadrant, and then release it with utter disdain for the consequences. It didn’t think, it acted.

A massive suction pulled on the Fourth. This traction was an unmatched force that could not be resisted.

“No!” The voice that had been so imperious a moment ago, now sounded terrified. “Stop!” the Fourth roared out in panic as it desperately tried to break free of the force dragging it to hell. It twisted and turned, trying to get free.

One half suddenly accelerated towards the suction force while the other half tried to desperately flee. The sudden filling of the organic’s demands produced a momentary lull. At this moment, it could only endure discarding part of itself to preserve the rest.

There was a sharp break.

Figaro fell to the floor, this time landing in a heap. The flow of energy into him began again, making the lights on the creation machine dim. He focused his mind and forced his father’s organic to activate again. It resisted him, but he had gone through this mental exercise too many times to be denied. The second organic attacked the first. There was a collision of opposing intent, but only one could win. His father’s will had always been the more domineering.

He felt the organic being brought to heel. He started breathing again.

The bars of colour returned to their full intensity. Whatever happened to the Fourth, it was still here, in some form. Figaro struggled to his feet.

“Go now,” said his father. “Find the others. I will hold it here as long as I can.”

“Father, I can—”

“Go!” Ramon Ollo coughed blood and his head dropped.

Figaro’s training kicked in. Rule number one, always do what your father tells you. He turned and ran.

Book 3 – 31: Targeted

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Open Shaft.

 

It wasn’t a long way down. Chukka didn’t possess a physical attribute organic like everyone else appeared to, but she had been trained well enough to be able to slide down the walls, using the grooves and crevices to slow her descent.

Below her, the Seneca women fell like they only held pity for the ground they would land on. It was impressive how easy they made it look, and all while carrying giant guns.

Behind her, what was left of the VendX assault team climbed down while assisting one another. Those with the organics that made it easy, helped those without.

They didn’t work together in the spirit of unity, it was far more basic than that. Everyone specialised, no one had all the tools to do everything by themselves.

Bashir wailed as he was thrown from one strength-org to another, in between passing the gun barrels to each other. No care was taken to soften the impact for either. Bashir had been special ops, but his confidence was in shatters now.

Even the Chairman was moved around like a piece of cargo. He didn’t complain.

Despite the unusual nature of this particular situation, VendX trained all field operatives in how to navigate obstacles as they explored any opportunities they came across.

Ships, asteroids, planets — all contained dangers, some contained treasures.

The key was to run the appropriate risk assessment and then pop the necessary pills to adjust the chances of success.

The difference between VendX and Seneca was that VendX trained you to manage your fear, while Seneca trained you not to have any. The end result was the same. Both teams were willing to jump blindly into a hole.

Chukka’s body was free of drugs. She had a pouch full of pills, like every other VendX employee, but she wouldn’t take any unless she was gravely injured. She needed her mind clear and alert.

She had been working on every member of the VendX team since being brought back into the fold. Her organic was weak and required time to take effect. Even then, it often failed to produce results. But she was determined to eke out every possible advantage from this situation. Even with the Chairman here.

Having him here actually made it easier. All eyes were on him.

The Seneca women touched down first and disappeared into an opening without waiting or giving instructions. They silently signalled one another and followed their General.

Chukka hit the ground with a loud thump and grimaced as her ankles took the brunt of her weight. The VendX boots were designed to absorb impact, but their effectiveness faded over time. Something to do with the Soko-gel™ hardening once it left the planet it was manufactured on. She really needed to buy herself a decent pair of boots.

The others landed behind her, waiting for her to lead the way. There was no sense of leadership, though. The Chairman was leading from the rear.

Ahead of her was an opening, round and about three metres in diameter. She could hear footsteps growing more distant, but she couldn’t see anyone. She headed into the passage and was acutely aware of the lack of footsteps behind her. They were waiting to see if anything happened to her.

Chukka’s eyes flashed, just for a moment. “On my six, stay tight. Fire on my command.”

The two teams of two carrying an Antecessor gun each immediately moved up, close behind her.

“Gerrim, Bashir, lights.”

The sound of snap-tubes being broken bounced around them and then green light filled the tunnel.

It hadn’t been easy using her organic on her colleagues. It had been especially frustrating when the ones she had spent hours priming for suggestion kept dying. But she was confident most of them would follow her orders without question. Which, as their superior, was what they should do anyway, but this was VendX. Service was good when things were going well. But when complications arose, self-preservation reared its ugly head.

“Bashir?”

“The Corps is up ahead,” he said.

“Anything else?” She looked over her shoulder at his glowing eyes.

“No.”

At least he was still capable of making himself useful. She moved quickly to catch up with the Seneca women.

The walls down here, perfectly circular, were grooved and marked with strange symbols. There was no indication of any active systems. In a regular Antecessor facility, these grooves and channels would be filled with sentient white fluid, ready to activate defences and droids. These walls were completely inert.

Up ahead, she saw the Seneca women holding position in an open area. When she got there, she saw there were two exits, both identical, leading in opposite directions.

“Which one?” said the Seneca General.

“Straight ahead,” said the Chairman.

“There isn’t one going straight ahead,” said General Sway.

The Chairman didn’t say anything, just smiled a little.

The General’s shoulders went up and then dropped. “Okay. Blow it open.”

Moving quickly, like they’d already rehearsed it a hundred times, the four Seneca soldiers manoeuvred into position, aiming their guns at the wall in front of them. There were two tunnels and neither went in this direction.

Chukka instructed her team to move back. Seneca wanted to do everything themselves? That was fine by her.

Click, flash. The wall disappeared in a puff of dust. There was a third passage now.

“Couldn’t they have put in a door?” mumbled Bashir.

“They did,” said Chukka. “We just don’t have a key.”

“Not far now,” said the Chairman.

Sway looked at him, not happy. She didn’t trust him, waiting for an ambush, a double-cross. Chukka wasn’t surprised, but if the Chairman had something planned, he hadn’t informed the rest of them. She knew he had an influence-type organic, one more powerful and more blunt than hers, but harder to disguise. Once you knew about it, you’d be on your guard.

He could still forcibly take over someone’s mind, but it would be more difficult. And multiple hijacks would be nearly impossible.

They entered the new passage. General Sway was in an inaudible conversation with her second. The Chairman was whispering instructions to Daccord. Chukka had the feeling she was in the middle of a very unsavoury sandwich.

This tunnel was smaller than the previous one. Just as circular, but the designs carved into the walls were more intricate.

After a few minutes of walking, the Chairman stopped. “Here.”

Everyone else turned around to look at him. He took his meaty paw off Daccord’s shoulder and pointed at his feet.

Sway came back through her team and looked at the Chairman’s feet, then back up at him. Which was pointless, so she shifted her gaze to Daccord.

“This better not be a deception.” Sway didn’t look happy. If they shot the floor, wouldn’t that send them falling? The tunnel wasn’t big enough to get any distance and still be able to shoot down.

“Trust me, General,” said the Chairman. “We’ve already signed the contract. You can have faith that we, at least, will be following it to the letter. That’s just who we are.”

Chukka’s ears perked up. Being faithful ‘to the letter’ was code for ‘get ready for things to get bumpy.’

Sway was pulling all sorts of concerned faces, but she waved her team forward while everyone else retreated. Whatever they were going to do, Sway still intended to take the lead and only trust her own people to take action.

The first two women fired and smoke filled the tunnel. When it cleared, there was a dent in the floor. Apparently, things were thicker underfoot.

They tried again and again, both Seneca teams firing together, but although the shallow indentation got a bit deeper, there was no hole, just a very acrid taste to the air they were breathing.

The next shot produced nothing. No click, no flash.

“We’re out,” said the woman behind the trigger.

The other team also ran out of ammo on their next attempt. It wasn’t clear what kind of ammo these weapons used or even where to insert it, but there was nothing coming out of the barrel.

“Hand over our weapons,” said the Chairman, instructing the VendX gunners to give up their giant guns.

“You want us to carry on firing?” Sway made no attempt to disguise the suspicion in her voice.

“I don’t think I could stand the weight of your misgivings if we took over now,” said the Chairman. He sounded magnanimous but everyone was on alert, on both sides.

Sway considered the matter, then flashed a look at the two teams. They dumped their discharged weapons, and took the two VendX had been carrying. They resumed firing.

Finally, a shot sounded different and when the smoke cleared, there was a hole in the floor. And a room below.

They dropped in a snap-tube but it didn’t illuminate much. The hole was big enough for two people to get through. One of the Seneca women went first.

“Clear.”

Everyone jumped down, one by one. The Chairman was a bit of a snug fit, but he seemed to be very confident this was the way.

They were in a small room, barely big enough to accommodate them all. And in the middle, like a leafless tree or a desert plant, was a sigil. Three metres tall and floating.

The hole was in a corner of the room. The sigil was in the middle but it was very dull and lifeless. The ones she’d seen (on vid) were bright and glowing, implying dangerous alien power. This one was smooth and glossy, but devoid of life, like a monitor screen that had been turned off.

She knew it was a sigil because she had learned about them in school, like everyone else. Later, she’d seen them in training vids, as well as in movies and games. They were a well-known symbol of the Antecessors, even if little was known about their true purpose.

But everyone had a vague idea of what they looked like.

Modern thinking suggested each of the 64 types indicated a particular form of power or effect. Since no one knew how to activate them, it was hard to prove.

“What is this place?” said Bashir. He had a bad habit of talking to himself out loud.

Everyone was keeping to the edges of the room. There were no exists that could be seen. Shooting their way out seemed the only option. Who knew how many more shots they had left.

“This is the sigil we were sent to disable,” said General Sway.

“Isn’t it already turned off?” said Jupila, her second in command.

“Yes,” said Sway. “It appears to be. Did someone beat us to it?”

“It isn’t active because we didn’t activate it,” said the Chairman. “Had we arrived in the room below us, as we were expected to, we would have triggered it and have to face the newly arrived Antecessors.”

“This isn’t the sigil room?” said Sway.

“No. This is the sigil storage space. It will descend when activated. The symbol is ship dock. Ships that land on the surface or come within range, can access this sigil to board the ship.”

“Why would the Fourth want us to activate it, then?” said Jupila.

“Because it wants them to come on board at this location,” said Sway. “I’m not sure why. But, as long as they don’t use this one, we can then activate it and access their ship.”

It sounded like a well-thought-out plan. Wait for the Antecessors to leave their ship and come onto this one, and then they would be able to sneak onto their ship and escape. There were, however, a few small problems, a couple of missing details.

“Even if you are telling the truth,” said Sway, “how the hell do you know all this?”

“VendX isn’t quite the small-time business operation you seem to think,” said the Chairman. “This place, the technology here, we have information about it in our files. A lot of things that didn’t make sense until now. I can’t go into it in detail, for obvious legal reasons.”

“If you had that kind of information, you wouldn’t still be a first-rate existence running your business in the back of beyond.”

“Like I said, it didn’t make much sense until now,” said the Chairman.

Even if it was true, it was still a high-risk strategy. Who was to say the Antecessor ship would be empty, or would allow them to fly it away?

“We just need to wait here until the fighting starts,” said the Chairman. “Then we can—”

The floor beneath them disappeared and then fell into a larger room. It wasn’t a big fall, no organics required for survival, but still a shock.

“Who turned it on?” shouted the Chairman, lying on his back.

The sigil followed them down at a more relaxed speed. It was humming and glowing bright pink.

Chukka was up and scanning the room for a welcome party. It was empty, apart from them and the recently descended sigil. There was an exit, a circular opening, but it wasn’t possible to see what was through it.

The sigil washed everything in pink light.

“Is this what you were planning?” said Sway angrily.

“No, no,” said the Chairman. “This is not what was supposed to happen. Who triggered the sigil?”

“There’s no one in this room other than us,” said Jupila. They all clearly thought the Chairman had deliberately activated the sigil. But why? Even Chukka couldn’t see the reason.

The sigil began to spin. The cactus-shaped symbol in the middle was still bright pink, but the interior of it seemed to have great depth, like you could fall through it, if you happened to be thin enough.

Something moved inside the sigil and a tentacle came snaking through. It wasn’t hard to recognise the tendril as belonging to an Antecessor droid. They’d all seen them. But this one seemed a little different. A little more fresh and new looking.

“Open fire,” shouted Sway.

The Seneca troops pointed their two guns at the sigil and fired. They may have been doing exactly what the Fourth wanted, but they didn’t have many other options.

The guns didn’t seem to do anything. More tentacles appeared. They reached out and grabbed the women firing on the sigil.

It was sudden and brutal. Much faster than it should have been. The women couldn’t even scream.

“Help them,” Sway shouted at Chukka.

Help them how? wondered Chukka. She remained where she was and the other VnedX employees followed her example.

There was a brief struggle, some attempts at using organic-augmented force, and then two women were dragged through the sigil at frightening speed.

The gap was too narrow for the women to have passed through. But through they went.

The other two women with the second gun were next. The guns literally did nothing.

“Take him out,” shouted Jupila.

The woman at the rear abandoned the gun and nimbly dodged the tentacle reaching for her. She moved at startling speed towards the Chairman.

“Daccord.” Being blind didn’t stop the Chairman feeling the threat.

Daccord moved to intercept the diving woman. He was quickly dispatched with a swipe, sending him to the floor. The Chairman’s blank eyes glowed white and the assassin winced, but kept going.

Just before she got to him, several tentacles grabbed her, yanking her out of the air and through the sigil.

Daccord got to his feet and the Chairman gave him a pat on the back.

Sway, enraged, grabbed the gun now on the floor, and operating it on her own, aimed it at the Chairman. She had a very clear idea of who was responsible for the death of her people.

She was snatched away, along with her second, who had tried to help her.

They were dragged through in an instant.

These Antecessors were far more decisive in their actions than the kinds of droids Chukka had seen before. And far more powerful. Using organics against them was useless. Too slow, too weak. Even Sway’s body modification, making her skin hard as diamonds, hadn’t prevented being sucked out of the room.

So far, only the Seneca women had been taken. Two VendX employees panicked and ran for the exit. Wherever it led, it had to be better than here.

Chukka’s eyes glimmered. The two VendX runners suddenly veered towards the fallen guns and picked one up between them. The other team of two rushed out and did likewise with the second gun.

It wasn’t easy getting them to be brave. Most people only took suggestions they weren‘t vehemently opposed to — but who didn’t have fantasies about being heroic?

Tentacles came flying out and whisked them away, ignoring all shots fired.

Now there was just Chukka, the Chairman and Daccord and Bashir.

The Chairman didn’t look fazed at all. It was like he expected all this to happen. If he was bluffing, he was doing it with style.

Chukka decided to make her move. “Bashir, help me.” She ran for one of the fallen guns. Bashir came running to assist.

Had she tried to get him to help her fire on the aliens, he wouldn’t have come out of his hiding spot. But she hadn’t primed him to be a hero. She needed one person ready to quit in solidarity with her. And he was so ready to quit.

They got the gun up and threw it to land between the Chairman and Daccord. They were already in the right position, one behind the other, an arms-length apart.

The gun balanced perfectly between them, surprising them both. The Chairman stared blindly down the sight.

Chukka felt an immense force push into her mind. It was the Chairman, telling her to immediately take his place. She resisted for three seconds by biting into her own arm.

Tentacles shot out to grab the Chairman and Daccord.

They targeted those who were armed. In particular, those who were armed with these special god-killing weapons. That was why the Chairman let Sway have them.

But Chukka had read all the Chairman’s books. She knew how his mind worked. His books were very detailed, for all sorts of situations.

How the Chairman got pulled through such a thin slit was impossible to say, but he was gone in an instant.

Chukka was breathing hard with Bashir pale and shaking beside her.

The tentacles came back. This time they forced the edges of the sigil apart. Something was coming through.

Just because they’d survived until now and weren’t holding guns, didn’t mean they weren’t still in trouble. But Chukka was prepared.

She stood up and approached the sigil.

“My name is Chukka,” she said to the sigil bursting with tentacles. They stopped wriggling and seemed to look at her. “I don’t know if you can understand me, but I can help you.” The tentacles stopped pushing the edges of the sigil and moved towards her. She did her best to hold her position and keep her voice from shaking. “I know what the Fourth is up to.” They came swinging closer. “I know who the Null Void is.” They grabbed her and wrapped themselves around her, lifting her off the floor. “I can help you get the boy.”

She hung there. It didn’t rip her through the sigil. It just kept her there as the sigil was opened wider, and then it came through.

Book 3 – 30: Big Deal

Wormhole Island - Interior.

Armoury.

 

General Sway watched the VendX employees swarm over the racks of weapons like well-trained locusts. They shouted out what they found in clear, easy to note bursts. Finding and cataloguing items that didn’t belong to them was something they knew how to do.

“Four barrels, three metres. Black with white markings on one end.”

“Six trigger devices. Black. No markings.

“Two magazines. Attached. Black. White markings on the bottom of both.”

Two of the nine that were left of the VendX group — the other twelve having been sacrificed — walked behind the scroungers, writing everything down.

These were weapons that would be needed for survival against an impossible enemy, but what was important was that every piece was accounted for so that no item went missing. It was a shopkeeper’s mentality. Zero tolerance of all petty theft if you wanted to be sure of turning a profit.

Supervising them, their Chairman stood apart with his assistant at his side. His presence seemed to be enough to keep his people focused and functioning in these most trying of circumstances. It was impressive how fixedly they were able to grind themselves down, no external oppressor required. Everything was provided in-store, off the shelf.

The Chairman was blind and yet seemed to be fully aware of what was going on around him. He was huge and heavy, yet forced others to keep up with him. He had momentum. He was not someone to be underestimated. Or trusted.

Her own people had marked out a smaller section to go over. She had five left under her command. They didn’t need to log everything they found, they just needed to find equipment that worked in this place.

“Jupila,” said Sway as she felt her adjutant’s shadow approaching. “What have you found?”

“We have confirmed three out and out strength orgs,” said Captain Jupila in a quiet, conversational voice. “Two are speed. One is info, he’s the one we knew about before. They lost both the other two. One we think is probably structural destruction. And the last one, we can’t say for sure but we’re leaning towards psychic or mental augmentation. As for the Chairman...”

Sway nodded to herself. VendX weren’t the only ones who were good at making lists. “What about the Chairman?” She had already experienced what he could do, but it was best to be thorough.

“Mental suppression and influence, but it looks like it’s only effective against organic users. Which is everyone here.”

“Hmm,” said Sway. That was why Ubik was able to run rings around the man. “How does that explain how he knew about this place?” She glanced around the narrow room full of racks and shelves. An armoury, carefully hidden. But the Chairman had brought them directly here.

Jupila let out a soft snort. “Best we can come up with, the simulation he was in told him.”

Sway turned to face Jupila. “And why would it do that?”

Jupila struggled to come up with an answer. The Chairman had led them here with an air of expectancy. He had shown no surprise when they found a store of oversized weapons. He clearly knew they’d be here.

“It’s possible that… the simulations showed us attractive images, things we wanted or desired as a way to keep us tied up…” She seemed reluctant to finish the thought.

“And the thing he wanted most was to know where the guns were, so it showed him?” Sway was not convinced. “That makes no sense.”

“No,” agreed Jupila. “Unless…”

“Yes?”

“It wanted us to come here and find these weapons. As part of a bigger plan.”

Sway found herself nodding again. The Fourth had lit a path for them, showing the way. There had been obstacles and deaths, but that was just a way to thin them out. For some reason, having them armed with weapons that worked was somehow to the Antecessor’s advantage.

It obviously didn’t want them to use the weapons against it, so who were they meant to fight? Each other?

If it wanted them dead, it could have achieved that already.

Most likely, their target was going to be the Antecessors that were on their way here to pick up the Ollo boy. But she doubted they were going to be a serious threat to a fully-functional Antecessor ship, possibly a whole fleet. So, a decoy? A distraction?

There were too many possibilities to consider at the moment. She would need more to go on before she could start narrowing them down.

“What about the weapons? Any that we can put into play?”

“Yes,” said Jupila, sounding surprisingly confident. The guns were huge and designed for much larger operators than a normal-size human being. “We’ve found a way to strip them down to their core fundamentals — seems like they were designed that way. We might need to take some elements from the VendX area — triggering devices mostly — but the actual function of these guns is fairly straightforward. Exactly how powerful they’ll turn out to be is impossible to say until we fire them.”

It was standard practice when it came to looting armaments off the enemy. Strip them down, then mix and match what you can.

“We might still need to have two operators for each one,” continued Jupila, “but it looks doable.”

So they had working weapons. That meant VendX would too. As long as they were working together towards the same goal, that was fine. When they were no longer on the same side, then there would be a problem. And the first one to cause the problem would win.

“How’s the viper?” asked Sway.

“She’s in good condition,” said Jupila. “Do you want her activated?”

“Yes,” said Sway.

“Target? Moon?” Moon was the codename they’d given the Chairman.

“Yes. Have her stay on him. Take him down once I give the signal, and only then.”

Jupila gave a curt nod.

Viper was a class of special soldier hidden within regular ranks. Nothing was made of their presence, not even the other members of their squad were aware of who or what they were.

If they were never called into action, they carried out their duties like any other member of the Corps. Once they were activated, though, they became a death sentence for their target, using their special skills to strike quickly and without mercy, by any means necessary.

Currently, the team Sway had under her command contained one viper. It was sheer good luck that she had survived, although if anyone was to survive, it would be a viper. Although, having said that, several had not. A large-scale disaster in space lessened the impact of individual talent. It was hard to dodge your way out of an exploding spaceship.

“General Sway,” said the Chairman’s assistant, Daccord, as he walked up to her. “I have here an itemised list of everything we’ve found. I’m sure if we combine resources, we can fashion functioning weaponry out of this stock.” He held out a piece of paper. “May I see your list?”

“We don’t have a list,” said Jupila. “Records leave unnecessary evidence.”

Daccord looked confused. “You must have a very understanding accounts department. Ours start foaming at the mouth if we don’t deliver every docket in triplicate.”

“I can give you a full rundown of what we’ve found,” said Jupila, scanning the list he’d given her. “We could use some triggers, if you can spare a couple.”

Sway watched Jupila and Daccord negotiate trades, both being polite and reasonable, a mutually beneficial transaction with no ulterior motives. Both were very skilled at hiding their true intentions and quickly came to an understanding with a clear set of requirements on either side.

“Stop!” bellowed the Chairman of VendX just as the trading was about to be finalised. “First, we need to be sure of our overriding objective.”

Sway had no doubt he had been waiting for just the right moment to step in and reveal his true agenda, dangling the carrot within reach but refusing to let go.

“Yes, I agree,” said Sway, eager to find out what he was really after, but not revealing any of it in her voice. “We need to have a clear idea of how we will proceed from this point on.” She could see he was ready to continue, but she didn’t give him the chance. “It is fairly obvious the Fourth only revealed this location to you with the expectation you would lead us here to arm ourselves. Any other information it gave you will be as likely to lead us into a disadvantageous predicament as not.”

Chairman Crafbeg loomed over her like an edifice of basic but imposing architecture. “Yes. Obviously you are correct. But we can use this knowledge to our mutual benefit.”

“How?” asked Sway, willing to hear him out. She expected a semi-earnest explanation of his objective, but she expected that to reveal a lot more than he would wish.

“From here to the sigil, there will be very little resistance. The Fourth wants us to reach the sigil, limited in number, but armed to the teeth with very powerful ordnance. We are going to face an opponent we will be expected to engage but not overwhelm. We might even be pushed back.”

“A stalling tactic,” said Sway.

“Precisely. We slow them down, get overrun. Once we collapse, our usefulness will be at an end and I don’t believe we will be shown any gratitude.”

“I don’t suppose we will,” said Sway. So far, his assessment of the situation mirrored hers.

“I suggest this,” said the Chairman. “We agree to work together to get to the sigil as quickly as possible and disable it. The Antecessors won’t be arriving by ship, they will get here via a transdimensional passage connected to the sigil. We have files on this sort of thing so we know it’s possible. The Fourth is waiting for them to arrive, I believe it is in our best interests to stop them from doing so.”

“Alright,” said Sway. This was more information than she had expected him to share. Which made her a little nervous. What he was still hiding had to be even more important. “We get out of here and head directly for the sigil. I presume you know the shortest route.”

The Chairman smiled. “Indeed. But first, in order to guarantee we don’t do anything as foolish as turn on one another, I propose we sign a contract.”

“A contract? For what?”

“For the intellectual property rights of the technology we have found here,” said the Chairman. “There is no point trying to be coy about this. Our two groups are very likely to become opponents either before or after we deal with the Fourth. I think there is no doubt the Fourth knows this and is counting on it. I can’t say I have a full understanding of its intentions, but I’m sure there is some point to it. I am happy to never find out what that is.”

Sway nodded along. They were absolutely headed towards a conflict between the two of them, and nobody other than the Fourth would benefit.

“When I say a contract,” said the Chairman, “I mean something binding, something that will greatly inconvenience and embarrass us both if either party were to break it.”

A businessman first. Sway was happy to sign anything, it meant nothing to her. The legal system in this quadrant was robust and powerful, but far from being able to censure her to any meaningful degree.

“I agree,” said Sway. “It will be best if we make our positions clear. I will lead the combined forces of our two groups, with a goal to get to the sigil and avoid any kind of conflict with the soon to arrive Antecessors, and in return, you can have the IP and general salvage rights on any of the technology and weapon systems found here.”

A slight look of surprise crossed the Chairman’s sightless face. “You are being very generous.”

He was suspicious at how easily she had capitulated.

“I don’t have the time to negotiate,” said Sway. “Don’t get me wrong, we will research all the technological anomalies we’ve come across here, and any useful developments will be integrated into the Corps’ arsenal, but it won’t be made available outside of our worlds. The open market is all yours.”

She was offering him all markets outside of the Corps. They would use what they had found for themselves, but they wouldn’t try to sell any of it. Not much of a concession since the Corps rarely interacted with outsiders, but if it suited VendX to have it in writing, so be it.

“Very good,” said the Chairman. “Daccord, the contract.”

With no working tronics, the paperwork was written on actual paper. VendX had the requisite documentation for making deals in numerous formats, analogue and digital. Their priorities were abundantly clear.

Daccord quickly filled out the document in his hands and then passed it over to Sway for signing. It seemed vaguely ridiculous to be making legally binding deals at a time like this, but if it made the process smoother, then there was no reason not to.

Obviously, the Chairman understood the value of a written agreement — it would make little difference in the immediate short-term, but once this matter was over, and assuming they survived, then it would be of immense value.

The Chairman was thinking long-term, as most investors would. Sway preferred to go from battle to battle, as any commander would.

Once the deal was done, both sides exchanged goods and began to quickly jerry-rig functional weapons. Between the two groups, they had four guns, each needing to be borne on shoulders and requiring two people to operate — one to stabilise and aim, the other to fire.

The next thing was to do was test them. Their firepower was an unknown quantity and not something you’d want to find out in the middle of a fight. At the same time, if they were as powerful as the Chairman claimed, then they could bring the roof down on top of themselves if they weren’t careful.

What they really needed was something to aim at.

“Good,” said the Chairman. “Very—”

“Attention, all of you,” said General Sway. “From this point forward, you will be taking your orders from me. That means all of you.”

The VendX people looked from Sway to Daccord.

Daccord nodded at them. They accepted the order like any drudge would. They had no loyalty except to whoever paid their wages. Seneca training instilled a refusal to work under anyone other than the Corps, no matter who gave the order. Even if the person issuing the order was in the Corps, once you betrayed the values of the Corps, you were no longer Corps.

The VendX drudges returned their attention to Sway, their deadened eyes hoping she wouldn’t demand too much of them. They were in luck. She had no intention of relying on them whatsoever. Other than as a meat-shield, she saw no advantage in having them play a significant role going forward. What having command of them would do, though, was give her the ability to make sure they didn’t get in her way.

“Who is the ranking officer for assault and intervention?”

Daccord cleared his throat. “That would be—”

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “I will need you with me,” said the Chairman. “Where is Chukka.”

“Yes, Major Chukka would be next in line,” said Daccord, looking across at the others.

A woman stepped out. She had a serious face and eyes that were cold but alert.

“My orders will be short and direct, just follow them exactly,” said Sway. “My troops will be leading the way and engaging any obstacles. Do not, I repeat DO NOT engage without permission.”

Relief flooded the faces turned towards her. They were capable of doing ‘nothing.’

“We won’t get in your way,” said Chukka.

“Good. Which way to the sigil?” said Sway.

“There,” said the Chairman, pointing at the wall at the far end of the room.

It was a blank wall with no shelving and nothing to mark it out as special. No door or control panel. But it did provide an excellent target.

Sway looked over at Jupila and nodded.

With only a couple of hand-signals, two women carrying one of the oversized barrels turned and faced the wall. The one in front kneeled on one knee, the barrel resting on her shoulder, and the one in rear crouched to line up the shot.

Everyone else moved back and out of the way.

“Fire,” said Jupila.

There was a click, then a hum, followed by a screech. The wall exploded into a puff of dust, revealing an open area behind it.

Jupila went forward to investigate, peering through the newly created hole. “It’s a shaft. Goes down thirty metres. Looks clean.”

“Follow us in,” said Sway to the VendX employees.

Sway turned back to Jupila and nodded.

“Go,” said Jupila.

The four Seneca troopers ran at the hole in the wall with the Antecessors weapons on their shoulder and jumped in. Jupila followed. Sway was right behind her.

She heard the others running and jumping behind, along with shouted threats, probably about wages being docked. It was no wonder VendX was still only a first-rate corporation. It would take several hesitant safe landings before they trusted her. And then would be the perfect time to betray that trust.