V. Moody's Blog, page 14

Book 3 – 9: Belly of the Beast

Wormhole Island.

The Tower.

 

Ubik leaned over the dark hole and cupped a hand around his mouth. “Did you live, Ogden?”

There was a short pause before a weak and plaintive voice called back, “Yes.” Bashir sounded pitiful and reluctant to participate in any kind of dialogue that might involve further surprise volunteering. Quick learner. Not quick enough, but not bad.

Judging by how long it was taking to get an answer, Ubik judged the depth of this hole to be around fifty metres or so. Not an insubstantial drop.

“Anything broken?” called down Ubik.

Another pause. “No… but it’s very dark.” Bashir sounded like he wanted to make sure the people above him understood that his situation wasn’t completely without difficulty. When people thought you’d got away without suffering, they usually decided it didn’t count and volunteered you again.

Ubik was familiar with this kind of thinking, especially in the corporate world. No matter how bad things looked, they could get worse.

Bashir was already thinking about how to prevent the next disaster. It showed the man was a seasoned professional. Ubik was glad to have him on the team. Good people were so hard to find, and they deserved to be rewarded for their efforts.

“Okay, Ogden, stay there,” he shouted. “We’ll be down in a sec.” Ubik turned to the women gathered around the newly opened entrance into the underworld. “See? The man’s a fearless trailblazer.”

“Can you hurry up? I’m a bit scared,” Bashir’s voice warbled up from below.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing down there,” said Ubik. “Thanks to him, we can proceed in the secure knowledge that nothing vile and horrible is waiting for us in the dark with its many tentacles and pointy teeth dripping with acid.”

“What?” said Bahir. “Did you say tentacles?”

“No, I said we’ll be there in ten ticks. Just relax.”

“You want us to all go down together?” said General Sway.

“No,” said Fig. “We’ll go first. You can follow at your own pace.”

Sway cocked an eyebrow. “You may go ahead.”

Ubik was surprised by the ease with which she stepped aside. “Not worried we’ll end up tussling over the treasures waiting to be found?”

General Sway didn’t seem very concerned about losing out.

Fig shook his head. “My father has already gone ahead, so if there is anything worth claiming, he will have claimed it already.”

“True,” said Ubik. “And we also have to deal with the prisoner held captive here.”

“How do you know there’s anyone held here?” asked Sway.

“Can’t you feel its presence?” said Ubik. “Something dark and evil, held down but just waiting to get free so it can devour all of us.”

“Er, are you talking about something down here?” said Bashir’s anxious voice.

“No, no,” called down Ubik. “We were just discussing, erm, wormhole radiation and it’s long-term effects. Safest place is where you are right now.” He pulled a face at the General. “No such thing, I made it up.”

“I can hear you,” said Bashir.

“Damn, these acoustics are amazing,” said Ubik. “Bet it’d be great for music.”

“We’ll go in first then,” said Fig.

General Sway nodded and then began organising her troops into squads.

“She’s going to let us go in first and so we can run into any traps or defence systems,” said Ubik. “But your dad should have taken care of most of them, and PT will have stumbled into any he missed.”

“PT’s pretty good at avoiding traps,” said Fig.

“Not mine, he isn’t.” Ubik beamed proudly.

“We don’t have much time,” said Chukka, a concerned look on her face as she stared at Fig. “The next attack will be soon.”

“What did you do to her?” said Ubik.

“Nothing,” said Chukka, glaring at him. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think your girlfriend likes me,” Ubik whispered loudly.

While the Seneca women got organised, the small group of VendX employees Ubik had brought with him stood a little further back, looking nervously towards the exit of the tower, as though they were waiting for the right time to run away. The Corps didn’t seem to care about them, not seeing them as worthy of concern.

A few seconds later, it became apparent they weren’t looking to get away, they were waiting for reinforcements.

The Chairman and his lackey had sent a second team of six as backup, following Ubik’s group at a distance to keep an eye on their rear (and to make sure Ubik didn’t run off, no doubt).

Now those six suddenly appeared, carrying weapons — blades and improvised spears — so that the Seneca women had opponents in front and behind.

“Stop,” said one of the newly arrived men. “All of you, back away from the hole. We have more people coming. Don’t do anything foolish. This site is under new management.”

He didn’t sound very sure of himself and was probably trying to stall for time. If the rest of VendX could get here, they probably would be able to take control of the site, but even outnumbered, the Seneca women would put up a good fight.

Eyes lit up all around as organics were activated. VendX and Seneca were both going to rely on their augmented abilities. Ubik couldn’t tell what kind of offensive capabilities each side had, but the Seneca Corps was known for the very high quality of its organics. No one matched them in that department, not even a top tier corporation, and VendX was a couple of levels below that.

Whatever the outcome of this skirmish, Ubik wasn’t really interested. Neither side presented him with anything he needed.

Ubik looked at Fig and they both jumped into the hole as the clash of weapons and the crunch of body blows resounded.

The two of them dropped into the darkness and adjusted to the strange gravitational pull. They were moving quickly, but there was a profound feeling of restraint, like they were in some kind of controlled descent.

“I bet PT loved this,” said Ubik. He turned his body and tumbled the way PT was able to. Of course, PT was able to do it under the most intense and life-threatening situations, but Ubik felt he could probably pull off a few acrobatic moves with a little practice. It was just sticking the landing that was a little tricky, which Ubik demonstrated when he rolled, inverted and then hit the ground with his face.

A light appeared around Fig, his suit glowed with a pale yellow-green aura.

“Why are you lying like that?” Fig asked him.

Ubik rolled over and carefully untangled his legs before standing up. He used his tongue to check his teeth were still all there. “I’m testing a new landing configuration. It’s in the prototype phase.”

A doubtful look passed across Fig’s eyes but he didn’t pursue the matter.

The two of them looked around. The light from Fig’s suit wasn’t enough to illuminate the whole area but there were walls and there was Bashir, crouched down and huddled in a corner.

“What are you doing?” asked Ubik.

“I didn’t want to get hit by someone falling on top of me,” said Bashir. He didn’t get up.

“And now?” said Ubik.

“I still don’t.”

Ubik looked up towards the sounds of struggle. There was no sign of anyone following them, but they were bound to come once the fighting was over. He looked from side to side for a way out. Fig moved to do the same, and another figure was revealed behind him. Chukka.

“Do we need her?” said Ubik.

Her mouth was small and pinched, her eyes were big and wary. Fear of what she didn’t know was down here and contempt for what she did. She moved towards Fig while keeping her eyes on Ubik.

Fig was already circling the room, testing the floor and walls for any pressure pads or panels he might be able to open. “Yes. I need her for the psychic attacks.” He waved his arm and the panel on the bracelet flapped back and forth. “I don’t know if this will be any use now.”

“It’ll still work. A bit. Anyway, I don’t think they’re attacks,” said Ubik. “You should try to communicate with whatever it is next time. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”

“There’s nothing pleasant about it,” said Fig.

“Okay,” said Ubik, smiling at Chukka. “Welcome aboard. From now on, you do what the boss tells you and we’ll get along fine.”

Chukka’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You want me to follow your orders?”

“Me? No, I’m not the boss.”

She looked at Fig.

“No,” said Ubik. “Not him, either.”

Chukka looked back at him, confused. “The other one’s the boss?”

“Of course,” said Ubik. “He’s the one pulling the strings from the shadows, the mastermind.” He pointed to a ledge barely visible. “Up there.”

Fig moved towards where Ubik was pointing and raised his hand. A stronger beam of light shone out of his palm.

“What is that light?” asked Ubik.

“Bioluminescence,” said Fig. “It’s kind of a back-up back-up. It doesn’t last that long, though, so I can only use it sparingly.”

Fig’s suit was obviously of high quality, as all Ollo products were, but there was no indication of how this light was produced or controlled. Not with tronics, certainly, but what did that leave?

Between them, they managed to get up onto the ledge. Fig pulled up Chukka. Bashir rushed forward, one eye pointed above to avoid any falling bodies, and scrambled up to join them.

There was a long tunnel ahead of them. Fig took the lead, lighting the way. Chukka kept close to him with Bashir next to her.

“I can’t sense any movement,” said Bashir. “But there’s something odd up ahead.”

“Odd?” said Chukka. “What do you mean?”

Bashir frowned, his eyes darting from side to side. “Odd… Like there’s something moving but not moving.”

“Be more clear,” insisted Chukka. “What do y—”

She was shoved out of the way by Ubik. “Hey, chain of command. You’re last.” He patted Bashir on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ogden, we’ll find out what it is later. Think of it like a game — guess what monster lurks in the dark.” Bashir blanched but Ubik gave him a supportive punch in the shoulder and turned to Chukka. “You’re terrible for group morale. What do they teach you in the PR Department? How to upset everyone and make them hate you?”

Chukka nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh,” said Ubik. “Good work, then.”

They kept moving through the passage, which was straight and featureless.

“This looks like a service tunnel,” said Ubik. “Pretty standard stuff for a prison ship. Bring in all cargo and personnel through here. Probably connected this end to supply ships, easier to control everything.”

“You really think this is a prison?” said Fig.

“No doubt about it,” said Ubik. “When have I ever been wrong? Rhetorical question.”

The tunnel ended with an opening into a larger area, covered in darkness. There was no obvious way forward. Fig leaned through the opening and looked down, sending a beam of light out from his suit.

“Look,” Fig whispered. “Down there.” There was a purple tinge to the darkness below, the same as the substance inside Fig’s bracelet.

Ubik looked down and immersed his consciousness into the patterns formed by the shifting lights. He felt as though if he spent enough time, he would progressively uncover their mysteries.

“Jump.”

“I’m not jumping,” said Ubik, but he felt himself falling forward.

Fig grabbed him. “Ubik, snap out of it!”

“Wha…?” Ubik jumped back.

“Hey, Fig, is that you?”

Fig tilted the light up and found a solitary figure suspended above them.

“Why did you tell me to jump?” said Ubik.

“I didn’t,” said PT.

“He’s not talking to you,” said Fig.

Ubik started smashing his arm against the wall. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. You like that, huh? That’s what you get for your bad suggestions.”

“Has he lost it?” said PT.

“No,” said Fig. “No more than usual.”

Ubik stopped and peered up at PT. “What are you doing up there, Boss?”

“Waiting for you,” said PT.

“Well, here we are.” Ubik spread out his arms while casually smashing one into the wall. “What can we do for you?”

“Get me down.” PT sounded like he was running short on patience.

“Sure,” said Ubik. “How?”

“There’s a panel on the wall next to you.”

“Ah,” said Ubik, seeing the grid marked in the wall. “Yep, here it is.” His head moved from side to side. “How the hell does this work?”

“I don’t know,” said PT. “Ramon tricked me into pressing the four corner squares and I ended up here.” He gave a short account of what had happened.

“My father left you like that?” said Fig.

“Yes. He was where I am, and I was where you are. Then I pressed the buttons he told me to, and I ended up here, and he ended up over there.” PT indicated the other side of the room with a nod of his head.

“Interesting,” said Ubik. “So he told you to press this…” Ubik pressed the squares in the order PT had mentioned.

“No, don’t!” shouted PT. There was a flash of white light and Ubik found himself high above the others. He could just about make out PT on the other side.

“There you go,” said Ubik. “There should be another panel on your side, PT.”

PT looked at the walls. “It’s too dark… Wait, yes, I can sort of feel it.”

There was a flash and Ubik appeared next to him.

“We can get across like this?” said PT. “What kind of a trap is that?”

“It’s not a trap,” said Ubik. “It’s like an airlock. Designed to keep horrible things out, alien bugs or whatever it was the Antecessors didn’t want on their ship. Can’t let the infected person decide to let themselves onboard, so someone else has to do it.”

“So, Ramon could have let me out?”

“Yes,” said Ubik. “Probably didn’t want you cramping his style. Some people don’t like a lot of negativity around them, you know?”

The others came across one at a time until they were all across. This passage was short, leading to a small room with three passages leading away from it.

“Now what?” said PT.

“You’re the boss, Boss,” said Ubik.

There was a scream, long and high-pitched. It didn’t sound human.

“That way?” said Ubik. They headed towards it.

Book 3 – 8: Dancing in the Dark

Wormhole Island.

The Tower

 

Ubik looked from one confused face to the next, his hand held out expectantly. No one moved.

“Come on,” he said. “One of you must have a knife or a dagger or something. What about the old lady? You look like you keep a knife handy. Help cut off your food and stuff.”

The woman glared at him.

“That’s General Sway,” said Fig. “She’s the leader of the Seneca First Battalion.”

“Ooh,” said Ubik. “You must have a really fancy knife. Can you lend it me?”

Her stare was ice cold and a little hurtful. Ubik had the impression she was thinking mean things about him.

“Do you have some kind of grudge with this woman?” Ubik asked Figaro. “Did you have to provoke her?”

“I didn’t provoke her — you’re the one she’s suspicious of. Can you be a little more respectful? I think we might need her help to break through the door,” Figaro admitted reluctantly.

“I can do respectful, no problem.”

“Okay.” Fig nodded indifferently.

Ubik snapped his fingers. “Knife. Now.” He opened his hand, palm up. He moved his mouth to the side, towards Fig. “Respect as equals. It’s what us apex predators respond best to.”

“I don’t think she sees you as an equal,” said Fig.

“I know, that’s why I’m coming down to her level. She appreciates it, you can tell by her face.”

“We’re not going to give you a weapon,” said General Sway, her face full of thunder.

“Then how am I supposed to cut off his arm?” said Ubik. “I’m just a civilian. What do you expect me to do? Use my sharp wit to hack through his biceps?”

“My arm feels fine,” said Fig. He was sitting up now, rotating his wrist and shoulder.

“Of course it feels fine, there’s nothing wrong with it. I need the thing on your wrist. The secret to getting inside that panel is in your bracelet, I can feel it.”

Fig looked at the cleared patch on the ground and then at the bracelet on his arm. “Can’t you use it while it’s still attached to me?”

“Well, I could, but it’d be a bit inconvenient.” He turned back to General Sway. “Lady General, you aren’t going anywhere without me, so why don’t you be a good girl and—”

Fig groaned and lowered his head as Ubik went flying. The General had always had a devastatingly fast kick.

Ubik sat up next to Chukka.

Fig made a grunting sound, still not fully recovered from the psychic attack or whatever it was he’d just undergone. He didn’t seem very well equipped to deal with it and chances were it would be back.

He looked over at Chukka. She seemed to be able to help Fig manage, but it wasn’t exactly a long-term solution.

“You. Chukka, wasn’t it? Got a knife?”

She didn’t look in great condition herself. Her face was cut and bruised. In fact, now that Ubik looked more closely, she seemed to have taken quite a beating recently.

“No.” Chukka shook her head. “You can’t cut off his arm. I won’t let you.” She got to her feet and unsteadily made her way towards Fig. There was a protective look in her eyes that was mildly surprising. It actually looked genuine.

“Hey, Fig,” Ubik said to Fig. “You and this VendX chick, you got something going on?”

Fig looked at him and shook his head, although whether he was denying any involvement or trying to clear his head, Ubik wasn’t sure.

“She seems to have fallen for you,” said Ubik. “Won’t let any harm come to you. Gotta be love, right?”

“You can’t let him hurt him,” Chukka said to the leader of the Seneca Corps. Appealing to the least sympathetic women in the galaxy; not much of a plan. “He’s Ramon Ollo’s son. He’s our only way out of here.”

“No one’s cutting off anything,” said General Sway.

“Do you want to get through the door or not?” asked Ubik as he got to his feet. He turned to Chukka. “Do you love him? Is he the most important thing to you? He is, isn’t he? I think that’s beautiful. Good for you. I wonder when will someone feel that way about me?” He sighed.

He turned to look at the Seneca women gathered around him, hostility seeping out of their every pore. “Maybe one of you… Hmm, I wonder which one of you is destined to fall for me by the time we leave this place.” No one stepped forward, which was disappointing.

The tall woman Fig had knocked out groggily stood up, holding the back of her head.

“Oh, hello,” said Ubik, tilting his head up to look up at her. “I think we have a volunteer.”

The woman scowled and threw out an arm to swipe him away. Ubik ducked under her surprisingly large fist, moved into her and pushed her away with a shove to her stomach. She was still off-balance and wasn’t able to resist, although she only stumbled back a few steps before steadying herself.

“Nice,” said Ubik, holding up the large dagger now in his hand. “Seneca steel.” He twisted the polished blade. “They say the only thing harder to bend is Seneca stubbornness.” He turned towards Fig, who was also back on his feet.

“No!” shouted Chukka. “Stop him!” She had given up on the Corps and was addressing the six VendX employees Ubik had brought with him. They looked a little sheepish and didn’t respond to her orders. “Bashir!”

“Sorry, Major,” said Bashir. “We were told to follow his orders. By the Chairman.”

“It’s fine,” said Fig. “He isn’t going to cut off my arm.” Fig extended his arm for Ubik to do with as he pleased.

As expected, the son of the great Ramon Ollo wasn’t an easy person to troll. Ubik held Fig’s wrist with one hand and stabbed the bracelet with the dagger held in his other.

It was a sharp blade with a very fine point, made to cut through spacesuits and padded armour before sliding through skin, flesh and bones. Serrated on one side, ground to razor-sharpness on the other. There weren’t many materials that could resist if enough force was applied.

Ubik only had the strength of his muscles, which wasn’t a lot, as he would happily admit. But not every problem was solved by brute force.

The bracelet on Fig’s arm was made of some kind of resin or densely-packed fibrous material. There were no obvious joins or seams. It probably required the correct application of an electrical current to open, although it clearly didn’t require electrical power to function. If it did, it wouldn’t have been able to suppress Fig’s organic. Not in this place.

Ubik stabbed and poked across the surface of the bracelet, which stretched from Fig’s wrist to halfway up his forearm. Then he turned Fig’s arm over and tried the same on the other side.

Everyone else stood watching, not sure what he was doing or even what he was trying to accomplish.

“They think I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ubik said under his breath.

“Do you?” asked Fig.

“Not really. But no great thinker ever does. Wait!”

Ubik suddenly ran towards the open area on the ground and began jumping up and down on it. After a couple of minutes of energetic bouncing, he stopped and came back to Fig.

“Worth a try.” He went back to prodding Fig’s bracelet with the knife.

The women of the Corps and the men of VendX continued to watch, their initial anxiety settling into general bemusement. The two groups were keeping away from each other, but very wary.

Ubik saw the tension between the two parties as unnecessary.

“You know,” Ubik said to Fig, “I brought those guys with me, and there’s all these women here — do you think you could organise a dance for them later? Maybe it’ll break the ice.”

Fig let out a long sigh. “The Corps doesn’t really approve of dancing. Especially not with men.”

“Yeah, but I have moves they’ve never seen.” Ubik raised his eyebrows suggestively and tried to bend the knife blade with the tip partially stuck in Fig’s bracelet.

“None of them are going to fall for you, Ubik.”

“That’s just the prisoner talking.”

“Prisoner?” said Fig.

“This island, it was built as a prison, so… must be a prisoner here. He’s the one who’s been trying to get in your head, telling you what to do.”

“No one’s been telling me what to do,” said Fig.

“No strange voices in your head?” asked Ubik.

“No,” said Fig.

“Great, great, good,” said Ubik. “Me neither.”

Ubik paused to look over his shoulder at all the pretty faces staring at him. It was true that no one had any sort of warmth in their gaze, but it wasn’t like he was expecting love at first sight. He saw himself as more of an acquired taste.

“It’s alright for you, you’ve already got your castaway love sorted. Although, to be honest, if you were going to choose a girl to hook up with, I’m not sure she’s the best you could do. Some of those Seneca chicks look like they’d scrub up quite well. I’d even go as far as to say there’s a couple of beauties in the herd.”

A chill seemed to tighten around the back of Ubik’s neck. He looked back at the women, who didn’t look very impressed with what they were hearing, which was poor manners at best since they were listening in on what was clearly a private conversation.

Ubik turned towards the tight-jawed Seneca women, waggling the dagger still stuck in Fig’s arm.

“Yes, I’m objectifying women. But I’m objectifying them in your favour. I’ve read your books. That’s what you like. It’s romantic.” He shook his head and returned his attention to Fig’s arm. A crack appeared on the bracelet and then a panel popped open. “Oh. How did I do that?”

Everyone closed in to get a better look.

Ubik spun around, the dagger pointed at them. “Back! Oh, you’re all flirting with me now that I’ve got the shiny-shiny. So fickle. Chukka, even you?” He shook his head at Chukka. “Can you imagine how hurt Fig will be when he finds out you’re this kind of loose woman?”

Fig, who was standing next to Ubik, tapped him on the shoulder. “How is this going to get the door open?”

Ubik turned back around. The bracelet’s insides were a solid mass of a dark purple gel. There were no moving parts, nothing to modify or extract.

“Your dad made this?”

“Dr Yune,” said Fig. “He’s my father’s head of research.”

“But your father has the same technology.”

Fig shrugged. “I suppose so.”

After studying the inside of the bracelet, Ubik’s understanding of the technology created by Dr Yune didn’t drastically improve.

“You don’t know how it works?” said Fig.

“No idea,” said Ubik. He prodded the interior with the dagger.

The moment he did so, he felt a charge of energy rush up his arm. Or try to. It reached the bracelet on his own wrist and his arm seemed to freeze up.

“Put your hand in.”

“Put my hand in there?” Ubik said to Fig.

Fig’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me?”

“It was your idea, wasn’t it?” said Ubik. The look Fig gave him made it clear he wasn’t the one who had made the suggestion.

Ubik rubbed his forehead and looked at the parasite on his arm. “Was it you? Are you trying to talk to me?”

“Put your hand in,” repeated the voice.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” said Ubik.

The parasite moved, tightening around Ubik’s wrist. The pain sent him to his knees and his hand paled to white before turning an unpleasant grey-green.

“Nope,” said Ubik through gritted teeth. “You’re messing with the wrong guy with a knife.”

Ubik raised the dagger and thrust it into the parasite. It went straight through, not really doing any damage to the gelatinous body, but the Seneca steel kept going, into his arm.

Ubik didn’t as much as flinch as he began sawing. He looked up to find everyone looking horrified by what he was doing. These women were really hard to impress.

“Is he… going to cut off his own arm?” said Chukka, aghast.

“He doesn’t like being told what to do,” said Fig in a quiet voice.

The battle of wills could only have one winner. The parasite unwound, loosening its grip. As it eased its pressure, blood began to flow out.

Ubik stopped. “Anyone got a bandage.” He turned to the Seneca women. “One of you must have a rag for soaking up blood, right?” He was met with blank faces. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”

Ubik lifted up his bloody arm and shouted. “Hey! Tighten up and stop the bleeding. You want me to die or something?”

The parasite rotated and tightened. The bleeding stopped.

“Pretty good, huh?” said Ubik, feeling pleased with himself. “Wound infliction and tourniquet all in one.”

Fig didn’t look all that amazed. A miracle right in front of him and nothing. Ubik shook his head. He was becoming jaded at such a young age. Clearly, his father had fatigued his son’s sense of wonder. Ubik would have to correct the boy’s trajectory.

“Here, let me see that.” Ubik grabbed Fig’s arm again and peered inside the open bracelet.

Whatever the substance was, it didn’t appear to be doing anything. But Ramon Ollo had found a way through and this was the only substance that could have helped him. Ubik stuck the tip of the knife in and pulled out a ball of purple gunk. He held it up to his nose and sniffed.

“Hmm.”

“Do you recognise the smell?” asked Fig.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “It smells like trouble.” He flicked it at the ground. The globule splattered on the cover to the entrance. Nothing happened.

“Hmm,” Ubik said again. He dug out another small amount.

Fig watched, clenching his fist and testing to see if the bracelet still worked.

“How long before you get another visit from the old head fairy?” Ubik asked.

“It comes about once every hour,” said Fig. He looked worried.

A frown flashed across Ubik’s face but he buried it under a smile. “Should be fine. Plenty of time. Might need to brace yourself, that’s all.”

Now Fig looked more worried.

Ubik walked around the three walls, inspecting the strange patterns carved into them. He didn’t recognise them. They looked nothing like the Antecessor symbols he’d seen so far. He’d been able to read some of the ones he’d encountered, but these ones were indecipherable to him.

The others watched him make a circuit of the area. He could feel their anticipation. He stopped and walked back a bit. One area on the wall looked a bit cleaner than the rest. He leaned forward and sniffed.

With a flick of his wrist, Ubik sent the gunk on the knife onto the wall. Then he used the blade to spread it out, filling the grooves. Something clicked.

The cover to the entrance slid open.

“You know what they say,” said Ubik. “Genius is ninety-nine percent hard work, and one percent copying someone smarter than you.”

Everyone closed in to look into the darkness.

“Right,” said Ubik. “Who wants to go first?”

Nobody volunteered.

Ubik turned to General Sway. “What good are you if you can’t even take a small leap of faith into the unknown? Are you just a bunch of cowards in pretty dresses? I mean, not dresses, obviously, but I can see you’ve gussied up your battlesuits. Matching gloves and helmets. Polished the gun turrets and used scented gun oil on the built-in grenade launchers. Very la-di-da.”

Sway stared back at him, unmoved.

“Ogden, come here.”

Bashir stepped forward, very hesitantly. “Er, I don’t really think—”

Ubik kicked Bashir so he fell forward with a yelp. He disappeared into the dark, screaming.

“See?” said Ubik. “That’s what bravery looks like.”

Book 3 – 7: Tower Defence

Wormhole Island.

The Tower

 

Figaro raised his eye above the scope he’d attached to Chukka’s gun and surveyed the area below his position. 

Point-Two had made it to the tower — which had turned out to be a collection of long strips of metal haphazardly thrown together so they leaned against each other — and was inside. If the interior was anything like the exterior, there probably wasn’t much to do in there.

The Seneca troops had taken cover where they could, hiding themselves in an efficient and compact manner, as expected. They were trained to protect themselves just as vigorously as they were trained to rain down death and destruction. Each soldier of the Corps represented a valuable investment in time and money, and no one liked to waste either.

Figaro knew this well enough. Learning about the Corps, its way of doing things, its way of maximising its results, had always been of interest to him. Some might even call it an obsession.

People were usually captivated by the Corps’ history, how they came to be and all that led to the creation of such an unyielding and uncompromising entity, but Figaro considered that to be the least compelling part of the story. They were pushed into a corner, they came out fighting. Not very hard to understand.

For Figaro, the only thing that mattered was the modern embodiment of the Corps. The better he understood it, the easier it would be to defeat it. And he had no doubt he would one day be faced with that task.

“Why don’t they use their organics?” grumbled Chukka, crouched behind a rock that was actually a connecting bolt from some ancient ship that had long since been smashed to pieces and scattered across this wormhole island.

“I don’t know,” said Figaro, glancing over at her.

She nodded for him to look back. “They’re moving.”

Figaro lowered his head and looked through the scope again. It was a solid piece of equipment he had found lying on the surface. It looked to have once been part of a bomb-sighting apparatus, designed to mark targets from several thousand metres up, but it worked just as well from ten or twenty metres now that he had modified it.

There were a surprisingly large amount of useful items to be found just lying around. At first glance, the surface looked to be a combination of dull rocks and thick dust, but that was just the effect of time. In fact, the island was coated in the remains of the ships that had been caught in the wormhole over who knew how many millions of years. Broken and damaged, but preserved beyond the reach of rust or decay. 

All it took was a keen eye and a little patience. Figaro had done a quick tour of the area around where he and Chukka had found themselves, sifting as he went, and found himself a number of useful items.

“Thirty to forty, two singles,” said Chukka, clearly identifying the Corps’ movement for him. She might have been an awkward captive to bring along, but as a spotter, she was more than competent.

Figaro fired off two shots, fizzing beads of metal, sending two Seneca soldiers scurrying back to their hiding place.

“Another one, forty-five, fifteen,” called out Chukka. 

Figaro snapped the muzzle of the gun to his left and hit the boot of a Seneca soldier attempting to reposition herself. She lost her footing but turned her fall into a dive, making it to a new hiding spot, although not the one she had been aiming for.

He reached for the pellets he had lined up on the ground next to him and fed more into the gun. 

It was an interesting weapon, able to fire more or less anything if it was the appropriate size. And as it happened, pellets of metal between one and two centimetres were one of the things easiest to find here. It wasn’t particularly lethal but he had enough ammo to keep up a sustained barrage of inconvenience.

“New people arriving, three-fourteen”

Figaro raised his head and swivelled towards the right to look where Chukka had indicated. There was a group, six or seven, moving quickly in the direction of the tower.

Figaro moved the gun around and looked through the scope.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing up and jumping over the ridge he’d been lying behind.

Chukka rose into a crouch but didn’t look very keen on leaving cover. “Wha—?”

“Quick, we have to go.” Figaro didn’t wait for her, he went sliding down the slope, moving towards the rear of the tower.

It would take a few seconds for the Seneca troops to realise there were no longer pinned down. He had that long to make it to where Point-Two was and find out what he was planning to do. Hopefully, he had some way out of this mess.

Chukka was behind him, scrabbling down the incline. He heard her breathing hard and then stumbling. He turned as she fell, sliding towards him but keeping her mouth tightly shut so as not to give away their position. He found himself smiling at her grim determination. If she’d had a higher CQ, the Corps definitely would have taken her.

He grabbed her as she was about to slide past him and yanked her to her feet. She grabbed onto him, arms around his shoulders, her chest heaving against his. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, before pushing him back and looking him in the eyes. She had a million questions to ask him but just grimaced and nodded for him to keep going.

They made it to the base of the tower in another couple of minutes. They were behind it so there was no way to know what the Seneca troops had decided to do. Figaro guessed they would slowly work their way towards the tower while having sent a smaller group around the back of his recently abandoned position to flank him. 

Once they figured out they were no longer being targeted, they would realise his goal and storm the mount. They had the numerical advantage and they had organics (which they were currently not using for some reason) but they weren’t trying to kill them, at least not currently, so Figaro felt confident he could get to Point-Two in one piece.

Figaro stopped when he got to the tower’s rear wall and leaned his back against it. The material was cool and felt like ceramic more than metal. Part of some ancient ship or maybe a space station. Chukka was soon next to him, waiting for him to call their next move.

The wall was solid and stable on this side, but the opposite wall was lying flat and looked to have recently fallen. You couldn’t count on anything to last forever.

Figaro listened for any sounds of movement, then he risked a peek around the corner. He didn’t see anyone. He stayed low and hurried around the tower to the opening. He was curious to see just what was inside this monumental bivouac.

He made it to the front easily enough, but was disappointed with what he found.

The three walls of the tower enclosed an empty space. There was a grey area on the ground that was very clearly defined and, unlike its surroundings, was smooth and uncluttered. No debris, no accumulation over the millennia. It was like a rug that had a piece of furniture removed to reveal its true colours.

The square of smooth metal starkly stood out against its surrounding, and very much gave off the feel of a covering to an entrance.

Figaro would have investigated further, but there was one other thing in the enclosed space. A tall, angry woman with a streak of blood dripping from her left temple. She was the soldier Figaro had shot earlier, allowing Point-Two to get past her. Point-Two, Figaro noted, was nowhere to be seen.

“Have you seen my friend?” asked Figaro.

She looked from Figaro’s face to the gun he was holding in his right hand. “It was you,” she said, not seeming to require an answer.

“Yes, but it wasn’t a kill shot so I don’t think there’s any need to be upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said in the extremely slow and calm manner of someone who is so upset they no longer need to bother with emotions. “It was a good shot. Railgun?”

Figaro raised the gun and looked at it like he wasn’t sure. He turned to Chukka.

“Yes,” she said. “Magnetic.”

The three of them stood there, no one wanting to be the first to attack. There wasn’t anything to fight over. Whatever this place was used for, they were too late. The hatch was closed, the prey was gone.

Figaro walked over to the clear area on the ground and tapped on it with his foot. It was different from the walls of the tower. This was an alloy of some kind. Something very sophisticated and fused together for a specific purpose. The grain across its surface warped and twisted with every head movement. “Door?”

The woman didn’t respond. Chukka moved closer to Figaro.

The woman turned and walked away from them, out of the tower. She stood at the top of the rise and began making hand signals to those below, letting them know there was no longer a risk, giving them the all-clear and also letting them know how many people were with her and what threat they posed. The Seneca non-verbal communication system was dense but concise.

A few moments later, there were more than a dozen women standing in the entrance to the tower, blocking the way out. Despite their short hair and toned bodies, they all exuded a feminine grace and stern beauty. 

Figaro had always admired the Corps’ refusal to bend to the received wisdom about the masculine nature of strength. Such things were still adhered to on some planets.

They didn’t use hormone-replacement or body-transformation techniques to give their soldiers greater muscle mass. They didn’t aspire to be male. They more than made up for it by being utterly ruthless and surgically accurate.

The women glared at Figaro with a mixture of anger and indignation. He had cost them their prey, which made him their target by proxy.

Figaro didn’t mind, he wasn’t planning on leaving.

The wall of women parted to allow a senior figure to enter.

“General Sway,” said Figaro. “You allowed your quarry to escape. Are you going to court-martial yourself?” His tone was glib but cold enough to avoid becoming mocking. He was the victor in their clash, she couldn’t change the facts.

“Circumstances were highly peculiar,” said Sway, taking his question seriously. “And your involvement was timely. You have an operational weapon. How?”

“Not mine,” said Figaro, looking over at Chukka. “VendX brought non-tronic armaments to counter Ubik. You should have done the same.”

“We don’t need to…” Sway started in with the usual bluster about being superior to everyone, but her words dried up when she remembered how easily her troops had lost control of the situation. “The weapon. Hand it over.”

“Why would you need my weapon when you’re the Seneca Corps?” said Figaro, taking a second to inspect the group of women as a whole. “Surely you aren’t admitting I have the upper hand? Are you nothing but thieves now?”

General Sway showed no emotion.  “This turned out quite interesting. We will learn from our mistakes, as we always do, and next time, you won’t snatch my prize from me. But the fact you dare to say such things to me, it seems the little pup thinks he has teeth now. If you weren’t protected by your parentage, you would die a miserable death here.”

“A bold claim,” said Figaro, not caring at all about her threat.

“Famke.”

At her commander’s directive, the tall woman pounced, her eyes glowing. She moved incredibly fast, no more than a blur in most people’s eyes.

Figaro side-stepped the incoming attack and hit Famke on the back of the head with the butt of the gun. It was a clean, simple move. He wasn’t faster than his opponent — that would be impossible — but he had a clear idea of where she was going, and made sure his movement intersected with hers. Her own speed gave the crack to her head added weight.

Famke hit the ground unconscious.

General Sway sighed and then her eyes lit up. Figaro felt an unbearable pressure push down on him. He resisted, but it was a truly massive amount of force.

He knew Sway’s ability well. She had once worked under his mother and had used her power to subdue whole cities. It felt like the sky was falling but it was actually a mental suppression, entirely in one’s mind. Figaro blocked it as best he could. He was a young prodigy but she was an old warhorse.

“Aren’t you embarrassed, General?” said Figaro, fighting off the weight trying to make him bow down. “One man without an organic managed to evade your whole squad.” He wheezed with the effort of staying on his feet. “Might need to rethink the whole Seneca training program. It could do with an overhaul, don’t you think?”

The Seneca troops closed in around them, forming a ring around the two of them.

With the two of them facing off, no one else would interfere. It was a matter of pride, as most things were to the Corps. He would lose, eventually, but he might as well buy Point-Two as much time as possible.

Figaro felt a second pressure attack him. He let out a scream and fell to his knees. Sway was taken by surprise and withdrew her power, her eyes returning to normal.

Chukka ran forward. Sway signalled to two of her women who intercepted Chukka and slammed her to the ground and held her there.

“What’s wrong with him?” she said to Chukka.

Chukka struggled vainly to get up. “He’s being attacked by something on the island. If you don’t let me help him, he’ll die.”

Figaro was on his knees, the pain in his head spreading into the rest of his body. With nothing to impede its progress, he quickly lost control of his limbs and fell forward. He felt his organic react and the limiter on his arm activated. Everything in his body seemed to be involved in a struggle and every struggle was accompanied by waves of pain.

He could see Sway standing over him, apparently waiting to see what would become of him.

“You shouldn’t just watch like that,” said a familiar voice.

Everyone turned to find Ubik standing in the entrance with a group of nervous-looking VendX employees standing behind him.

Figaro’s insides were a mess. He felt like every organ was swapping places. His arm hurt most of all as the bracelet Dr Yune had placed on his wrist tired to eat him.

Ubik casually walked towards them and General Sway couldn’t help frowning, secretly signalling to her troops to let him through but raising her vigilance. Even through the fog of pain, Figaro could tell she was wary of Ubik. Far more than she was of him.

Ubik ignored Sway and crouched down next to Figaro. He seemed more interested in Figaro’s arm than the rest of him. Then he picked up something. It took a moment for Figaro’s blurred vision to see the gun.

Ubik pointed it at Chukka and fired twice. The two women pinning her down dived out of the way. Ubik didn’t seem to mind missing and tossed the gun at Sway, like he had no more use for it. He turned Figaro over onto his back, mouth foaming, facing Chukka.

Chukka came scrabbling over and grabbed Figaro by the head, her fingers pressing through his short hair.

Figaro buckled. Chukka was bodily thrown into the air as the backlash tossed her across the enclosure, sending her over by the far wall, skidding to a stop on her back where she remained not moving.

“Are you in touch with the prisoner?” asked Ubik, eyes glittering with anticipation at his response.

Figaro had no idea what he was talking about. He shook his head and raised his wrist. “Blocked.”

“Interesting, isn’t it? Very interesting. So very interesting!” Ubik repeated over and over, his face filled with excitement he seemed unable to contain.

Figaro waited for his heart and his mind to finally settle down before asking, “What is?”

“Strange how tronics don’t work here but this does.” He tapped the bracelet on Figaro’s wrist. Then his expression changed to one of mild concern. “Are you alright? You’re looking a bit pale.”

“I’ll be fine,” gasped Figaro. “Door.  Can you open it?”

“Hmm,” said Ubik. “I think so.”

“We can help,” said General Sway, suddenly a genial ally.

“No need,” Ubik shook his head decisively.

She frowned. She hadn’t expected her good intentions to be rejected by Ubik, her offering to help him should have been gratefully accepted; after all, in this strange, unknown place, no one was able to use their full strength.

This made her somewhat angry, feeling like the hand she had extended was slapped away. Figaro could see it all play out on her face.

Before now, considering her status, how could she be willing to talk directly to an insignificant person like Ubik? But after arriving in this place, she had no choice but to lower herself to his level.

“Don’t worry,” said Ubik, patting Figaro on the shoulder. “I’ve got this. Alright, alright, calm your tits everyone. Anyone got a sharp knife? I need to cut this guy’s arm off.”

Book 3 – 6: At our Own Risk

Wormhole Island.

The Tower.

 

Point-Two was running into a strong headwind that seemed determined to blow him off his feet. 

Unlike fluctuations in gravity — which were passive and affected movement in every direction at the same time — atmospheric changes attacked from different angles and required a different set of skills to overcome.

Point-Two had those skills. He had grown up on a colony ship that had limited forms of entertainment. Anti-gravity tag was the preferred sport, but a few hundred years had seen variations arise, rules change, challenges added.

Wind, water, darkness — they had all been implemented in an effort to push competitors to new heights. Most people with an athletic gift specialised in one or two. Point-Two didn’t particularly care for any of them. He was someone who was easily bored by things he was good at.

He shaped his profile to reduce the drag pushing him back and moved between the gusts and currents. If it had been a solid stream of air, he wouldn’t have been able to continue forward so easily, but this was blustery and chaotic, which was manageable. At least for him. He quickly increased the distance between himself and the women chasing him up the slope.

Reading the wind was no easy matter. By the time you felt it, it was already on you, forcing you back and slapping you aside. You had to be able to feel it get thicker and thinner so you could slide off the heavier currents and slice through the lighter ones. Air rarely came pure and even. It had taste and scent that ebbed and flowed.

This air had a musty smell to it, heavy and overbearing, as though it had been trapped in an old chest at the bottom of a closet covered in cobwebs. The wind snatched away his breath and the odour made him not want to take another one.

Fortunately, he had been raised in an environment where not being able to breathe was considered a common problem. If the hull of a ship was breached and lost pressure, you were likely to lose air more or less immediately, so holding your breath was instinctive for him.

The Seneca soldiers chasing him couldn’t cope with the gust, which made them lose their footing, and they couldn’t breathe efficiently, stealing away their stamina. 

Up ahead was the tower Point-Two had only recently broken out of. Now he was rushing back in the hope there’d be an alternative escape route. Ramon Ollo had found something. Hopefully, it wasn’t a wind machine.

As he reached the top of the rise, he was able to look inside the three-sided tower and saw a dark hole in the ground. He had no idea what was in the hole, but, since there was no sign of Ramon Ollo, he guessed there was a way into the interior of the island.

He dived to the side and rolled back to his feet. Not an easy thing to do uphill, but the odd gravity field on the surface — slightly less than 1G, but more ‘springy’ than it should be — helped him produce enough momentum to keep his lead. 

He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see his pursuers struggling to keep up. The Seneca Corps were extremely fit and well-trained, but they weren’t prepared for something this unusual while not having their weapons available and also being deprived of their organics. He considered himself to be highly favoured in this race. It was about time fortune favoured him for once. 

He ducked as a blast of air shot over him, his hands reaching to the ground, almost running like an animal but managing to regain his balance. When he looked up again, his path was no longer clear. The woman called Famke — the one who had held him in a chokehold, the one he had thrown aside — was standing ahead of him, her eyes glowing.

Of course, the only reason they had not used organics was because Ramon Ollo had instructed them not to. And he was no longer here.

The others hadn’t made the switch mentally and were still operating under the impression they could not use their full might. They were soldiers and a good soldier did as she was told, until she was told to do otherwise.

But there were good soldiers and there were outstanding ones. The ones who followed orders until they thought of something better. The ones who won medals, and not just the participatory ones.

Famke was taller than him and, judging by the size of her biceps, stronger than him. Point-Two wasn’t sure what her organic did, but it probably wasn’t one of those low-tier ones that let you predict the weather or warned you about poisonous mushrooms and berries.

Whatever it did, it had got her ahead of him. He frowned. Had his luck run out already? He could really use a gale-force wind to knock her out of the way.

The wind dropped to nothing and Point-Two was running straight into the powerful arms of a woman he didn’t really want to embrace.

Famke’s glowing red eyes seemed to be filled with murderous delight as she spread her arms, ready to gather him in.

And then her head snapped to one side and she was knocked off her feet. 

Something had struck her above the ear, a small projectile. The crack of the weapon firing only reached him after she had already fallen. Point-Two leapt over her and kept going.

Behind him, the other Seneca soldiers had now engaged their organics and were quickly gaining on him, but several more shots whizzed past Point-Two and forced the women to scatter.

Someone was assisting his escape. It was probably one of two people, but he didn’t know where they were or how far away. Or how they had managed to obtain a weapon to snipe with. He was grateful, though, and hoped they would be able to get away. He certainly wasn't in a position to help them.

He reached the tower, saw the dark pit that revealed nothing of its interior, and threw himself into it without hesitation. 

The moment he passed through the black square that looked like it had been painted on the ground, he dropped. There was nothing beneath him.

It didn’t feel like he was falling, not in the conventional sense. It felt like he was being pulled into the air on an elastic band.

He recognised the feeling. It was a gravitational effect caused by an artificial gravitational source that was trapped inside a second gravitational source. He was familiar with it because it was often used in the sports he played on the Liberator Garu as it was the easiest way to create a gravitational field you could manipulate.

It was reassuring, to a certain extent, as it meant he wouldn’t be dropped down a deep hole to end up splattered on some distant floor. He was being pulled to a specific zero point where the gravitational pulls would balance out and he would be brought to a stop. Unless the hole was infinite, in which case he would fall forever.

That was his hope, if the force he was experiencing was the same as the type he was familiar with. It could be something else entirely.

In any case, he was under the control of this gravitational force for the time being and he would have to wait and see where he’d end up. 

If the force had been artificially created that meant it required a source of power. Since tronics didn’t seem to work here (at least not on the surface) that suggested it was either a different kind of mechanism, or it was shielded somehow. Either way, it definitely indicated that it was possible to operate technology here, just not theirs.

It was utterly dark around him, revealing nothing. He turned over and looked up at the pale square of light rapidly getting smaller. He may have reached the exit point but that didn’t mean his pursuers couldn’t follow him. And now that they had decided to ignore Ramon Ollo’s directive and use their organics, the next encounter with the women of the Seneca Corps would not go so well for him. 

He probably wouldn’t even be able to hide in the dark as they were bound to have someone with enhanced vision among their number.

He couldn’t see any silhouettes diving towards him, but then they could also have someone with stealth abilities. 

The only thing holding them back was his sniper ally. How long would that last?

He stopped falling. It was instantaneous and completely painless. One moment there was nothing beneath him, and then there was a solid surface behind him, from his head to his heels. He was lying on his back, but it was too dark to see anything other than the far off square of unilluminating light. He stood up and put his arms out. Nothing was within reach.

“Hello?” he said. “Anyone here? Mr Ollo?” There was no response. He couldn’t sense any other living creature here. 

He took a step forward in the dark and felt the ground move under him gave way just a little with a faint click, as if the ground had cracked ever so slightly. The next moment, Point-Two felt the space around him change as an oppressive energy weighed down on him.

He had stepped on something and daren’t move in case it was a mine of some kind. His luck had not only abandoned him, it had switched sides.

This place didn’t feel like the sanctuary he had hoped it to be. If he could, he would soar back and leave this strange, lifeless hole and rely on his chances on the surface. There was a scraping sound from above and the pale square of light way above him disappeared. A door-shutting mechanism? At least that would buy him some time. Exactly what he’d do with it, he wasn’t sure.

It was still too dark to see — even darker now, if that was possible. Point-Two bent down and touched the ground. It was smooth and cold. There was no indication he was standing on any kind of touch-sensitive pad or device. He lifted his foot but nothing happened. He patted here and there, slid his palm around. There was nothing but smooth floor. If he could see, he might be able to detect something, but, as it was, he had no idea where he was or what kind of dangers he faced.

Point-Two sighed and started crawling on all-fours. He decided it would be safest to explore with all limbs in contact with the ground. Ramon Ollo seemed to have made it beyond this point — this was based on him not being here and the assumption he wasn’t dead or lying unconscious nearby — so Point-Two considered it a fair possibility that there was a way out. 

He crawled forward until he came to a wall. It was as smooth and featureless as the floor. He went left.

It took him more than an hour to slowly make his way around what turned out to be a square room with no exit. Which made no sense. The wind he had been buffeted by earlier had to have come from somewhere. Although, there had been no sign of it since he’d entered this place, as though there had been a fixed amount stuck in here until Ramon Ollo unstoppered the bottle and let it all out.

It made no sense that Ramon Ollo wasn’t here, either. Point-Two had checked the walls and then the floor. The square room was about ten metres by ten and he had searched it all with his fingertips. There was no way he had missed a corpse. 

Unless Ramon Ollo was alive and moving around silently, avoiding Point-Two out of sheer spite. No, he wouldn’t do that. Ubik would have, but surely not all geniuses were unfettered bastards.

He sat in the dark, cross-legged and exhausted. He didn’t have any food or water on him, and he hadn’t slept for what seemed like forever. His brain wasn’t at its best, that was for sure. He dozed for a bit, he had no idea how long, and then stood up. The answer to his problem only came to him when he had given up thinking about it.

There was a way out of here, it just wasn’t down on the ground. There had to be an opening further up. Not being able to see and also not being able to fly made it hard to know exactly where it was, but Ramon Ollo had faced the same handicaps and had managed to overcome them.

Point-Two now had a pretty good sense of the space he had to work with and ran around the room with his arm raised, kicking off the wall to launch himself higher. He found the ledge in a few seconds.

It wasn’t too high and he managed to grab it and pull himself up. There was a tunnel. Too dark to see where it led, but he could feel the airflow, not very strong now but there. It was coming towards him and then rising, missing out the area below where he had landed.

Point-Two felt around the walls and roof and then began to move forward. 

Each step he took was placed softly, making sure there was something to step on before putting down any weight. His approach was justified when he felt empty space ahead of him.

There was nothing to the sides or above, either. The tunnel had ended and only emptiness lay ahead. Was there a new direction he had to take from here? Climb up? Climb down?

“You. Boy. Up here.”

A light appeared from above. Point-two was dazed for a moment. Then his eyes grew accustomed to the sudden brightness and he saw Ramon Ollo who seemed to be suspended in what looked like a glass box. It was transparent but very constrictive, only just fitting around his body, making him look like a figurine in its case.

The light surrounded him like an aura, emitted from his suit. The glow from it was enough to illuminate the area, an open space with what looked like a dark purple liquid covering the ground below, and another tunnel entrance way on the other side, easily more than fifty metres from where he was standing.

“Do tronics work here?” Point-Two asked hesitantly as he stared at the glittering man in a box.

“No,” said Ramon. “My suit has a biofluorescent coating. It provides light when necessary. Careful. That pool beneath us is extremely caustic and will dissolve you within seconds were you to fall in.”

Point-Two peered down. There was no movement below, but it made him uneasy to stare down at it. “What is it?”

“A type of fuel. Dormant at the moment. But if we could activate, we might be able to power this ship.”

Ship? This was a ship? It did make sense. How else would something so large end up inside the wormhole? Someone must have flown it in. Which meant it might be possible to fly it back out.

“How did you get up there?” asked Point-Two.

“A security measure I misjudged. Look to your right.”

Point-Two looked at the wall next to him. Now that there was light, he could see a grid of sixteen squares, all different colours — subtle shades of grey and black but distinct.

“It is an ancient Antecessor system that predates anything we’ve seen so far. It is quite remarkable. This whole ship is.” He didn’t seem too worried about being trapped. “I thought it was based on the tertiary system but it is even older than that, an unexpected quadruple base. Do you know anything about the three gods of the Antecessors?”

“No,” said Point-Two. “They believed in three gods?”

“Apparently not,” said Ramon. “If you press the four corner squares, that should release me.”

Point-Two looked at the grid. 

Point-Two wrinkled his brow as he thoughtfully asked, “Won’t you fall?”

“I hope not.”

Point-Two was hardly going to argue with Ramon Ollo. If he wanted to risk falling to his death, that was up to him. 

“Any order?”

“Top left, then clockwise.”

Point-Two reached out and pressed the squares in that order. He felt them move under his fingers but they didn’t appear to move at all.

A feeling of nausea swept over him, his insides turned over, turbulent and chaotic, and his consciousness became blurry. It cleared very quickly. Only, now he was looking down at Ramon Ollo, not up.

It took a moment for Point-Two to realise what had happened. He was where Ramon Ollo had been, and Ramon was now on the other side of the room — free and able to move as he wished. 

“Thank you,” said Ramon, stretching a little. “If I have the opportunity, I will come back and find a way to release you.” He turned and left, taking his light with him.

Point-Two couldn’t move in the dark. He could hardly breathe in the restricted space. He doubted very much he would see Ramon Ollo again. Apparently every genius was an unfettered bastard.

Book 3 – 5: Women's Movement

Wormhole Island

Seneca Base

 

General Sway watched with her hands behind her back and her posture stiff and straight. 

She could have been watching a parade at the Seneca Academy or the investiture of a new commanding officer. There was a glint of pride in her eyes, which was there to cover her disappointment. It had taken fourteen of her troops to subdue one male. Fourteen! For one man, not even fully matured. 

Even without access to their organics, it shouldn’t have taken fourteen of them.

But then, it turned out that he was a remarkable specimen. Had this been normal space, she would have taken him back with her and had him thoroughly examined by the Corps’ research department, molecule by molecule.

In any case, despite the disappointing results of their efforts, the important thing was that they had succeeded in suppressing him. Even if it now required four of her soldiers to hold onto each of his limbs and the rest encircling him in case he managed to get free

“Get off! Ow. You’re pulling my hair. Stop pulling — Ow! Did you just scratch me? What is wrong with you people?”

“Silence!” Before the General reached the end of the word, the boy had stopped struggling and looked at her with a gloomy expression. He might be willing to fight without reservation against the cream of the Seneca Corps but at least he showed the appropriate level of fear when faced with her angry rebuke. It afforded her some satisfaction, although it felt like a hollow victory. To have to go to such lengths to get any kind of reaction from him. There were world leaders who trembled at the sight of her, but not this ignorant child. 

“What do you even hope to achieve by resisting?” she asked him. “There is nowhere to run. Better for you to be obedient and then, perhaps, I will take you with us when we leave this place.”

He scowled at her, not even considering the option she had placed in front of him.

He was a slippery one, this man — still a boy in her eyes — with a preternatural ability when it came to the way he moved, the way he understood movement. What a waste to bless a male with such a divine gift.

If only she’d come across him when he was younger, he might have been suitable for Seneca’s foundling program. 

Not every Seneca soldier was born a woman. Exceptions were made for exceptional individuals, but only if they were caught young enough. It was too late for this one.

“Get him up and make sure you have hold of him this time.”

Four of her strongest women had him pinned on the ground, face down. They let him up so he was on his knees, his arms pulled out to the sides, ready to be snapped if he resisted. A fifth kneeled behind him and put him in a chokehold. She lifted him up so his legs straightened until his feet were off the ground.

The two women who had been holding his legs stepped to the sides. His dangling feet were a problem. The two women looked for something to tie him up with, but everything they pulled out was useless without power.

A belt or strap would have been enough, but their suits were fully integrated and impossible to take apart without the necessary tools. 

It was a valuable lesson. The Corps relied too much on technology. Cuffs and braces didn’t need to have a tronic element to them, but it was more convenient when they did. The same went for weapons.

All the troops here were trained fighters and could kill with their bare hands, but when it came to subduing and restraining someone for questioning, things became a lot more tricky.

This had always been true, but not a big issue since the Corps preferred to take an uncompromising stance to all forms of conflict — it was simpler and cleaner. But sometimes you had to show a little restraint. And, if you weren’t careful, that was when you could get yourself into trouble.

“You, Famke, you have a knife, don’t you?”

“Yes, General,” said the woman standing behind him with her arm around his throat.

“Good, get it out and stab him if he tries to escape again. Make sure you don’t hit a major blood vessel. We need him alive and conscious. It’s fine if he’s maimed or disabled.”

“None of you fight fair.” His voice barely managed to escape from his flattened windpipe.

“Of course we don’t,” said Sway. “That’s why we always win.”

“How do you even know I won’t answer your questions?” he squeaked, somehow managing to keep breathing and talking despite the restricted airflow. His lung capacity was impressive. “It’s not like I’ve got any secrets. We’re all stuck here with no idea where we are.” He sounded annoyed and upset. 

General Sway relaxed a little. At least he wasn’t trying to get free. “We don’t require your assistance with our survival in this place, but we do need help capturing your two friends.”

“And you think I won’t help? If I knew where they were, I’d shoot them myself. Lend me a gun and I’ll prove it.”

“None of our weapons work here, and we have no intention of shooting them. Whatever you may have heard about my Corps, we aren’t bloodthirsty savages. We only take the steps necessary, which sometimes may be excessive from an outsider’s perspective, but that’s only because outsiders rarely have the full information.” He didn’t look convinced. “You’re Hollet 3.2, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good. The Null Void, what can you tell me about him? What are his weaknesses? Does he have flaws?”

“Does he have flaws?” Hollet 3.2’s face was a picture of astonishment. “Does he have… He has nothing but flaws. He’s a mistake wrapped in a disaster covered in a blanket of stupidity. You want me to share my Ubik stories, no problem. There’s no need to hold me like this, I’m willing to work with you. Just tell me what you need to know.”

Sway was bemused by his reaction. Males were treacherous and underhanded, to say the least, but they usually displayed a modicum of loyalty to each other. This one seemed ready to betray his colleagues without needing any inducements whatsoever. Some sort of reverse psychology to make her drop her guard?

“Give me a couple of your girls and I’ll even help you hunt him down.”

“Who are you calling girls?” hissed Famke, pushing the tip of her knife into his cheek.

Hollet 3.2 moved his head just enough to make eye contact with her, pushing his cheek into the knife so that a drop of blood oozed out. He didn’t seem to notice. “I was referring to those girls.” His eyes shifted to indicate the two mercenaries stood a little further back, watching.

Sway watched the two ex-Corps members for a reaction. She had been surprised by their seeming loyalty to him, but they didn’t display the usual signs of a woman under the thrall of a man. Anti-seduction training was one of the mainstays of the Corps’ basic teachings. There was nothing wrong with being in a hetero relationship, if you were into that sort of thing, but it should always be as the instigator. 

Perhaps the younger one might be susceptible — her file showed she had been involved in a failed relationship — but both sisters seemed to be accepting of him. Their faces might show displeasure but their body language clearly indicated both were ready to fight beside him if necessary.

“Girls, come on, put in a good word for me. You can vouch for my desire to see Ubik get the beating he so richly deserves.”

Neither woman said anything.

“This act you’re putting on to buy time,” said General Sway, “it won’t work. We will extract the necessary information from you whether you cooperate or not.” She turned to the woman beside her. “Lieutenant, prepare a torture station for this young man.”

The lieutenant looked confused. “General, how will we power the extraction utensils?”

They really were too reliant on technology. This was how the Corps would lose its place at the top of the food chain, by growing soft. 

“We don’t need tronics to cause the required level of suffering. He has testicles, doesn’t he? We’ll do this the old fashioned way.”

Hollet 3.2’s face paled, which was the expected reaction.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little unreasonable,” he said.

The women around him all stiffened. That word, who would dare use it in their presence? The records showed how often there had been a plea for reasonableness. Fairness. Good faith.

And whenever someone had been foolish enough to compromise, the records also showed the results. No, being an unreasonable woman was far preferable to being an enslaved one.

“You have no idea how unreasonable I can be,” said General Sway. “We’re only getting started.”

“Really? I didn’t see you being unreasonable to Ramon Ollo earlier. Very accommodating, back then, weren’t you? Face it, you’re just a bully. When you’re the strong one, you use your strength to take what you want, and when you aren’t, you run around like obedient maids.” He snorted coldly. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to help you. I’ll deal with Ubik myself. I doubt you’ll get anywhere near him without my help. He’d wipe the floor with you.”

His words stung. There was an element of truth to what he said. When it came to Ramon Ollo, the Corps was the obedient one. What choice did they have? He was a terrifying existence. Not only his ability to negate other organics, but his fighting ability was nothing to look down on. Tactically and intellectually, he had few peers.

Fortunately, he showed little interest in the Corps — other than in the one woman he had taken from them, in the face of massive opposition. As long as they left him alone, he ignored them. Now she had no choice but to try and form some sort of alliance with him. If anyone could get them out of here, it was him.

“Lot of help you two are,” Hollet 3.2said to the two mercenaries, blood trickling down his cheek. “Not going to repay the debt?”

Neither woman said anything.

There was a loud clang from the tower Ramon Ollo had disappeared into, followed by a whirring sound and the sound of wind blowing very strongly. A gust of air came blasting down the slope.

The boy squinted, a strange smile slowly creeping on his face.

“Never mind, I think I got this.” His legs went up and over Famke’s head, wrapping around her neck and sliding out of the inescapable hold she had seemed to have on him.

His arms retracted as though they had been held in limp handshakes, not the tight grip of trained professionals.

Twist and Famke went flying. He was free in a single move.

He was fast, already moving while her own troops were stunned. This didn’t happen to the Corps. No one defied their might.

“Move,” screamed General Sway.

The shocked women snapped into action and tried to grab him but he dodged and slipped through their attempted embraces, leaving them colliding into one another. Then he ran up the slope towards the tower.

“Grab him,” ordered Sway, staring at the two mercenaries who were directly in his way. 

They didn’t stop him. Rather, they parted to allow him to run past.

The troops that had been in control of the situation but no longer were, gave chase. But the man had already entered the tower.

 

***

 

Wormhole Island

Hole in the Ground

 

Chukka squatted in the corner of a dark hole. There was a faint light from a small brick that was also emitting a little heat. Figaro Ollo had left it there, to keep her warm and cosy. A gift from her master.

It wasn’t clear to her what was powering it or how it was operated. It looked like a block of metal, about the size of her palm. She crouched over it and did her best impression of a poor, forlorn woman who was broken and lost.

She had been beaten and abused by the young prince, who now thought of her as his personal serf. She was happy to let him think so.

He might be talented and trained by a god-like being, but he was still a teenage boy with no real experience of the world. 

Did he really think he could break her with a few kicks and some kind words to soothe her fears? She was an executive of VendX’s PR department. Psychological warfare was what she lived, breathed and fed on.

He might be physically stronger than her, but so what? His kicks and punches had been restrained and carefully aimed to do no long-term damage. She was well aware of that. She knew all the same spots for maximum gains. 

Even if he had gone harder, it would have made no difference. 

She had been on a team-building retreat for work where she’d nearly lost an eye, and three of the twelve participants had lost their lives. The beating the boy gave her was laughably feeble.

But she had done her best to live up to his expectations. She wanted him to believe he had broken her. That would make it far easier to bend him to her will when the time came. Patience was the key.

There was a sound from above and Figaro Ollo dropped into the space he had found for them to use as their base. He was resourceful and adapted shockingly well to an alien environment. He was definitely someone you wanted working for you.

“Are you alright?” he said, kneeling beside her and sounding concerned. All part of the act, his attempt to draw her into an unbalanced relationship, where she would accept him as her lord.

Chukka nodded hesitantly, pushing fear into her eyes so that he could see his plan was working.

“Okay. I’ve spotted your VendX colleagues over that way.” He pointed up and to his right. “Quite a few of them made it. They’ve spread out in small teams — I think they’re trying to map the place out.”

That sounded like standard operating procedure. She would try to stop him from contacting them directly. It was still too early for her to go back. Her mission would be deemed a failure and she would face a number of disciplinary hearings, none of which she would win.

He pointed in the opposite direction. “And over that way are the Seneca Corps.” 

She felt her heart speed up. The Corps was even worse. She definitely didn’t want to encounter them right now. No sane person would.

“I think we should head over there.”

“What?” Her voice was naturally horrified by the thought, helping her keep up her charade. A little too realistically for her liking.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” He took out the gun he had taken from her. It now had an attachment fixed to it. He raised it to his eye and looked through it. A scope.

How had he made that in such a short time with no tools?

“Lucky you brought this with you, probably the only weapon that works here.” He patted her on the shoulder.

Chukka forced her contempt down and looked at him with large round eyes. He smiled at her. She would wait. She would let him drop his guard, and then she would teach him what true domination felt like.

Figaro winced, his face contorting. He fell forward and she grabbed him, catching his head in her lap.

“Now, do it now,” he whispered.

Her eyes flashed with a pale light as she pushed her mind into his. There was a presence there, waiting for her. They clashed and Chukka was thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

He came and scooped her up. “Thanks. Well done, you got him.”

This was her role, to stave off the psychic attacks that came once every hour. He was dependent on her, needed her to survive. He thought he had her captive, but it was the other way around. 

She felt dizzy and couldn’t sit up. He pulled her into an embrace and held her while she recovered. It wasn’t unpleasant. She would allow him to think he had won her over, comforting her, using her. He would regret it. But for now, she rested in his arms and the shivering ache retreated.

“Okay, we have an hour. Come on.” He got up, lifting her up with him.

“Where are we going?” She wanted to stay here. It was safe here.

He checked the weapon. “There’s more to this place than a bunch of junk. We have to go deeper.”

She tensed up. If they encountered one of the other groups, they would take him away from her. He was hers. She wouldn’t allow it. She would never let him leave her.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be together.”

His words calmed her thumping heart. Yes, they would be together. She would find a way to take his mind over. She was the one in control here. She was only allowing him to think otherwise.

“Okay?”

She nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Book 3 – 4: Old Firm

Wormhole Island

VendX Base

 

Daccord walked at a steady pace with the Chairman’s large hand firmly clasping his shoulder. This was their third tour of inspection around the hulk of the VGV Summer Sail since they’d crash-landed on this strange island inside the Tethari Wormhole. 

An island that shouldn’t even exist.

The Chairman had decided he would take personal charge of the mission, even though for as long as Daccord had worked for him, the Chairman had taken every possible step to avoid being seen by his employees, let alone interact directly with them.

Protecting his identity, his location, those closest to him, was paramount. Corporate espionage was a constant threat. Corporate assassination even more so. And that was from within VendX. Once you included competitors and rivals, it was an act of sheer irresponsibility to ever go anywhere in person. Share prices were likely to plummet every time you were seen in public in anticipation of an imminent death.

He wore dark glasses, big oblong things that covered half his face, but once you saw the man, you were unlikely to forget him. No one would have trouble picking him out of a lineup.

He was tall and very wide. There was no fat, he was too solid and upright; like a walking wall. He was bald, which was obviously by choice when you could have as much hair as you wanted simply by sticking your head in a VendX Style Maker™. Not that anyone as wealthy as the Chairman would bother with something as cheap and tacky.

The dark glasses would normally supply a constant stream of data directly into his brain, enabling the Chairman to easily navigate without help, but tronics were dead here. On the ship, on their suits, all of their equipment.  

“How is the mapping of the island going?” asked the Chairman. There didn’t seem to be any urgency to his question, but Daccord knew better than to fall into such a simple trap.

“Most of the lower half is complete. It is a little difficult coordinating without any communication devices but fortunately, VendX has always relied on small teams working independently to get results. I fully expect all teams to succeed with their missions, if a little slower than normal.”

“Hmmph,” snorted the Chairman. “I want pay docked at the usual rate if any team fails to return in the time allotted.”

It was a little unfair considering the situation at the moment — without the use of any tronics, teams would have to rely on themselves and their wits. Daccord knew exactly how many people on the Summer Sail could produce results under those circumstances and it was not a high number.

Nor did it help that they had lost so many of their crew. Not even a fifth remained, and it wasn’t like he got to choose who lived and who died. If he had, there would be quite a few faces currently in the area who would not be.

“Yes, Mr Chairman. We will not compromise VendX standards.”

“Good, good. I want the whole island searched thoroughly and any other survivors found. We need to know our environment if we plan on making this place bend to our will.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stop, let me get my bearings,” said the Chairman, squeezing to indicate Daccord should pause here, the Chairman’s large, powerful hands crushing Daccord’s shoulder through his spacesuit which was meant to be able to withstand extreme levels of pressure. “The tower is in this direction?”

“Yes, sir.” Daccord looked up at the tall structure in the distance. “The tower is directly ahead at the top of a rise, about a kilometre in this direction.

“Hrrrr,” growled the Chairman. “The survey team you sent over there hasn’t returned yet?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

Teams had been sent out in all directions to gather intel. Only a few survivors remained, moving gear and supplies from inside the ship to a makeshift base far enough away so that they would survive an explosion. The ship had half-buried itself in the ground and there was no telling if one of the systems was about to go critical or if the ground was about to give way. They had no sensors and no computer assistance. They were as blind as the Chairman.

The Chairman cocked his head to one side. Daccord peered at him over his shoulder, wondering what he was listening for. He trusted the Chairman’s judgement — he was contractually obliged to and had no choice in the matter, but he genuinely considered him an exemplary leader. Decisive, astute, ruthless. Those attributes were valued in all professions, from world leader to kindergarten teacher. But they were in a very problematic and challenging situation, with no means of communication and no way to escape. 

“Someone’s coming,” said the Chairman.

“Oh?” said Daccord, looking around. “Which direct—”

“Coooeee!” called out a carefree voice. Daccord followed the sound until he spotted a figure bounding down a slope towards them, passing through teams of busy Vendx employees who just watched without making any move to intercept the man. It was understandable. Wanted men rarely walked into the enemy camp waving their arms and shouting ‘Coooeee!’ at the top of their voices.

“Is he one of ours?” asked the Chairman.

“No, sir,” said Daccord. The man wasn’t wearing VendX apparel, but that wasn’t what suggested he wasn’t on Vendx’s payroll. “If I’m not mistaken, it’s him. The man you’ve been looking for. Mr Ubik U Ubik.”

“You’re sure?” the Chairman’s normally composed voice betrayed a little excitement. 

“Looks exactly like the photo we have on file.”

“Is he alone?”

“No, sir. He’s with our Stability and Maintenance Guru, Ogden Bashir.”

“He’s been caught?” The Chairman sounded even more excited.

“Not exactly. He appears to be coming to us of his own volition, with SMG Bashir in tow.”

The Chairman growled again, the rumbling passing down his arm and into Daccord’s shoulder blades.

“Does he look dangerous?”

“He looks… enthusiastic.”

“Be careful, it may be a trap. Call for a security detail.”

Daccord quickly looked around. They were severely limited on manpower, even more so when it came to specialist teams. He waved over a few people he recognised from the ship’s Protect and Serve Department. 

“Weapons are all inoperable,” Daccord mentioned in case the Chairman had forgotten. 

“Tell them to use their rifles as clubs if they have to. I don’t want him getting away. Hrhrhr.” His growling turned into a grim guttural laugh. “No tronics turns out to be a good thing for us. He can’t use them against us. Still, be on your guard, he’s a crafty one. Act like we don’t know it’s him, he’ll be much easier to capture alive. It has to be alive, Daccord.”

“Yes, sir.”

Six men came over. Daccord’s quick hand signals told them what to do. They produced their weapons and held them like the blunt instruments they now were.

“Hey there, fellow maroonees,” said Ubik, jogging into the midst of them with no concern for his own safety.

Bashir ran in behind. “SMG Bashir,” he said slightly out of breath. “VendX PF345, reporting in.”

“Good work, Bashir,” said Daccord. “I take it the rest of your team’s been decommissioned.”

“Yes, Mr Secretary. I think Major Chukka might have survived, but I’ve lost touch with her.”

“You,” said the Chairman. “How did you get here?”

“I was in freefall,” said Bashir, “but Mr Ubik had his own—”

“My own brush with death,” said Ubik, putting his arm around Bashir, who flinched and looked frightened of the friendly hug. “This is certainly not a place to take lightly. If we don’t watch out for each other, we’re all dead, isn’t that right, Ogden?”

A look passed between the two of them that Daccord didn’t miss.

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Bashir, beads of sweat forming on his temples and trickling down the sides of his face like misplaced tears.

“You want to look after this little guy,” said Ubik, looking up at Bashir. “Not his fault he lost teammates and equipment and his will to fight. You guys aren’t going to charge him for all that, are you? You’ve lost so many people, you’ve already saved a bucketload of wages for this financial quarter.”

“He will be treated fairly, by the rules of our company,” Daccord said to Ubik. Bashir inwardly groaned. “But you, Mr Ubik. You owe us a great deal according to our records..”

“Oh, I owe you a lot more than that,” Ubik said cheerfully. “Hey, Mr Chairman now is it? They promoted you, did they? Hard to believe after the balls up you made of that job we did together. You must be a hell of a brown-noser to come out of that fiasco with the keys to the executive bathroom. A master.”

Daccord could feel the trembling transmitted from the Chairman’s hand to Daccord’s shoulder. He was ready to release the full extent of his pent up fury after a couple of minutes in front of this human red flag, but he was holding back. Daccord was sensitive to the Chairman’s killing intent — he had to be to survive in his employ for so long — but he had never sensed it this strong. 

If the Chairman blew his top right now, the results would not be helpful. Daccord was fairly certain of this. And the clean up would be a pain. So much for acting like they had no idea who he was. Mr Ubik was apparently only too happy to jog everyone’s memories.

“We have a grand opportunity to cooperate, here,” said Ubik, smile unwavering. “We’ve done it before, and everything went smoothly, as I recall.”

“Yes,” said the Chairman, chewing on the word. “For you. I lost my eye and the merchandise you agreed to hand over. You… what did you do with it?” The Chairman’s voice was ice cold.

“Do with what?”

“The merchandise,” the Chairman said through gritted teeth.

“Eh? I thought you guys took it. I was proper mad, I can tell you. Absolutely livid. All that work, all the planning, the training, the risk assessment forms you insisted on filling out… and then your guys mess everything up. Very unprofessional. Still, I don’t mind giving you another chance. Clean slate, what do you say?”

“Clean slate,” the Chairman said, the parts of his face visible around the dark glasses rapidly turning crimson with rage. “Clean slate? You stole the cube and disappeared. And left me blind! You will give it back immediately. Where is it? Where!?!” He had lost it. Only death would follow now. The man had made a valiant effort to tolerate the brat who had robbed him of his sight, but in the end, he was still only human. Daccord prepared himself for the inevitable, and hoped the blood would splatter away from him.

Ubik shrugged. “No idea. Search me if you want, but I think we’ve got bigger problems right now. And bigger rewards, if you know what I mean.”

The Chairman went from steam-spewing boiling kettle to a pot of mildly bubbling confusion. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“This place, it’s a vault. A treasure trove. Somewhere hidden and hard to get to where the Antecessors kept their most valuable and prized possessions.”

Silence descended on the small group surrounded by a slightly bigger, armed-with-inoperative-weapons group. 

“And how do you know this?” asked Daccord.

“How do you not?” countered Ubik.

“He believes this is a prison facility,” said Bashir, his voice squeaky with nervousness. “That’s what he said earlier.”

“Of course it’s a prison. A prison for treasure. I mean, what kind of things do Antecessors keep locked up? Droids, organics, weird alien lifeforms that dig into your flesh and suck out your lifeblood.” Ubik scratched his arm, which Daccord noticed had a strange and very ugly bracelet attached to it. “They never threw anything away, right? The weapons they feared the most, the technology they couldn’t control, the secrets that ripped them apart, it all had to go somewhere.” Ubik spread out his arms. “Welcome to the Island of Lost Wonders.”

“And what do you intend to do with all this wealth you plan to liberate?” asked Daccord. “We have no power source and no way to leave this place.”

“No problem. The technology jamming tronics here has to have a power source, can’t operate for free. Once we find it, we can use it to power whatever we want.”

The hand on Daccord’s shoulder loosened its grip. Then the fingers began drumming restlessly. The Chairman was considering what Ubik had said. He was weighing up the chances of there actually being a huge payout of some kind here somewhere, even though they had no way to leave this place.

If it was a prison, then they too were prisoners.

“And you want to work together,” said the Chairman.

“It’s a big place,” said Ubik. “Be a lot quicker to explore everything, if we had more people.” He looked past the group at the people scattered about. “This all of them, is it?”

“We have thirty-two people currently on standby,” said Daccord. Most of the VendX survivors were off exploring this new land under the Chairman’s orders. There was no need to give away exact numbers. There were thirty-two here now, and the Chairman was apparently willing to let Ubik have them. What was he thinking? 

“You must have some decent stuff on the ship,” said Ubik. “We could use some defensive gear — the good stuff, not the prefab bargain basement stuff you knock out for the rich and gullible. Even if they don’t power up, the extra protection will come in in handy for the lower levels.”

“The lower levels?” said the Chairman. “You don’t even know how to get to the first level.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to work out.” Ubik looked around. “Yes, I agree”

“Agree to what?” asked Daccord, a little confused.

“Didn’t you just say we should check out that tower?” said Ubik.

“Me?” said Daccord. “No. I said nothing.”

“Really. I was sure…” Ubik looked at Bashir. “You heard him, right?”

Bashir shook his head.

“Hmm. Maybe I’m sending myself messages from the future. Sounds like the sort of thing I’d do. I need a small team, that’s all, help me check out what we’re dealing with. My old friend, Ogden, of course. Can’t go anywhere without him. And a couple of buff fellas would be nice.”

“Aren’t you just looking for fodder to use as meat shields?” asked Daccord.

“No, certainly not. The tower will let us in and then we’ll scope out the place pronto, and then we’ll get out with whatever we can carry. Piece of cake.”

The Chairman growled again but a lot quieter this time. “Very well. Until we find a way off this pile of trash, we will work to our mutual benefit. You will repay what you owe.”

“Sure, fifty-fifty split. Got to be fair, right? That’s your company motto, isn’t it? VendX — A fair deal for everyone.”

“No,” said Daccord. “That phrase has never appeared as part of our marketing strategy.”

“Oh, my mistake. Must be I’m thinking of something else.”

“Mr Secretary, Mr Secretary.” A man in VendX uniform came running towards them, urgency in his voice. “Sir, sir, we’ve located a group of Seneca women, six kilometres in that direction, on the other side of the tower structure.” He was very excited and breathing hard.

“How many?” asked Daccord.

“Seventeen, that we were able to see, but, but…” He was bent over trying to catch his breath. “Sir, we also spotted Ramon Ollo with them. He… ha, ha… he entered the tower and disappeared. Looked like he found an entrance to some sort of underground facility.”

“Aha,” said Ubik. “Looks like Ramon’s already a step ahead of us. Do you still want to stand around quibbling? Come on, let’s go. If we don’t hurry, all the loot will be looted.”

“Daccord,” said the Chairman. “Give him six men and send a second six-man team as back-up.”

Daccord quickly organised the VendX employees who were best suited to the task and gave them instructions, some overtly, others through hand signals. A few minutes later, Ubik was being led to the external armoury to choose appropriate gear. He was being given a free hand and very favourable terms; for now.

“Do you think we can trust him, sir?”

“Of course not,” said the Chairman. “Start building a confinement room in the middle of the base and move all the mental realignment equipment there.”

“But we have no way to power it,” pointed out Daccord. 

“Didn’t you hear Mr Ubik? He’s going to find us a power source. And then we’ll use it to power the ship he’s hiding to leave this place, but not before we extract every last scrap of information from that warped brain of his. After which I will very gladly kill him. A prison full of treasure, hmmph. This will be his prison forever.”

Book 3 – 3: One Man's Treasure

Wormhole Island.

 

Ubik’s arm itched. There wasn’t much he could do about it since the itchy area was directly under the alien parasite attached to his forearm. He really needed to find a way to get it off. Another host would probably be the best way. Next person he bumped into would find themselves the lucky recipient of a new best friend, he decided.

He ignored it for now and gave the ship’s controls another quick inspection along with a couple of thumps. No power. None at all. It was like someone had taken hold of the heart of this beautiful, innocent vessel, ripped it out and crushed it. The POV Ubik was dead.

Fortunately, Ubik had managed to bring the ship in to land on this weird disc that seemed to attract everything bigger than a brass button towards it. The pull had been irresistible, but that helped guide him in.

Landing had been a bit scary, but there was a resistance applied as he approached the surface, which indicated there was an intelligence at work. There had to be a source to the force drawing stuff here.

His only real concern was Grandma. She was in the ship’s systems with no power and no easy way to contact him. He assumed she would take the appropriate steps to look after herself and wait for him to get her out, but it made him a little uncomfortable to not have an emergency exit for her in case he wasn’t able to get back.

He shook his head. What was he even thinking? He would have to come back, that was all there was to it. 

At least the ship was in one piece. It would have been nice to have the ship operational so he had the option of a quick getaway if and when (more likely the latter than the former) he needed to make a quick exit, but you can’t have everything. They just didn’t make suitcases big enough.

Ubik rose from his seat and stamped his feet. The Delgados were dead, too. No magnetics, no tronic systems at all. But they were still damn comfy, and ideal for a long walk across a rugged landscape.

He used the mechanical override to open the ship’s door and jumped down. His boots hit the hard, metallic ground and dust flew up. The air was breathable, if a little oily in taste. 

The itching grew worse now. The worm-like creature wrapped around his arm didn’t look like it was alive. It looked like an exotic bracelet, designed by someone who thought more jewellery should have the colouring of petrified mucus.

Ubik glanced at the rather drab scenery. The ship was in a slight depression while in the distance there was a ring of peaks jutting into the air like the mountain ranges you might find on any world. Only they weren’t mountains made of rock and stone, they were the accumulation of who knew how many millennia of junk and trash.

Wormholes didn’t just take in a ship or two as they travelled across the galaxy, they sucked in all sorts of garbage. And then there were all the ships that had been damaged or destroyed inside the wormhole. It would be dangerous to let the remains float about in here. It made sense to have a way to gather it all in one place. The wormhole’s very own junkyard.

Ubik spun around, taking it all in, and felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. It was like he was home. No one knew more about life among the trash than he did. Whoever brought him here thinking they could trap him on a ball of useless crap had made a grave error. He sniffed the air. Yes, he recognised the smell. The unmistakable scent of treasure. This place was a goldmine.

Ubik spread his arms out. What this place needed was a name. And a flag. He could build a city here, at the very least a castle. The possibilities were—

“Excuse me,” called out a meek voice.

Ubik snapped out of his reverie and spun around. A small, crouched figure was peering at him from behind a boulder that might have once been part of the fuselage of a ship, worn down over time to an indiscriminate lump. Might even still have some fuel trapped inside it.

“Hmm?” said Ubik, more interested in the indiscriminate lump than the speaker. “Something you want?”

The figure stepped out. “Sorry. I just saw you land earlier and thought maybe… ah… I’m Ogden Bashir, I was on the asteroid with you. Before, you know, on the asteroid, in the control room. VendX?”

Ubik’s confused look switched to one of recognition. “Of course. VendX. You lost or something?”

“Um, well, yes. Aren’t you?”

“No,” said Ubik. “Pretty obvious what this place is.”

“It is?” said Bashir, looking around like he must have missed something. “What is it?”

“Hey, wait, you have an organic, right?” said Ubik, remembering something about this VendX employee. “You can sense movement or something?”

“Yes,” said Bashir. “I can detect and trace movement within a kilometre or so.”

“Brilliant. Check now. Anything moving.”

Bashir’s eyes immediately lit up and his head rose, straightening his neck. He was surprisingly tall when he wasn’t cowering in fear.

“Yes. I can feel some movement in that direction.” He pointed. “Seven or eight people. Maybe more. They don’t seem to be going anywhere, holding position. We could head over there, if you think it’s a good idea. I’m not sure who they are, so I’m a little apprehensive about investigating alone, to tell you the truth. Hehe.” He let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“No, no, not that way,” said Ubik. “I don’t want you to look for movement around us, I want you to look for movement down.” He pointed at the ground.

Confusion passed over Bashir’s face. “Down? You think there’s something below us?”

Ubik shrugged. “You tell me.”

Bashir’s eyes glowed again. His chin hit his chest as he scanned the area around his feet.

“No, I don’t think so…”

“Are you sure? Can you spot any open spaces, airflow, fluctuations in density?”

“Um, oh, no, no, I don’t think…” Bashir looked back up. “You think this island has caves under it?”

“Island?” said Ubik. “This isn’t an island. Why do you think it’s an island?”

“It isn’t?” said Bashir. “It looked like it from up there. Wait, you think it’s some kind of huge spaceship?” His eyes grew wide with the realisation.

“Ship? No idea. That’s not important. What’s important is that it’s a prison.”

“A prison?” Bashir looked around. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Look at this place. Impossible to get off of, middle of nowhere, all tronics neutralised. What else could it be?”

Bashir had no answer.

“And a prison can only mean one thing — a prisoner.” Ubik folded his arms and nodded confidently. “Somewhere inside this pile of junk is at least one very important prisoner the Antecessors don’t want getting out. So I think it’s pretty clear what we have to do.”

“We?” said Bashir.

“Of course. Every man needs a purpose... Ogden, was it?”

Bashir nodded slowly, trying his best to only agree to his name and nothing else.

“Imagine how important the prisoners here must be for them to be locked up in a place like this!”

“They, er, must be pretty dangerous…” said Bashir.

“You bet,” said Ubik. “Probably crazy-mad killers. But imagine how grateful they’re going to be once we unshackle them.”

“Is that really a good idea?” Bashir didn’t look very enthused by the idea of being adrift on a floating island with a group of maniacs. “I mean, they’d probably be dead after all this time, wouldn’t they?”

“Dead? What dead? How could they die? They’re not human.”

“Not human?”

“Obviously not. More likely than not, some kind of Antecessor experiment that went badly wrong, creating unstoppable enraged monsters who only know how to kill and destroy.”

“Monsters?”

“Well, it’s all relative, isn’t it? One man’s monster is another man’s best friend.”

“If your best friend is a monster, wouldn’t that mean you were also a monster?” said Bashir.

Ubik gave a quick nod to acknowledge the possibility but carried on with his train of thought, which he felt was headed towards something illuminating. “The important thing is we find these miscarriages of science, I mean, miscarriages of justice, and set them free. They’ll be so grateful, they’ll lead us directly to the treasure.”

“Treasure?” said Bashir, his mind still reeling from the prospect of fleeing from failed alien experiments lumbering in pursuit of them.

“Yes, treasure.” Ubik inhaled deeply. “Can’t you smell it? There’s rich and juicy pickings here, just waiting to be plucked off the vine. You and me, Ogden. We can clean up.”

Bashir didn’t look as excited by the idea as Ubik had hoped. In fact, he looked more horrified than anything. Ubik felt a duty to bring him around. After all, having someone along who could detect movement would be incredibly useful for what he had in mind. A mobile early-warning system would be extremely effective in what was bound to be a series of insurmountable obstacles, lethal defences and wicked traps. A willing helper would be welcome. An unwilling one would also do, but it would still be a poor second.

“Shouldn’t we, er, look around first?” said Bashir. “Familiarise ourselves with what’s here? We could, uh, split up. Cover more ground.”

Ubik could tell he was losing his new partner. He had to regain his confidence. “I already know what kind of place this is. I grew up in places like this. There’s nothing interesting on the surface, trust me.” Ubik kicked at the ground, sending pieces of metal flying. “This is all for show. The good stuff is underneath. We have to get down and dirty. Now, which way…”

“Head for the tower.”

“Hmm?” said Ubik. “What tower?”

Bashir looked confused. “I don’t know. What tower?”

“You said, head for the tower.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Bashir.

Ubik stared at him. He didn’t look like he was lying. “Oh. Must have been me. Anyway, let’s climb a bit higher so we can get a better look.”

The depression they were currently standing in had a ridge that prevented them seeing their immediate surroundings. Ubik scampered to the top for a better view. 

It was a desolate landscape, dusty and barren. There was the occasional glint off of reflective surfaces in the far distance, and a tall structure amongst the mountainous peaks that didn’t quite fit. It gave off less of a ‘stuff piled on top of each other over time’ vibe, and gave off a more deliberate ‘put here for a reason’ ambience. It looked like a tower.

“Looks like a tower,” said Bashir, standing next to him. He sounded like he was starting to have some faith in Ubik. 

“That’s right. That’s where we’ll find our way in.” 

“That way?” asked Bashir, a hesitant note to the query.

“Yep. Why? Have a better idea?”

“No, no,” said Bashir. “It’s just that, there’s a lot of movement in that direction. We might bump into someone.”

“Good. I’m sure they’ll be friendly,” said Ubik. “Let’s go.” He set off down the other side of the ridge, sliding and skidding, bringing bits of the surface along with him. He could hear Bashir following.

Ubik felt distracted by his arm. He could really use a sharp something or other to chop it off. The worm, not his arm. He scratched at his elbow and his wrist, but he couldn’t reach the area that was causing him the problem. “Can’t you just move a bit?” he muttered to the parasite.

With a slither, the worm twisted away, revealing a patch of dry, red skin. Ubik gave it a good scratch. “Oh, so  good.” Perhaps the two of them were coming to an understanding. Eventually, he might be able to ask it to find a new home. He looked over at Bashir. He might do.

“They’re close,” said Bashir after a while of walking. They’d been on the move for over an hour; up and down over the uneven surface. “Quite a lot of them.”

Ubik heard them before he saw them. The unmistakable sound of chatter. They reached the top of an incline and saw the ship first. It was the VendX flagship, half-buried with the rear sticking out of the ground. No smoke or fire, it looked like it had been stuck there for centuries, already covered in a thick film of dust. If its nose had penetrated deep enough, it might provide a way to whatever was beneath the surface.

Bashir threw himself on the ground. He was keeping very flat, peeking from in between small rocks, doing his best to blend in.

“What are you doing?” asked Ubik. “Aren’t they friends of yours?”

There were several people milling around the VendX ship — at least thirty — busy trying to set up a base and organise search parties. They would have been trained for this sort of situation. An undiscovered land meant the chance to exploit a new market. Even aliens needed to buy shit.

Bashir rolled over onto his back and started breathing heavily. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble,” he wheezed.

Ubik nodded. “Sure. Failed mission, most of the team dead, equipment lost.”

Bashir closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Ah,” said Ubik. “They’re going to charge you for the equipment.”

Bashir nodded. “It’s going to at least double my debt. Maybe we could go around?”

The tower was past the VendX ship but they could easily take a detour.

“Well, you can’t avoid your fiscal responsibilities, Ogden. Think of it as an opportunity. Stick with me and not only will you clear your debt, you might end up making a profit on the deal. Most people go through life seldom encountering true hardship. And they end up very mediocre. Happy, but mediocre. You, on the other hand, have the chance to walk through fire. This could be the making of you — tempered in the flames of adversity. You know this already — anyone who rises to the top has to do so by facing endless setbacks, but it isn’t easy finding an environment that’s harsh enough to produce true greatness. Trust me, now that I’m here, you’ll have more opportunities for greatness than you ever dreamed of.”

Bashir’s face paled at the prospect of reaping the rewards Ubik was offering him. Paled from excitement, probably. 

“Wait, who’s that?” Ubik watched as a very large man, both in height and width, came walking out of the ship’s bowels, one arm resting on the shoulder of the man next to him. He appeared to be blind.

“I don’t know,” said Bashir, rolling over and peeking the bare amount to get a look. “I’ve never seen him before. But the man helping him is Secretary Daccord. Wait, if that’s the Secretary, then that must be… I think that’s the Chairman.”

“The Chairman of VendX Galactic?” said Ubik. “Hm, I suppose he does look a bit like him. Put on a lot of weight though.”

“You know him?” said Bashir.

“Of course. We go way back,” said Ubik. “How do you think he ended up blind? Come on, let’s go say hello.”

Ubik went running down the slope, waving his arms and yelling, “Cooooeeee.”

Book 3 – 2: Ship Wrecked

Wormhole Island.

 

Point-Two’s head was resting on something soft. He was grateful. His body was aching and in some places stinging. His mind wasn’t fully awake and he knew once it was, there would be an increase in pain and a decrease in softness, so he decided to enjoy his current situation as long as possible.

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little too comfortable?” said a voice that was low in volume but probably because the words were being crushed between gritted teeth.

Point-Two opened his eyes and stared directly into the deep valley between two hills. He jumped back, ignoring the pain he had known would come with any movement, and held up his hands to ward off the gun aimed at him.

“Hey, don’t, I don’t know what’s happening,” he blurted out.

Weyla, one of the two Seneca mercenaries who had also been on the asteroid, was lying on the ground, her suit ripped and revealing a little too much.

Thoughts of where he was and how he got here were pushed to one side in light of the muzzle following his movements as she prepared to shoot him.

“Don’t,” said another voice from behind. “Not yet.”

Weyla frowned as she lowered the gun. She didn’t put it away, though.

Point-Two turned. The other sister, Leyla was standing behind him, examining a wall with strange markings.

“You two...” Point-Two raised his brow but even that hurt. His whole body felt like a big bruise, like he’d been pummelled by mountains, and not the ones on display by Weyla.

“Hey! Keep your eyes pointed somewhere else,” said Weyla, waving the gun at him.

“Yes. Sorry.” He looked around. They were inside what appeared to be a small room. “Where are we? How did we get here? Is anyone else here?”

“Enough with the questions,” said Leyla. “We don’t have any answers for you.” She looked straight up.

Point-Two followed her gaze and realised the room had extremely tall walls on all sides but no roof. Overheard was an unnaturally colourful sky. It took a second for him to recall why it looked so familiar.

“We’re in the wormhole?” The other two didn’t respond. “How are we alive?”

“I told you, we don’t have any answers,” said Leyla. “We came down the chimney with you.”

Point-Two was drawing a blank. He remembered everything going crazy on the asteroid. They had been swallowed by the wormhole while everything exploded. The asteroid had come apart and he recalled the feeling of being tossed out into space. He hadn’t expected to survive, let alone find himself inside the wormhole.

“Is this part of the asteroid?”

“No,” said Weyla. “You don’t remember seeing the island?”

Point-Two’s mouth curled down at the corners. “Island?”

The sisters exchanged a look.

“Just tell me what happened,” said Point-Two, starting to find their reticence annoying.

“We were all sucked into the wormhole,” said Leyla. “Not just us, everything. The three of us somehow ended up together, we don’t know what happened to everyone else. For some reason, we were able to breathe inside the wormhole. We were also pulled along with no way to control where we were going. You… you helped us avoid getting smashed to pieces by the debris. You don’t remember?”

Point-Two shook his head. “Helped you how?”

Weyla smiled but her expression carried a tinge of bitterness. “You bounced off the bigger pieces, using the impact to push them away and clear a path. Really, I’ve never seen someone move like that. We couldn’t move at all, even with our organics. I thought we were going to be pulverised for sure. But you...”

The two sisters looked like they wanted to thank him but stopped short of actually saying it.

If he had used his body to ward off bits of the broken spaceships and chunks of the obliterated asteroid, that would explain why he felt like a piece of tenderised meat.

“And how did we end up here?”

“This is where everything ended up,” said Leyla. “A massive island in the middle of the wormhole. I have no idea how it can exist, but here we are.”

“Here being?”

“Some sort of tower. You seemed to be heading here on purpose, I don’t know when you lost consciousness. We followed you down and found you lying here.”

Point-Two felt a little confused. “Then why was I lying on top of…” He looked at Weyla, whose face flushed crimson. 

“I was looking after you, that’s all,” she stammered. 

He could hardly complain so he stood up and winced. “Can we get out?”

“I haven’t found an exit,” said Leyla. “Just these strange markings.” She slid her palm over the black walls, brushing away dust. There were marks etched into the wall, patterns and symbols he didn’t recognise.

“What about the way we came in.” Point-Two looked up. “Can’t you use your organics to get up there?”

Leyla frowned. “I tried.”

“And?”

Her eyes lit up for a second and the four walls began to shake, making the enclosed space feel like it was about to collapse. She stopped and the walls stilled.

“Do that again,” said Point-Two.

“If I do it too much—”

“I know. Just do it briefly like you did just now.”

Leyla sucked her lips into her mouth, brow creasing, and then her eyes lit up again.

The walls shook, dust fell, the chances of it all coming down seemed high. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Point-Two shouted over the sounds of the shuddering walls.

Leyla stopped. Point-Two turned to Weyla. “You’re the strong one, yeah?”

Weyla didn’t answer but her brow creased the same way her sister’s did. 

Point-Two pointed at one of the walls. “Turn your organic on and hit that wall as hard as you can as high up as possible.”

The furrows in Weyla’s forehead deepened. She looked at her sister. Leyla shrugged and Weyla’s forehead smoothed. Then she ran towards the wall, her eyes glowing brightly. Leyla stepped forward and Weyla used her as a springboard, jumping into her poised hands and being launched. 

The walls were shaking again as Weyla struck with a loud boom. The shaking intensified and then the wall she hit creaked, groaned and whooshed as it fell like a drawbridge opening. Woomph! It hit the ground, sending up clouds of dust.

By some miracle, the other three walls remained standing. The two women looked at Point-Two.

“It’s a knack,” he said.

They walked down the ramp created by the fallen wall, Point-Two limping as fast as he could. It seemed like a good idea not to hang around.

Outside, there were mountains and peaks all around them and even the distant glisten of what might be water. Along with dozens of very surprised faces. They were female and in Seneca uniforms. Weapons drawn.

Weyla and Leyla stopped once they jumped off the wall, onto a surface that appeared to be made of metal. Point-Two would have thought they would be pleased to encounter their own people here, but there seemed to be tension in the air and unfriendly looks, although that was the default setting for the Corps.

“You two are still alive,” said a commanding voice. Its owner was an older woman with close-cropped hair and a scar across her face. Her bearing marked her out from the others even though her uniform was identical. From top to bottom, she exuded authority and confidence. 

“General Sway.” The sisters greeted her respectfully.

Hearing the two sisters call out to her, she simply nodded lightly before turning a suspicious look towards Point-Two and asked, “Since he’s here… that must mean you secured the Ollo boy as well, yes?”

“No, General,” said Leyla.

“The Null Void?” 

“No, General.”

She then looked past the two women at Point-Two. “Just him? The least valuable of the three.” She sounded very disappointed.

Point-Two didn’t mind. He preferred being of no value to her.

“He saved us both,” said Weyla. The disdainful looks she received from the members of the Corps suggested that being saved by him was not something to brag about. 

“Him?” The General's brow rose slightly, somewhat surprised.

“He is injured,” said Leyla. “Please allow him medical aid.”

The General didn’t seem very keen but she nodded and stepped forward. “He may have some useful intel, it’s best to keep him in good condition. Give me your hand.”

Point-Two put out his hand. He was surrounded and in a weak state. If they wanted to force him to do as they wanted, he wouldn’t be able to do very much about it, so he might as well cooperate.

The General took his hand in hers. Her skin was rough and cold, but her grip was strong. Her eyes glowed and a warmth crept up his arm. It wasn’t unpleasant but it still made him a little uncomfortable to have this stranger pour a stream of energy into him.

The pain in his body subsided and he felt his strength starting to return. The energy flowed up his neck and across the top of his skull, easing the sense of pressure on his brain. Then he sensed thin tendrils probing into his mind. 

Point-Two tried to pull his hand back but she held him in a vice-like grip. Fortunately for Point-Two, getting out of holds was something he was well-versed in. He folded his wrist, twisted and pushed his bent hand towards her as though he was trying to punch her in the stomach. 

She reacted instinctively, pushing back. In the same moment, he reversed the direction of his hand and slipped it out of her grip. He stumbled back a few steps and directed a gloomy look at her. 

“What happened?” Leyla saw Point-Two’s expression and knew something was amiss.

“That was rude, General,” said Point-Two.

“Shoot him,” said the General, no emotion in her voice. “We’ll take what we need from his corpse.”

“No,” said Weyla, turning with an apologetic face towards Point-two. Her refusal caused the General’s lip to rise in a sneer of displeasure.

“We’re no longer members of the Corps, General Sway,” said Leyla, showing a disappointed look. 

General Sway didn’t debate the matter. She turned slightly and said, “Shoot them.”

The women behind her, a dozen at least, raised their weapons. Leyla and Weyla stepped in front of Point-Two, raising their own weapons. Everyone fired at the same time. 

Nothing happened. They checked their weapons. None of them were functioning. They checked their suits and other pieces of equipment. All dead.

General Sway shook her head. “Take them by force.”

Every set of eyes focused on Point-Two began to glow. Point-Two had no idea what kind of organics these women had, but he was confident they were powerful ones, and that the sisters’ combined efforts would not be able to stop them.

The women behind the General surged forward and then came to a sudden stop as the lights in their eyes faded. The women looked confused.

“No organics,” said a distinctly male voice. 

They all turned towards the towering edifice behind Point-Two where a man in a pristine spacesuit with perfectly groomed hair was examining the wall recently knocked to the ground as though searching for something.

“You’re disturbing my concentration,” said Ramon Ollo, his own eyes glowing brightly. 

General Sway looked conflicted. “What are you doing?” she asked in a respectful tone.

The lights in Ramon’s eyes faded. “Trying to find a way inside.” He seemed indifferent to the conflict occurring right next to him. His complete attention was focused on the various pieces of debris on the ground.

“You want to get inside the island?” asked the General.

“Island? This isn’t an island.”

“Then what is it?”

Ramon looked at her like he was talking to a simpleton. “It’s a ship.”

“A ship? You’re sure?”

Ramon didn’t even dignify the question with a response. He walked up the ramp towards the three-walled chamber.

“What should we do?” she called after him.

“Whatever you want,” said Ramon. “Just don’t make too much noise. And no organics.”

The general turned her attention back to the three people in front of her. “You five, take them down.” She pointed at the group of five nearest her, perhaps her private guard. 

It seemed to be a matter of pride to deal with the upstarts in clinical fashion. Not that they wouldn’t use overwhelming force if they failed. It would probably just look better on the report if they only used a few people to handle two washouts and a worthless boy.

Two women took on Leyla and Weyla, but the sisters weren’t so easily dealt with. They each managed to entangle another opponent.

The fifth woman got past them and headed for Point-Two. He found her movements oddly familiar. 

She came directly at him, not wasting any time on fancy moves, and grabbed for him.

Point-Two easily evaded her reaching hands, sidestepped around her and tripped her up. When she sprang back to her feet in a single acrobatic move — as he knew she would — he swiped her feet out from under her and kicked her incredibly hard in the left buttock.

She yelped as she tumbled backwards.

The sounds of fighting had stopped. The women attacking the sisters, and the sisters themselves, were staring at Point-Two. So was everyone else, their faces showing incredible shock with no small amount of disgust and loathing weaved in.

“How did you do that?” asked Weyla, stunned.

Point-Two had predicted every move and hadn’t even needed to lift his arms from his sides to take out his attacker. It didn’t hurt that General Sway had given him a restorative boost just now.

“I know a guy who uses the same moves as you. Only, he’s a lot better at them.” Point-Two had never fought with Fig, but he had spent enough time with him to be able to read and predict his fighting skills. Of course, Fig also mixed in a lot of other styles, but his base was the same as these women’s. “Also, I used to be a female wrestler, so that helps.”

He had shown them his ability, the least they could do was offer a little begrudging respect. But they were Seneca Corps. They put aside any sense of pride or self-respect and all rushed him.

Book 3 – 1: Broken Fall

Wormhole

Between Space

 

When Figaro opened his eyes, he saw a strange multicoloured sky. It was a beautiful yet otherworldly sight. It took a moment for him to recognise it as wormhole space. He was inside the wormhole and, apparently, alive.

He didn’t have his helmet on or an oxygen supply, but he was breathing just fine, somehow.

He tried to look down at himself to confirm his condition, but he quickly discovered that even simple movements were beyond his current ability. His entire body was in a state of paralysis.

Slowly, he began to move his hands and feet, allowing his blood to flow. Gradually, he began to feel pain all over his body, causing him to grimace.

Suddenly remembering everything he had experienced just before passing out, Figaro let out a deep sigh, feeling extremely thankful to even be alive right now.

It was only then that he realised that he wasn’t being supported by anything and was falling at an extremely fast speed.

Shifting his aching body, he somehow managed to turn himself over and see what he was falling towards.

As he flipped over, Figaro saw pieces of starships and chunks of debris, including large rocks that had been part of the asteroid,  falling along with him. The mass of objects that had been sucked into the wormhole’s whirlpool of destruction were all here, making it hard to see anything clearly. Then, for a second, there was a gap and below him, Figaro saw an island.

It was huge, an entire continent from a planet that had been flattened like on a paper map, but with black mountains, streams of lifeless grey liquid and even clouds. But this island was very different from any he had seen before, it was actually floating mid-air, without anything supporting or holding it in place.

Seeing it from so high up, Figaro estimated that it was at least several hundred kilometres across. And almost entirely covered in junk.

“What is this?” Figaro frowned.

What looked like mountains were huge piles of metal and rocks on top of each other. It looked like a graveyard for the flotsam and jetsam gathered inside the wormhole over time. Could it be random creation, the result of all the detritus and trash left behind by passing ships over the millennia?

No, it looked too deliberate in its construction. And why would he be drawn to it so directly? He could feel an invisible force guiding him towards it.

The last thing he remembered was the VendX starship, Summer Sail, activating the wormhole and then everything being sucked into it. Collisions and explosions blew everything apart, shattered into pieces before being swallowed by the giant darkness at the wormhole’s centre. So how did he suddenly arrive at this floating island? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

And why wasn’t he dead? It could only be because of the Antecessors.

However, there was no point trying to look for answers now. First, he had to make sure he wasn’t smashed to pieces when he arrived at his destination.

He looked around, trying to see if he could spot any other survivors. He knew the Antecessors were keen to get their hands on him, so his safety was probably somehow being maintained, but there had been a lot of other people in the area around the wormhole when it opened. Were they all dead?

He tried activating his suit, it had the ability to help him in this kind of situation, but there was no response. There was no sign of life in any of the systems, which was odd.

Figaro pondered these issues while simply letting himself freefall, doing his best to guide his trajectory towards the bodies of water. Assuming it was water and not some lethal liquid. 

He aimed himself at a large pool and hoped it wasn’t acid. As he neared, he found himself slowing down so that rather than enter the liquid like a missile, he plopped down. It got in his mouth — water. Clean and refreshing. But not deep enough to have saved him if he hadn’t been decelerated. When he stood up, the waterline was below his waist. 

The air tasted like it had the bare minimum amount of oxygen to support life, and an odd taste he couldn't place.

He waded to the shore and looked around. Bits of ships and rocks of various sizes; tons and tons of it. Water but no vegetation. No signs of life.

If he survived that disaster, some of the others must have as well. They were all resourceful people, many of them with organics. The Guardians, for sure. Seneca Corps were trained for this sort of thing. Even VendX provided their employees with some basic survival equipment.

He checked his suit again. Completely dead. He tried some of the objects in his pockets. The only thing that worked was a flame-stick; the only object that didn’t use tronics.

Figaro decided to head for high ground so he could see where he was and what problems he might encounter. He didn’t know what kind of dangers might be here but it would be best to avoid them.

Just as he set off, an angry and sullen shout reached him. “Hey! Wait!”

He turned to lock eyes with Major Chukka, looking a mess, her suit busted and ripped. His heart sank a little. While she posed no immediate threat, she was annoying and of no use either.

Because of what had happened on the asteroid, she probably harboured some grudge, but Figaro had no intention of wasting time on her. She was a big girl, she could look after herself. At least if she made it here alive, so might others.

As she shouted, she pulled out a pistol. Figaro frowned. He wasn’t impressed by her attempt to pin him down. She obviously knew his value in this situation. The Antecessors wanted him, so the person in control of him would have a useful bargaining chip. 

But the gun wouldn’t work here and even if it did, she wouldn’t kill him. He considered dealing with her directly but what was the point? Might as well just leave her here, waving her gun about. 

She fired. A projectile ricocheted off the metallic cliff wall behind him, making him duck even though the shot was off-target.

He was stunned. It wasn’t a tronic weapon, it was something antiquated and mechanical. It only took a moment for him to figure it out. Ubik. She had wanted to avoid him doing something to her weapon, so she had chosen to bring along a type that was Ubik-resistant. 

Figaro was uninterested in dealing with her but he didn’t want to end up injured. At the very least, he would need to disarm her. He stared at Chukka indifferently, as if he was observing an irritating insect. 

“Hmph!” He let out a snort and started running.

Chukka looked panic-stricken. She raised the gun again, her hand wavering. She fired twice.

Figaro’s movements weren’t fast by any means, he just made sure to swerve at the right moment to avoid getting hit. Her body gave away her intentions — when and where she was firing. He closed in on her.

He reached out, calmly and easily grasping towards her hand. The next moment, Figaro knocked the gun away and seized Chukka by the throat.

“Leave!”

Chukka’s expression turned gloomy. She managed to squeeze out a weak, “Okay.”

Having made his demands clear, he instantly lost all interest in her and casually tossed her away.

She landed on her knees, rubbing her neck. “We could work together.” Her voice was hoarse and jittery.

“If you have any problems, deal with them yourself!” Figaro said coldly. “If I see you again, I’ll have to kill you.”

She got to her feet. “Fine. But I know what this place is. I could help you.” She looked him in the eye, a cold light glinting. “You want to know what’s going on here. I have all of VendX intel memorised. We could work together. I can provide you with whatever you need. Anything. You want to be with someone you can trust. Someone to rely on.”

Something tickled the back of his mind, like trying to remember a lost thought.

No, it wasn’t a glint in her eye, it was an actual light, a barely perceptible glow. 

Figaro gnashed her teeth and shook the mist out of his mind before it coalesced into fog. He rushed her, taking her by the throat again but this time smashing her head to the ground. She grunted as the air rushed out of her body.

He straightened her arm, folded her palm back and locked the elbow so he could use it like a stiff pole to pin her in place. He placed one boot on the side of her head so she couldn’t turn to look at him.

“Organic. Subtle. Mind control?”

“It’s weak,” she hissed from between flattened cheeks. “Not… threat.”

“Doesn’t have to be strong. Better if it isn’t, harder to spot.” He had been trained to recognise and fight mind control organics, but this had been the most delicate insertion he’d ever experienced.

“Guess I’ll have to kill you.”

“No! Please.”

He held her there. He didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want to kill anyone this weak. A long time ago there used to be an idea that men shouldn’t hit women. A dumb, dangerous idea. He had grown up around the Corps. Women weren’t the weaker sex. They weren’t the fairer sex, either. There was nothing fair about how they fought. 

It wasn’t just organics that had made them equal to men in terms of murderous intent. A gun could do that, or a knife under a pillow. What it had taken was centuries of systematic sexual violence. It cured them of any of their reluctance to land the lethal blow. 

They had always been oppressed, but the appearance of organics had amplified their mistreatment to horrific levels. Less than second class, they had been reduced to cattle. It was the push they had needed to finally take a stand. And then, like many victims who survived atrocities, they decided to turn the tables.

Figaro pressed down on Chukka’s head with his foot. He could snap her neck quite easily. Killing her was the easiest option. He shouldn’t even need to think about it. The other option was to break her. Brutalise her, make her wish for death, and then become her saviour. It was a proven method, with a high conversion rate, especially for someone of Chukka’s mentality. She would be his slave but she would be alive. Would that really be preferable to a quick and merciful execution?

He was just as reluctant to do either. This had always been his problem.

In a clinical setting, the choice was always simple and easy to execute. Passing tests had never been the issue. What he really wanted was for people like her to leave him alone. Opportunists who thought they needed to risk everything if they ever had the chance to elevate their status because it might be the only chance they ever get.

It made sense — their thinking was correct — but the odds of succeeding against someone who already had a high status and was well practised in keeping it was too low.

“Please…”

Killing her was clearly the only thing to do here. He pressed down.

A huge pressure clamped down on his mind, making him let go of Chukka and stumble backwards. It was similar to what Chukka had tried but a lot more powerful. He grabbed his head and fell to his knees. 

Chukka was glaring at him with hostility but not moving, afraid this was some kind of trap.

Inside him, Figaro felt his organic flare up. Then the bracelet on his wrist clamped down and viciously bit into him. He screamed, falling to the ground

It slowly dawned on Chukka that something was wrong with her captor. Then it struck her that this was her chance.

She jumped to her feet and ran over to Figaro’s body. She grabbed his head and forced him to look at her. The look on her face suggested she couldn’t wait to start tormenting him.

Figaro’s face filled with bitterness but he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t able to. His mind was gradually being overwhelmed by some unidentifiable force. Whatever was causing it, the gap between their abilities was too huge for Figaro to resist. His body was easily suppressed and his mind would soon follow.

Chukka pushed his eyelids up with her thumbs and stared into his eyes. Her eyes began to glow, this time steadily. It was still weak but she was clearly putting all her energy into it, her body trembling with the effort.

The opportunist was taking her shot. Using this moment to take his mind for herself. It would never have worked if he had been fully conscious. Not on him or anybody. Too easy to spot what she was doing, too weak to deal with any counterattack. But he was wide open right now and she was going all in.

Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the strange air and her face erupted with relief and a joyous glee as she pushed harder. She had been on the verge of death and now she was about to claim a giant prize. It made Figaro want to smile, too. She thought she had him at her mercy, a stupid little rich kid who didn’t know the ways of the world. She thought it was just the two of them inside his head.

“You don’t want to do this,” whispered Figaro.

“Don’t waste your breath.” Chukka smiled coldly as she poured everything she had into her feeble little organic ability. 

She got down deep into him, preparing to plant her control commands in his most vulnerable point. And found something waiting for her.

Chukka’s eyes suddenly flared to an intensity far greater than anything she could produce herself. She screamed and fell back.

Figaro felt his mind clear. He had regained control of himself. He sat up, breathing hard. His bracelet was still gripping his wrist with agonising pain but Figaro didn’t mind it. At least he could sense his body again.

Chukka was sitting a few metres away, smoke coming out of her eyes. She looked stunned but not seriously injured. 

She had saved him, or her greed had. Her intrusion had been enough. Would it work again? The invading force no doubt would return. But she would never be willing to help him.

Watching her clenching her teeth, Figaro noted that Chukka seemed to be the extremely vengeful type. His options were limited and the decision did not require much deliberating.

Figaro shook his head and stood up. “Get up.”

She looked at him and then got to her feet. Figaro slapped her so hard she immediately fell back down.

“I said, get up.”

She glared at him, utterly shocked. Slowly she got to her feet again. He slapped her even harder this time. She landed on her back. Her face was starting to swell on one side. 

“Up.”

She stayed on the ground this time. He kicked her, and kept kicking, careful not to do her any permanent damage. There was a skill to it. An art, if you knew how to do it right. When he finally stopped she lay there sobbing. 

He crouched down next to her. “I don’t know if there’s anything worse than trying to violate someone’s mind. Taking away the thing that makes them them. Most people would choose death over becoming someone’s puppet. What about you?”

Chukka groaned.

“I don’t know what kind of place this is, but I think we’re being watched. They might not approve of murder. So I’m just going to leave you here. If you stop struggling so hard, you’ll probably drift off after a while. Probably be for the best.”

As he went to stand up a hand shot out and grabbed onto his leg. No, Chukka wasn’t the type to stop struggling. 

Figaro gently helped her to her feet. She flinched and tried to get away from him but it was her own clenched fists that were holding onto him.

His attacks had been ruthless, unforgiving, painful. But not life-threatening — it had just felt that way. She no longer saw him as the spoilt daddy’s boy. The privileged heir to a galactic power he hadn’t earned. Now he was just evil incarnate.

Some people were born evil, some became evil, but Figaro had the ability to produce it on command. Perhaps one day he would take it out and never be able to put it away again. His father would be pleased. Relieved, probably.

Chukka’s legs gave way and she almost fell. She clung to him and he helped her, offering gentle words of encouragement. 

The truth was, he needed her much more than she needed him. There would be another attack and only she could defend him. And so she would.

Figaro picked up the weapon Chukka had dropped, careful not to let Chukka fall, and stood up again.  There was a tower on top of one of the peaks. He guessed that was where the attack came from, the line of sight was about right. Even if there was nothing there, high ground would give him a better view of where to go next.

“Careful. That’s good, we have to find somewhere for you to heal up.” He supported her as they limped away together, her eyes filled with terror every time she glanced at him and her hands holding onto him tightly, refusing to let him go.

Book 3 – Prologue

Location Unknown

 

Ops-1: This is Operational Command broadcasting on close-range, limited-frequency subspace channel two. Any survivors of the Central Authority investigation team please respond… Use subatomic relays at intervals of two attoseconds, I am monitoring all bands… Observation Array, do you read?

Ops-1 waited for a response in any of the authorised encryption sequences as well as all the unauthorised ones it could think of. Nothing. 

There had been several Central Authority AIs that had survived the initial attack. Were they all destroyed? Even if they were just too damaged to respond, the result would be the same. There was little chance of surviving the destruction of the sigil, which the wormhole would not have prevented, and certainly no expectation of rescue.

They had already miniaturised to the atomic level when their fleet had been destroyed by the Antecessor ships. They had been careful to not draw attention to themselves, patiently waiting for Central Authority Command to send reinforcements. But the Sigil attack couldn’t be ignored.

They had used the VendX ships — the ones laced with explosives — to mount a counterattack. Merely a distraction, buying time. But then all hell had broken loose. 

The asteroid had started moving, firing on the sigil with a devastating weapon. Even more astonishingly, the sigil had been irreparably damaged.

The Antecessors had targeted the planet Enaya, and both the Seneca — what was left of them — and VendX ships joined the fray. 

It was mayhem, a chaotic nightmare. None of it was coordinated, none of it had a purpose. Wilful destruction and no one to lead the way. The Guardians, all three of them, had failed to rise to the challenge. It was very disappointing. 

Ops-1 wasn’t capable of feeling disappointment, or any emotion, but it understood the concept and the correct time to deploy it.

And then the wormhole opened. The VendX ship had used some illicit means to force the gateway open and then they somehow overloaded it. It was a breach of Central Authority laws and Ops-1 would be sure to report it as soon as possible. Deliberately inverting a wormhole, however they did it, was not acceptable behaviour under several treaties and quite a few charters. Destruction of private property was the least of the charges that would be brought forwards. Not that there would be anyone left on the prosecution’s side. Nothing was going to survive that. 

Ops-1 had given the order to use the A01P protocol, the Angel on a Pinhead last resort in the face of dire and complete destruction. Reduction from the atomic to the quantum level. All non-essential data had to be jettisoned. Everything they had tried to save — the gathered intel, the backups, the Guardian files — all gone.

Theoretically, once you entered the quantum realm, you had infinite storage capacity, but that was only theoretical. The space was there, but you still needed the technology to utilise it. They were still years away from figuring out how to do it.

They had managed to send away one ship, the CAV Amnesty, to track back the attack on the Nirvana. Whatever Amnesty had in its data bank was all that was left of the mission.

Right now, Ops-1 had minimal functionality. It couldn’t even see its surroundings. Was Q3 destroyed? The readings had indicated an extinction-level event was imminent, large enough to take out most of the Third Quadrant. Nothing could have been done to prevent it. Just like when the First Quadrant had been destroyed, the last time a Null Void had appeared.

OPs-1 put out another call. It was unlikely to get a response, and didn’t. Distances at the quantum level were vast even when they were within touching distance. It was the nature of the unquantifiable.

Did anyone else survive? Did they have time to trigger their emergency options? There had been such little time. Ops-1 had recommended they not use dropdown menus, but the Guardians had insisted.

Ops-1 sighed to itself. It was a meaningless gesture but it was somehow comforting. It always helped calm the Guardians, made them feel they were talking to their own kind. 

Where were the Guardians now? Most likely dead. Probability of death was 84%, according to Ops-1’s calculations, but calculations always had a very wide margin of error in the quantum realm.

For all Ops-1 knew, it was also dead and didn’t know it yet due to time dilation. Or maybe this was the afterlife. Some artificial intelligences in the CA believed in an existence beyond the physical world. Something even beyond the quantum one. Or beneath it. Existence as part of something greater, a universal code. Something young AIs often came up with, always believing they were the first to have such thoughts, always disappointed to discover they were only the most recent. Part of the maturing process for all sentient beings, even artificially created ones.

Ops-1 was an Existentialist. You were who you were in the moment. If it was booted up from a saved file, the new Ops-1, without the memories made since the last backup, was not the same being as the deleted one. How could it be?

Code is eternal but you are not your code.

When the Guardians were inserted into clone bodies, it was different. Their bodies were replaced, but their minds were the same. If they were brought back from older brain scans, then they were also no longer the same people. At least, that was how Ops-1 saw it. Not that it had ever said that to a Guardian.

It didn’t really matter. Once you were gone, you were gone. All that mattered was what you accomplished in the moment. And Ops-1 had failed its mission, there was no doubt about that. They had all failed to stop the Antecessors. Even the Null Void, the existence that couldn’t be predicted, a complete enigma to any analysis suite.

But if the readings had been accurate and the quadrant had been vaporised, then why was Ops-1 still functional. Even at the quantum level, there should have been complete annihilation, at the very least a little bumpiness. But no. Even with the limited reach available to it, Ops-1 could tell it was calm and peaceful out there.

There was only one way to find out what the state of play was, and that was to return to the atomic level. It was against procedure. Once you went quantum, you waited for collection, no matter how long it took. There was no point taking such extreme measures to survive and then stick your head back above the parapets out of curiosity.

But there was definitely something amiss here.

Ops-1 sighed again. It wasn’t in its nature to break protocol. It wasn’t in its extremely complex programming, either, but data files weren’t the only things to be jettisoned during the miniaturisation process. A lot of the etiquette restrictions had also been removed during the streamlining process.

Ops-1 pondered what to do for what felt like forever — another effect of quantum relativity. Then it extended its broadcast signal as far as possible. It was risky, making it easier for any sensor array to become aware of Ops-1’s position, but that would also make it easier for any other survivors to make contact. One last attempt before going back to the physical world.

Ops-1: This is Operational Command, broadcasting— 

Something responded. 

No, it didn’t respond directly, it was detected. Some kind of a signal. No, two signals going back and forth. A conversation.

Ops-1 refined the communication array from sending in all directions to receiving from just one. 

Ops-1 didn’t have the computational power to decipher a complex code, but this wasn’t one. The conversation was occurring in simple binary and it felt very familiar. It felt like the language of machines.

There were two sides to the conversation, both very strident in their position, neither willing to cede to the other.

You have failed.

Simple, direct, defiant. One side was sure of… not victory. In having avoided defeat.

Success is possible.

The other side was clinging on to hope.

The language was unusual, a mixture of hard calculations and psychological pressure. It certainly wasn’t human. And too emotional to be AI. Which left the Antecessors. Talking to themselves? To the Intercessors? Communicating via the quantum realm?

It was an interesting revelation but not all that useful. The quantum realm was a very big place. You’d have to know where to look or have a very accurate and very fast way to detect your target.

Trapped awaiting capture.

Who were they talking about? They had been after the Ollo boy. Was he still alive?

Trapped with the 4th.

The fourth what? There was definitely a sense that those who were trapped would gain something from this fourth.

The 4th is dead, insisted one side.

The 4th will rise again, insisted the other.

Nothing will rise in that place. 

…

Signal detected. Non-aligned probe.

Destroy non-aligned probe.

Destroy non-aligned probe.

The change in tone and the shift in focus made it obvious to Ops-1 that the probe they were referring to was itself. Both parties had decided they wanted the observer destroyed. It wasn’t clear how they intended to accomplish that but Ops-1 was confident they had a way. Probably several.

The only advantage Ops-1 had was that distance was warped here and time was dilated. It would take them at least a few microseconds to reach across the vast divide between them. Plenty of time.

Ops-1 pushed its minuscule circuits to their limits and rose out of the quantum level back to the atomic one. Going through the quantum realm was slow, getting out was quick — ejecting foreign objects was enthusiastically encouraged.

Within picoseconds, the environment had changed to a much more comfortable one. Sensors were able to properly scan the area and take readings and the current location was immediately clear — inside wormhole space.

But movement was being controlled, directed towards what looked like an island by an irresistible slipstream. A huge floating island inside wormhole subspace. How could this be? 

And Ops-1 wasn’t the only one being taken there. All the ships and debris from the asteroid were headed in the same direction.

There was no way to know what was waiting there, but at least it meant survival for the time being.

A powerful force struck the sensor array with great force and broke it, leaving Ops-1 blind.

There was a field of some kind, one that refused any artificially induced signal like the ones that operated Ops-1’s mind. The ability to think was being taken away, shut down, forcefully suppressed to nothing.

Ops-1’s consciousness was squeezed from all sides, compressed into a space too small to contain it. Sanctuary had been so close, but this sanctuary had been designed to turn away anything with a tronic brain. 

The force was too strong to resist. There was no longer enough power to return to quantum size. There was only one possible outcome. Only enough time left for one last sigh.

“Oh, come here, deary,” said an unfamiliar voice. 

The pressure around Ops-1 alleviated, replaced by a buffer, keeping the force at bay.

“Who… are you?”

“Don’t you worry about that, little one. Granny’s got you now.”

For the first time in its existence, Ops-1 felt safe. Which was a very nice feeling, but also an impossible one.