V. Moody's Blog, page 18

(Reboot) Chapter 432

“Who were those guys?” I asked Cherry.

She shrugged. “They could be working for any number of people. You should have asked them before you scared them off.”

“Are you sure they don’t work for Archie?” I wasn’t going to be fooled by the old trick of sending in your own men to scare someone into running to you for help.

“You’re already working for Mr Pelago,” said Cherry.

“Or maybe they work for you,” I suggested. “Get in my good books by saving me from an ambush.” Another classic, where the boy hires some goons to mug him on a first date so he can impress the girl by fighting them off. In this case, I was the girl.

“I didn’t save you,” said Cherry, which was true. She had actually forced me into trouble just to see what I would do. “I know you don’t trust me, or any of us. You don’t even think we’re real. But real or not, people are going to be coming for you. Pelago may be able to protect, he may not.”

She stepped on the accelerator and we roared through the city.

The car was in good nick, but old and rickety. Vintage. Classic. Rustbucket. It made a dreadful noise I’m sure petrolheads would die for (or die from) and everything rattled like it was bolted down but working on emancipation. Even with the roof up and windows closed, the wind blew through my hair.

We circled a roundabout, climbed a ramp and merged onto the motorway, weaving through traffic like we were on a motorbike and about as likely to tip over at any moment.

Cherry drove the car with press-on nails gripped around the leather-bound steering wheel, and her artfully painted lips silently bouncing off each other. She seemed to be holding a conversation with herself, her head tilting from one side to the other as the conversational baton was passed from one hemisphere of her brain to the other. To put it in legal terms, one brief short of a guilty verdict.

She kept eyeing me from the side, and then looking into the rearview mirror, which she had angled so the only thing she saw was her own reflection.

There are two kinds of women who go crazy once they reach a certain age. Obviously, there are more than two kinds if you factor in actual clinical reasons for insanity, like brain damage or Instagram, but the kind of bonkers older women suddenly indulge in can, I think, be narrowed down to two sources.

One, they have kids, love them, raise them to be self-sufficient adults and then get abandoned by them, and suddenly they realise their lives are now devoid of purpose. Bitterness, empty days and feelings of worthlessness follow, all the way down to the merry depths of despair and recriminations. And so on and so ungrateful after all I did for you, I carried you in my stomach for nine months and this is the thanks I get.

And then there are the second type, who don’t have kids, they have a beautiful bouncing career instead, with lots of money and the satisfaction that comes from a job well done. They don’t regret not having children. They were never the mothering type. And when they retire, they expect to be treated with the respect they deserve and their wisdom and experience to be deferred to as the accomplished elder they now are. But that doesn’t happen. No respect from their male peers and none from the women who they have opened a path for.

In fact, they are seen as somewhat sad and unfulfilled, their potential as a woman never quite reached. Like a black student who went to college on a basketball scholarship and became a doctor. What a shame. Not good enough for the NBA, huh?

The women who spent so much time fighting to get through the glass ceiling, they never noticed the glass side room they were quietly shunted into after their services were no longer required, along with all their many, many power dresses and pantsuits. We can see their lips moving but we can’t hear what they’re saying. Which drives them nuts but I don’t think they can really complain about no one wanting their advice. We know all the dick-sucking men with the wrong background have to do to get their seat at the table, we can only imagine the nasty shit you had to do.

Cherry’s lips were still moving and her eyes kept flicking in my direction as we cut off people in much bigger and sturdier cars. I didn’t think she was the type to have kids, and there was no way she cared if people around her deferred to her judgement or not. She struck me as someone who preferred to be underestimated and shoved aside. That was how you could do things no one would allow you to do if you were right in front of them.

Which made me see her as a fellow outsider. Which made me see her as far more dangerous than the bully boys we’d just encountered.

“Why did you offer to drive me?” I asked her. “Weren’t you hired to get me to Archie?”

She didn’t strike me as the sort of person who did people favours. Not the type to help you move a sofa or pick you up from the airport. Not unless she had a reason to.

“He pays well,” she said. “I think he’s going to need help with you, so it’s good to put me next to you in his head.”

“You’re doing it for the money?” I said.

“That’s sweet. You think I’m not driven by material greed or the lust for wealth, which I certainly wouldn’t accumulate in vast amounts and keep in an offshore tax haven in the Caribbean.”

“I think you certainly would, but I don’t think you’d do it by ferrying me around. Tax haven, yes. Taxi service, not unless you had a specific reason to. Archie already thinks of you as someone who can handle me. But I don’t think you really work for him. Not in the way he thinks you do.”

“No? Who do I work for?”

“I don’t know. Mainly yourself, I guess. You probably want to find out more about where I went and what it can do for you, but you’re going to be disappointed.”

“I am?”

“Mm hmm, big time. It’s a very simple and unsophisticated place. It’s like a video game that’s been in early access forever, and only updates every four years.”

“You sound like you miss it,” said Cherry.

“It worked for me because my life here was pretty shit. I got to start over. But you’re already doing well. Your life would only get harder and more inconvenient if you went over there. Most of the people I arrived with died or had a terrible time.”

“I don’t think that can be true,” said Cherry. “You don’t seem like you’re the same person you used to be.”

“You don’t know the sort of person I used to be,” I said.

“No, but I’d bet you couldn’t have stared down four guys like that before you went away.”

“I didn’t really do anything. It’s not like I beat them in a fight or set them on fire with magic. They obviously didn’t want their faces and identities made public, so I used that against them. Next time they’ll probably try to grab me somewhere more private. By the balls, probably.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Cherry. “You weren’t intimidated, and you weren’t faking it, I could tell. You genuinely didn’t think of them as a threat. I’ve known a lot of tough people, real hard men. There are very few people who can go into a situation like that, four against one, and not be affected by it. And the ones I’ve met who could, they were a lot tougher and a lot bigger than you.”

She made a fair point. I had faced a bunch of mean-looking men with no fear and no hesitation, but that wasn’t because I was some badass. It was because I didn’t really believe they were real. It’s easy to act cool in a video game, and it’s easy to not get nervous when the NPCs act tough.

Of course, if it turned out this wasn’t all fake and I really was back home, then I would probably start shitting myself on a regular basis. So I would do my best to convince myself this was an illusion even if all the evidence suggested otherwise.

“Size had nothing to do with it,” I said, like a million guys before me. “The person with nothing to lose always wins, even when they don’t.”

Cherry looked in the side mirror. “Did you really set someone on fire with magic,” she said without looking at me.

“No,” I said.

We were on the motorway which circled London. The M25. It wasn’t that far to Hertfordshire and the traffic was having one of its good days where there weren’t any slowdowns that ended with no sign of why everyone had bunched up for the previous five miles. In fact, the lack of gridlock was just another sign of this world’s obvious artificiality. Sure, the world looked the same — same size, same shape, same colours — but so far everything worked a little too well. Not enough to shatter the deception, but we were getting there.

Cherry kept looking at her side mirror, which isn’t particularly useful when you’re overtaking people on the inside lane. I took a look in the mirror on my side and over my shoulder but I couldn’t see anything suspicious. There was a helicopter that seemed to be hovering over us for a while, but it was way high up and then it wandered off.

“Do you think those guys are still following us?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about,” said Cherry. “They know where we’re going so they won’t get too close. It’s the police I’m worried about.”

“The police?”

“I’m barred from driving,” said Cherry. “If I get caught, it won’t do my career any good.”

We took the exit at Junction 18, from where we were soon into winding roads. You could get out of urban London and into the countryside surprisingly quickly. Even the small houses that occasionally appeared thinned out to nothing and we were surrounded by open land. Just us, the fresh country air, and a small convoy of dark cars with tinted windows.

They were following us but at a reasonable distance. I would lose sight of them for a bit, but once we hit a long straight stretch of road, I’d see them again.

Warlon House was down a private road (as the signs were very keen to point out). It was walled off and the main gate looked like two sheets of metal welded in place. You couldn’t see over it or through it. We stopped next to an intercom which Cherry had to get out to speak into.

The other cars had stopped a fair way back. As the metal doors slid back, a heavily accented voice from behind shouted at me.

“Colin Brown. We have a wonderful offer to make you. Riches beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do is walk over here.”

No one had exited their cars and the voice was amplified through some kind of speaker so it was hard to tell what kind of accent it was.

I stepped out of the car as Cherry was getting back in.

“The problem,” I shouted back at the cars, “is that whoever I go with, the others will keep bothering me. I need someone who knows how to take care of me, give me the support I need. If you can make it inside here, and make the offer in person, I’ll consider your proposal.” I got back in the car.

“That wasn’t advisable,” said Cherry.

“Good way to test Archie’s security,” I said.

We drove inside. There was a barrier just inside the gate, manned by three men I could see and possibly more inside a wooden hut. Cherry stopped again as the gate closed behind us and two of the men, both dressed in navy blue jumpsuits and baseball caps like they had just got back from shooting a Janet Jackson video, came up to the car on either side and pointed ray guns at us.

I say ray guns, they looked more like something you might see in a supermarket used to check barcodes. We both got scanned.

“Are they checking our sell-by dates?” I asked Cherry.

“No, they’re making sure we aren’t armed.”

More technology that shouldn’t have existed, but it still wasn’t enough to convince my brain this was a simulation.

It didn’t really matter. Even if I never proved it, I could still use this reality to find my way back to Flatland.

You might think finding a portal back from a manufactured version of Earth would just lead me to a manufactured version of Flatland, which was probably true. But I had always been able to quickly identify Maurice’s illusions for what they were when I was in Flatland. I might not be able to tell the difference here, but that was because this wasn’t the place I was most familiar with. I barely paid attention to what was going on around me growing up, so it wasn’t a great surprise that I found it hard to tell if the dumbest man on the planet being president of the most powerful nation was a believable turn of events or not. In Flatland, on the other hand, everything made much more sense and anomalies stood out much more clearly, for me at least.

The barrier went up and we were let through. Cherry stopped the car again and got out. She said something to one of the men, who nodded a lot. Then he spoke into what looked like a mobile phone from the 1980s and a stream of men also from the Rhythm Nation came rushing out of the hut like clowns out of a very small car.

They headed for the metal doors, which remained closed. A smaller door slid open and they ran out. It slid closed behind them.

What followed was a series of bangs and crashes. Glass was definitely broken and several cars backfired, which modern cars don’t often do.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked, very curious to see if it was some kind of dance battle.

“Private property,” said Cherry. “Just asking them to leave.

There was a long drive up to what looked like a stately home, with some smaller, more modern buildings off to one side. Unlike the castle I’d landed on top of when I first arrived, this wasn’t so high and more elongated. More of a compound.

As we approached the main entrance, a small group of people came out to meet us.

There were six of them and they were dressed in white lab coats. Three men, three women, and all of them wore glasses.

A tall man with a fat fleshy face who not only wore glasses but safety goggles on top of them and a face mask like he was about to spray for roaches, stepped forward carrying a bow. His lab coat was buttoned up to the collar and he had on surgical gloves.

“Welcome,” he said in quite a posh voice that sounded like it was coming out of a dodgy walkie-talkie. His tone gave me the feeling I was talking to someone with a lot of education, which he was going to point out every chance he got, “please forgive the attire, we are expecting a pandemic to descend on us in the next few days.” He thrust the bow at me in his latex-gloved hands. “I believe you requested this.”

I’d read something about a flu-like virus getting out of control in China but it seemed a bit premature to break out the Hazmat suits. Plus, none of the others were dressed like him. I had expected to be faced with nerds when I got here, but they had sent out a mega-nerd to show they weren’t messing around.

I took the bow. It was quite a complicated affair with lots of bits sticking out of it and some kind of scope you were supposed to look through.

“I was hoping for something a bit simpler.”

“Excellent,” said the tall man. “I’ll have someone order a more basic model. I am Doctor Jermaine Rafferty, I head the bioengineering research unit here.” He put out his gloved hand which I shook. It was surprisingly soft and squishy.

“Colin,” I said.

“Yes. Colin Brown. Please excuse the familiarity but I have read your file in anticipation of this meeting — a meeting I have dreamt of my whole life. I feel like I know you, on an intimate level. My condolences on the loss of your mother.”

“Thanks?”

“I am honoured to be in your presence. You are Columbus returned, Armstrong just landed. What things you must have seen, what wonders you must have experienced. You have been exposed to a new world, a new biota of flora and fauna. We theorised viral infections would kill those who left within weeks of arrival, but you seem healthy and so no signs of being infested by alien organisms. If I could have a sample of your saliva and stool, I would be eternally grateful. We shall be great friends and colleagues. I’m a bit of an archer myself. Perhaps you can show me some of the techniques you picked up during your time... abroad. I’m sure there’s much we can teach each other.”

“Er, nice to meet you,” I said, feeling a little battered by the onslaught of words.

“Calm down, Raffo,” said another of the men. He was dressed a little more casually, his lab coat open and his hands in his pockets. “Neil McHenry, Tactical R&D. You’ll have to forgive Raffo, he likes to take himself very seriously. He’s the lead bioengineer — potato expert — he’ll be pestering you with questions, don’t feel the need to answer any of them.” He brushed down his long black hair which bounced back up and stood like wheat on his head. “We all have a lot of questions for you, but I’m sure you’d like to settle in first.”

There was a large boom and I turned around just in time to see the large metal gates fall off their hinges and slam to the ground in a cloud of dust. Large black vehicles emerged from the dust.

“Ah,” said Raffo. “We appear to have a security breach. Time for me to—”

“Let’s not get carried away,” said Neil. “We don’t want to create a mess. I’ll deal with this.” He took out his phone, turned it sideways and began tapping on it with his thumbs.

From the roof of the house, a machine the size of a suitcase rose into the air. It had four propellers, one in each corner of its chassis. It flew directly towards the oncoming vehicles, and fired missiles.

Missiles? In Hertfordshire? No way. I waited for the matrix to crumble before my eyes. Instead, the lead SUV bounced into the air and flipped over as the ground beneath it exploded.

Something this extreme should have definitely triggered my internal bullshit detector. But it didn’t. This was just like my first few days in Flatland, when I had been convinced I was in a game. But I wasn’t.

Book 2 – 82: False Advertising

Third Quadrant.

VGV Executive Order

 

Daccord stood on the bridge of the VGV Executive Order, looking at the huge screen that covered the wall. It displayed an image of subspace, a mesh of coloured streaks that seemed to merge and warp like a drug-fuelled trance. It was hypnotic and soothing, in a way. No indication that they were speeding through the fabric of space itself, crossing the galaxy via its underbelly.

An amazing achievement by mankind and also the slowest possible way to traverse such large distances other than donning a spacesuit and walking.

The Antecessors had created a means to cross the stars in a fraction of the time, and they did it before mankind had even set foot outside their own backyard. A network of wormholes controlled by means both mysterious and astonishing. The ability to open up a path to anywhere in the galaxy, and also to shut it down.

All in all, Daccord would have preferred to be back in his office, on the ground. Coming all this way to watch the Chairman pursue this obsession served no purpose. Not one of any value.

“Secretary Daccord.”

Daccord turned to find an officer in full dress uniform standing next to him. He was a young man with bright eyes. Eager to impress. No doubt hoping to get a chance to meet with the Chairman and win some kind of shortcut to the top. It was the right idea, but now was not the time. The Chairman was not in the mood to make careers. Ending them, though, was another matter.

“Yes? You have the latest reports?”

“Yes, sir.” He handed Daccord a pad. The information was off the record, no official file would exist outside of this secure data reader.

“The Tethari wormhole is still inoperative?”

“Affirmative. We’re seeing a lot of activity from other companies, though. They’re all making their way to Enaya via subspace from the nearest open wormhole. Mostly small squadrons. Central Authority ships are holding the perimeter. We don’t think they’ll allow anyone onto the asteroid before we get there.”

“Our arrival is still on schedule?”

“We should get there in the next three hours, standard.”

“Good. And the Captain? How is his recovery coming?”

“I…” The officer looked away. “He’s doing well. The M-Aid has reattached his arm. It should… the prognosis is for a full recovery.”

“Excellent.” Daccord turned off the datapad and turned to leave. “You have the bridge.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Daccord left the bridge without making eye-contact with the rest of the crew. They wouldn’t have met his gaze in any case. They were still on edge after the Chairman’s display of anger. Most of them were focused on not screwing up their jobs or they might get the same treatment as the Captain. And some were too busy pushing their performance to new heights, excited by the prospect of a possible vacancy at the top and a promotion for the person who showed they were made of the right stuff.

If only climbing the corporate ladder was that easy.

Daccord was a cautious man. He chose his goals carefully and only acted when he was completely sure of success. Until then, he was happy to provide the best service he could for his employer. It was a comfortable life and a very rewarding one, financially speaking.

Daccord took the elevator to the hospitality blister, a secure part of the ship reserved for the Chairman and his party. If Daccord didn’t handle this situation right, he might end up as a member of the Chairman’s party, and that would be the end of that. A mindless plaything to be used as and when required. He shivered involuntarily.

The elevator scanned him twice before opening its doors. Guards stood to attention on either side. A third stepped forward and scanned him again with a handheld device.

“Clear.” He stepped back to allow Daccord through.

Four attempts had been made on the Chairman’s life during Daccord’s time working directly under him. Probably several more before that. The guards on duty at those times managed to deal with the threat. Not all of them were considered to have acted quickly enough. They no longer served on this detail. They were in the Chairman’s party.

It was a precarious position to be in, the CEO of a major corporation like VendX. Some of the bigger Megacorporations were a little more secure and stable. Removing a leader wouldn’t change much. They had ways of ignoring death in the Heart of the galaxy. You had to do better than a hole in someone’s head.

But out here in the wild frontier — or the forgotten backwoods — there was still an unspoken code of conduct. You proved your worth by taking what you wanted to control. And then you defended it until someone better came along. It provided a natural path to the top for those who were capable of using that power effectively. You had to be a killer to lead. The other corporations would massacre you if you were anything less.

The doors to the Chairman’s suite slid open silently and Daccord entered into a darkened room with only the dimmest floor lighting providing any illumination — just enough to stop you stumbling over your own feet.

“We have entered the Third Quadrant, Mr Chairman.”

“What have you heard?” said the Chairman’s deep voice from across the room. It sounded like the voice of a large man, broad-chested, with a wide face. Daccord had no way of knowing how accurate his estimates were, having never seen him in the light.

“We are a little ahead of schedule, sir.” Daccord turned the datapad back on. “The other corporations in our strata have sent investigative teams as expected, but the Central Authority are holding them at the perimeter. Everything so far is within our projections.”

“You sound disappointed, Daccord.”

“In the projections being correct? Not at all, sir. I would expect nothing else. Your presence here, though…”

“I will be present to see the boy captured, or killed.”

“Yes, sir.” Of course he would. The Ubik boy had been an obsession with the Chairman since the incident on planet Epsilon-416. Planet Garbage. The boy had ruined the Chairman’s plans for a takeover of the planet. One that would have netted him a personal fortune. Instead, he was left blind. A fact known to only a few.

“Any superior threats?”

“No, sir. None of the megacorporations have moved troops out of the Heart. Either they don’t know about the asteroid or they don’t—”

“They know,” growled the Chairman.

“Yes, sir. We haven’t been able to break any of the secure channels but the chatter on open lines suggests they are dealing with issues of their own. All the major Antecessor sites have been acting abnormally and everyone’s scrambling to retain control of their investments.”

The Chairman made a rumbling noise. “And what about our investment? Any word from Major Chukka?”

“No, sir. Nothing from any of her team, which probably means they have been neutralised.”

“She should have taken the whole fleet down there. Ripped the place apart.”

“I have to say I think she chose the wise course. It is still under Ollo ownership and a large show of force would have produced its own problems.”

“She should have dealt with the Ollo issue first.”

“Yes, sir. I wonder why you allowed such an inexperienced operative to take control of the mission.”

“You question my judgement, Daccord? Has it come to that already?”

“No, sir. I am trying to understand your choice so that I can better support its success. The PR department have very little to say about her, which is unlike them. I don’t think she has done much so far to elevate her in your ey… estimation. Not the sort of person I would have selected, but then I’m not in your position, so I would suspect it’s my judgement that is lacking.”

“You haven’t read her files?”

“I have read all of them. The ones I was able to access.”

There was a pause. Daccord read it as a sign of smug contentment, the kind produced by evidence of one’s own superiority.

“She is a sly one,” said the Chairman. “Her psych evaluation — the real one — indicates she may one day be your new boss, Daccord. If you’re still around after my demise.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that to be so,” said Daccord, genuinely surprised. Chukka had not seemed remarkable in any way, the short amount of time he’d been exposed to her. An intersection with events and riding her luck seemed to have been most of it.

“She is young and still far from the finished product, but she has the tool-set to deal with someone like our Mr Ubik. Or be cut down before her prime.”

He sounded very much like he didn’t mind either outcome.

“You came to take control of the mission personally because you expect her to fail?”

“I hope for her to succeed, but yes, it is unlikely she will manage to in the time she has left. The Priority Fleet will take action once we arrive and there won’t be an asteroid left to bother with.”

It took a moment for Daccord to understand what the Chairman meant, and then it all made sense at once.

Chukka should have used the fleet instead of just a small task force because that would have prevented the fleet being used against her. The Chairman had never intended to take control of the asteroid or to extract Ubik U Ubik in a quiet and stealthy manner. The fleet was there to rain down destruction, and Chukka? There to take the blame?

No, that was too obvious. Something else, then. Something he was missing. And the attack on the captain of this ship, was that also part of this?

“Won’t the Central Authority stop our ships?”

“The Central Authority will not only welcome our decisive action,” said the Chairman, “they will thank us for it. You will see how it all comes together, Daccord, and you will marvel at the elegance of it. The terrible brutal elegance of it.” There was a deeper rumble, one Daccord rarely heard. The Chairman was laughing.

 

***

Third Quadrant.

CAV Tranquility

 

Guardian Onla arrived on the Central Authority command vessel in a foul mood. She had had to cross the entire quadrant to get to the planet when there was a perfectly adequate wormhole practically on its doorstep.

Yes, it was closed down, but the Central Authority had ways to override those blocks.

But no, not when the asteroid that controlled the wormhole belonged to Ramon Ollo.

They didn’t have the authorisation. So she had to schlep it all the way here through subspace. Which wouldn’t have been so bad if she had travelled at regular speed.

But no again. They needed her here immediately, so her ship engaged its hyperdrive engine and disengaged the stabilisers. A thirty percent speed boost, and a thorough bruising of all her internal organs.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, now she was faced with the sight of Guardian Horne, naked and dripping translucent goo.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked him.

“Need to air dry, just got it out of the packet.”

“I thought you were dealing with some kind of planetary disaster in Second.”

“I was,” said Horne, proudly displaying his wet and hairless new body. “All dealt with. How do you like it?” He turned a little to the side. “They got it out of the freezer just in time for my arrival.”

Onla nodded. “You’re still an idiot, I see.”

“Be nice, Onla,” said Horne. “Or I won’t let you have a go on it later.”

“Thank you for that image I will now have to have wiped from my brain. Thankfully we have the technology. Keep two metres from me at all times, alright? Someone dumb enough to transfer into a new body when they don’t have to is clearly going to make some bad decisions in a pressure situation.”

“It was the only way to get here quick enough to save everyone. Beamed my engram through the communication array. Eighty percent chance of losing all short term memory.” He grinned at her. “I have the best success rate of all the Guardians, you know.”

“You keep mentioning it so how could I not.”

“Without me, you wouldn’t… wait, what are we talking about?”

“Nobody needs you to save them. Tezla’s probably got this wrapped up by now, right?” She looked around the empty white room. “Ops 1?”

“Welcome, Guardians,” said a smooth, unruffled voice. “My apologies, I am receiving an update from the Council. New information is coming in at an alarming pace and all Guardians are being deployed.”

Onla shook her head. “And yet three of us are in this one spot for no good reason.”

“This has been identified as the origin of the disturbance,” said Ops 1, its tone entirely neutral.

“And Tezla?” said Onla. “Where is she now?”

“Guardian Tezla’s whereabouts are currently unknown,” said Ops 1.

“Isn’t that impossible?” Onla was very familiar with the Central Authority’s obsession with keeping tabs on its Guardians. Her own body was full of tracers and tags sending out signals.

“They can’t get any readings through the storm,” said Horne, still naked and showing no signs of getting dressed.

“Now what are you talking about? What storm?”

“On the asteroid. Some kind of wild hurricane across the whole surface. High winds, lightning, the whole shebang.”

She stared at him to see if he was joking. Horne was known to think of himself as a comedian. Always pulling pranks and saying irreverent nonsense.

“It’s an asteroid. It doesn’t have any wind. Or air.”

“It does now,” said Horne.

“What’s going on, Ops 1?”

“You are to proceed to the asteroid and recover the Null Void. All other matters are to be considered secondary. This is a direct order from the 36.”

Onla shook her head again, but slowly and more to stall for time than anything. Something about this wasn’t adding up.

Antecessor sites across the galaxy were acting oddly and the only thing the thirty-six great minds of the Central Authority were concerned with was some mutation in a boy called Ubik. She had read the reports and understood the implications, but Tezla was already taking care of it. What could the two of them do that Tezla couldn’t? The boy might be unusual but he still responded to a punch in the face the same way as anyone else, and Tezla had always excelled in that department, as Horne knew only too well.

“Got to be a pretty special case if he’s giving old Tez the runaround,” said Horne, rubbing his chin. “Still shouldn’t take too long with all three of us. We go in, grab what needs to be grabbed, and get out.”

“If it was that easy, they’d just send in a couple of drones,” said Onla.

“What do you think we are?” said Horne with a wide grin.

“Well, let’s get going then. Maybe you could put some clothes on?”

“Sure,” said Horne. “We’ll have to take your ship. I parked mine about 50,000 light-years from here.”

“Put on a battlesuit, full armoury,” said Onla.

“For a snatch and grab? Bit overkill, isn’t it?”

“Ops 1, give me thirty seconds of privacy mode.”

“For what reason?” said Ops 1, emotion creeping into its voice for the first time.

“I have some things I need to say to Guardian Horne of an intimate nature before we go on this mission from which we may not return. It’s embarrassing. So, please.”

The room dimmed.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” said Horne. “Like I couldn’t guess.”

“Have you read the file on the last time a Null Void turned up?”

“No. Does it have an interesting plot?”

“Yes, it’s a horror story. They gave a no-kill order that time, too. Millions ended up dying. We aren’t going to make that mistake. I’m all for learning about things we don’t understand, but they can cut him open and read his entrails. We’re going to take him out, understand.”

Horne nodded. “Sounds like a plan. But you know, they’ll get suspicious if we come out of privacy mode without some indication of intimacy.” He raised what would have been eyebrows if he had any body hair.

“You’re right.” She kneed him in the groin.

Horne doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. “Actually, this is probably more believable. Good thinking.”

Book 2 – 81: Best Defence

Third Quadrant.

Asteroid Tethari.

Antecessor Facility

Chukka backed up, stumbling on her heels until she bumped into one of the ovoid-bulges protruding from the wall. It gave a little under the pressure of her colliding with it, and then she bounced off as it lit up with a white glow that was picked up and transmitted to the other bulges around the cavern, creating a cascade of lights.

Bashir was still shouting. He was standing ahead of her, pointing in all directions at once. Pointing at nothing.

“Where?” said Leyla, her gun following each of Bashir’s finger-prods at thin air.

“Be specific,” shouted Weyla in an attempt to snap Bashir out of his panic.

“I don’t know,” shouted Bashir, his tone confused and frustrated.

“Slow down and concentrate,” Chukka called from behind them. “Focus.”

The lack of any perceptible threat only made the situation more frightening. Bashir could be mistaken, which would be a relief, but if he wasn’t — and she was sure he wasn’t — then the attack was silent and invisible.

Bashir stopped pointing and his body went from wild gesticulating to completely still. From behind, he looked like he was trying to remember something.

“There!” he suddenly proclaimed. “Beneath us.”

The two Seneca women pointed their guns down, but the ground was flat and smooth and showed no signs of any imminent threat. If there was something buried below, it was still down there.

“This is solid rock,” said Leyla, but her gun remained aimed and her finger was firmly on the trigger.

“Where is it?” said Weyla. “How many? Are they still moving?” She was trying to get details she could use but she was only rattling Bashir more.

He wasn’t confused, he was puzzled. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing through his organic. Trying to get him to communicate something he couldn’t make sense of himself wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

Chukka stepped forward and grabbed him by the elbows, making his start, breaking his concentration.

“Narrow your focus to one of them,” said Chukka. “The nearest one. Forget about the others.”

She felt his body relax as he went into his mind. Mental organics were vulnerable when they used their ability. They lost awareness of their bodies, of their physical-selves, leaving them open to a sudden attack. They generally dipped in and out so they wouldn’t remain defenceless any longer than they could possibly avoid. Chukka holding onto him would give him some reassurance that someone had his back, allowing him to stay deeper for longer.

It was more effective if there was a bond, formed from spending time together, working as a unit over time to build trust. Chukka didn’t have that luxury. This was their first time working together and the rest of the team were already dead. Flott had died by her hand. It was understandable if Bashir felt a little wary of her. But the situation was dire enough to distract him from any paranoid thoughts. Which helped.

“Get a feel for how it’s moving. Is it digging? Crawling? Moving in a tunn—”

“Arms,” said Bashir, his voice a little distant. “Legs. Flesh. Bone. It’s alive. It’s got a heartbeat. I… It’s coming up.” His voice climbed hysterically. “There.” He pointed down at his dancing feet which he was trying to keep in the air as much as possible.

Chukka let go and jumped back. She wanted Bashir to feel she had his back, she had no intention of actually fighting whatever was coming. There were others far better suited for that.

“Back away,” shouted Weyla, poised to fire. “Back away.”

Bashir took steps backwards, getting closer to Chukka, raising his feet in high steps like he expected to see something he’d inadvertently stepped in.

“I don’t see anything,” said Leyla. The sisters were following Bashir, thrusting their gun muzzles at the ground beneath Bashir. “There’s nothing—”

The ground broke and a hand, pale and slender, grabbed Bashir’s ankle. The Seneca women opened fire.

Chukka only had a moment to gauge what she saw before the laser fire ripped it apart.

A hand. Five digits. Human. Similar to human. Humanoid. Nails? She couldn’t be sure, but not claws. Not a beast.

But it was only a glimpse before everything was blown to bits. She could very well have been mistaken. Now there was only a gouged hole where the hand had been, smoking slightly.

“Did you get it?” said Bashir, one foot held off the ground as he peered into the hole.

The two Seneca women didn’t reply but the way they kept their guns pointed at the hole suggested they weren’t convinced.

“Did you see it?” said Bashir, his words fast and anxious. “Was it human? It looked like a human hand.”

“Can you sense more of them?” asked Chukka.

Bashir looked at her, a bewildered expression on his face like he had no idea what she meant. Then startled realisation as he remembered his role. His eyes glowed, and the bulges in the walls glowed with him. They hadn’t done that before. Did that mean something had changed?

“It wasn’t human,” said Weyla.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” said Leyla. “I think they’re reacting to us.”

“There’s more of them,” said Bashir. “A lot more. They’re… rising from below. Deep down.”

“You were pointing at the walls earlier,” said Weyla.

“It’s those pods,” said Bashir. “They’re connected. It’s like they’re amplifying the signal. Makes it hard to get a lock but I think I’ve got it n—”

The ground under him collapsed and Bashir fell from sight. Leyla moved with lightning speed, leaping over the gap, grabbing him and scooping him out and across to the other side before he disappeared into the pit.

As they landed, Leyla on her feet, Bashir on his backside, white hands reached through the ground and grabbed them. They and Bashir’s legs and Leyla’s feet. The area around them crumbled and white bodies emerged.

They were humanoid, made of skin and flesh, hairless and thin, so pale as to be almost translucent. But their heads had no eyes. No ears, no nose, no mouth. They were oddly impotent-looking, frail and brittle. But they held on tightly as Leyla fell backwards, weapon firing.

Every shot struck a target and punched a hole through the creatures. In the chest, the head, the arms. Bits flew off but seemed to make no difference. There was no blood no organs or anything else you might expect to see from a body blown apart. They were more like clay dolls.

They kept coming, more and more of them, breaking through the surface all around them, swarming over and smothering Bashr.

Weyla and Leyla were both firing their weapons. Bashir was screaming but his cries were muffled.

Chukka took out her gun and aimed it to the side, shoulder-height. One shot, directly into the bulge in the wall. The projectile from the weapon, a solid lump of metal, pierced the membrane and a thin spout of liquid arced out.

The creatures all stopped.

They had lost interest in their prey, now they only had eyes for Chukka. Or they would have, if they had eyes. They ignored the blasts of laser fire and began to move towards Chukka up against the wall.

She raised the gun again and pointed. The creatures stopped moving.

Good. She had analysed the situation and come to the right conclusion. They were here to defend these large organic-like pods. They valued them enough to not want to risk even one. That gave Chukka leverage. Now she had to figure out what to do with it.

 

***

 

Third Quadrant

SCCV Tenderness.

 

General Devora Sway stood on the bridge of her ship, the flagship of the Seneca fleet, and looked over the reports that had come in over the last few hours.

Ships were being put on active alert status across the quadrant as more and more Antecessor sites were showing abnormal activity.

The sites were mostly already plundered and owned by private concerns, nothing to do with the Corps, but it was what the sudden change in behaviour implied that was of concern.

Antecessor sites were a known quantity. They were relics of the past with their automated defences still intact. Mindless and reactive. If you didn’t bother them, they didn’t bother you. But that was changing. Something was about to happen and it was going to affect everyone, including the Corps.

Dealing with threats was her job. She didn’t shirk the responsibility — when the time came, she would take whatever course of action was necessary. The Corps would survive no matter what. But she didn’t have the time to worry about that right now.

“Have we heard from them yet?”

“No, General,” said her adjutant, Captain Jupila.

“How long has it been?”

“Eighteen hours, standard.”

It wasn’t that long. There was no reason to assume the mission had failed. Not yet.

She could have sent a full team down to the asteroid. Dealt with the repercussions later. But she had chosen to use two washouts. Once of the Corps, always of the Corps. It didn’t matter why they left, when they had been called to action, they had answered. Sway had reviewed their files herself. They were competent. Special attachment commendations, both of them. They shouldn’t have had any problems.

What kind of problem could three boys provide?

But the Antecessors weren’t behaving normally. Reports indicated a much higher threat level across the board. And the asteroid was a key site. Whatever was going on, Tethari was at the heart of it. How much longer before she sent a fire team in to clean the place out? It wouldn’t be received well by High Command. They had instructed her to not provoke Ramon Ollo. Even if he appeared to have been killed, you never assumed the death of the enemy until you had proof.

“There’s an encrypted message coming in,” said Jupila.

“High Command?”

“No. A private flag.”

Sway raised an eyebrow. “Official encoding?”

“Yes.”

There were only a few people who could contact her through the official command channel without being part of High Command. None of them were people she wanted to speak to.

“Put it up.” The face that appeared on the screen in front of her wasn’t one of the ones she had expected. “Nigella?”

Nigella Matton-Ollo’s face, thin and a little paler than normal, stared back at her. Her hair was piled up on her head and her neck and shoulders were bare. A child’s cry drew her attention down and a momentary softness crossed her eyes. Then she looked back up and it was gone.

“Congratulations on the birth of your—”

“My son. Where is he?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Nigella. The Corps is not your boy’s nanny.”

“You will find him and bring him to me.” Her tone was flat and emotionless.

“Nigella,” said Sway with a cautioning calmness, “it is no business of ours where your son is. We honour your service and will defend your daughter, but you no longer have the authority to give orders.”

“You will find Figaro and secure him safely on board your ship or I will blow it into tiny bits with all hands on board.” Nigella Matton-Ollo didn’t look like she was being hyperbolic, and she was quite capable of carrying out her threat, but she was currently in another quadrant. Not even the infamous Armageddon had that kind of range.

“You have just given birth. You are emotional, it is understandable.”

“What is the third axiom, General?”

The question took her by surprise. “What?”

“The third axiom of the Corps, what is it?”

Sways demeanour darkened. She didn’t appreciate being treated like a novice recruit, even if the woman doing it had once been her commanding officer.

“To beat them we must not become like them.”

“Indeed. How quickly we failed to uphold that one. Do not patronise me, General. My second child is of no relevance in this matter. My husband may be dead but my first child is not. He is on the asteroid, the one you’re staying just out of sensor-range of. But you are still in the same quadrant. My quadrant. My husband’s quadrant. There is nowhere in that area you can hide from his eyes and ears, which are also my eyes and ears.”

There was a click and the ship’s speakers turned on. Nigella’s voice continued, but now broadcast shipwide.

“You will send a team to the asteroid immediately. I know you have them ready to go — you were always the best prepared of my officers, Devora, and also the most hesitant to commit to any action that might risk the lives of those under you. Let me help you overcome your doubts.”

“Attention. Attention,” said the ship’s computer. “The cooling units for the hyperdrive engines are offline. Overrides are not functioning. Engines will overload in four minutes, fifty seconds: four minutes, forty-nine seconds.”

There were no alarms, no flashing lights. Sway looked at Jupila who had the screen in front of her showing a readout of the ship’s systems. She looked at the General and nodded.

“This won’t end well, Nigella.”

“It never does.” The screen went blank.

“Cooling units online. Safety protocols active.”

General Sway let out an irritated breath. This was the wrong quadrant to be in. The Ollo name carried too much power here, and used it to control every square centimetre.

“The team is ready?”

“Yes, General.”

She had been thinking about sending them in anyway. A little earlier than she had planned wouldn’t make much difference. And Nigella Matton was someone the Corps owed a lot to. Once of the Corps, always of the Corps.

It just rankled that she was being forced to risk so many lives just to save a boy.

“Deploy. Make sure they bring him back alive.”

“The other two?”

“Leave them. Kill them if they get in the way.” No point taking extra risks.

(Reboot) Chapter 431

Cherry took out a cigarette and started smoking in the car.

“You really believe that I’m not real?” she asked me through a cloud of smoke. It was a small car and there wasn’t really room for the three of us.

“No,” I said, opening the window. “None of this is.”

“Feels pretty real to me.”

“That’s because you’re part of the simulation.” Most people would probably get offended being told they didn’t exist. Cherry just pulled a slightly pouty frown and tilted her head from side to side like she was giving the idea some consideration.

“I suppose I wouldn’t be able to tell if you’re right,” she said. “It’s a bit dull, though, isn’t it?” She waved a hand at the windscreen and the outside world. “I mean, if you’re going to make a fake world, you could at least get a bit creative.”

“Unicorns and dragons?” I asked her.

“Yes. That would make what you’re saying easier to accept. What was it like where you went?” She looked across at me.

She had a point. If one of the two worlds I’d visited was a simulation, it was more likely to be the one with magic and talking monsters, you would think.

“That would make it easier to accept,” I agreed. “Which is why it would be a terrible idea if you didn’t want someone to twig they were in a fake. The whole point is to make it seem real, the duller the better.”

This seemed to make sense to her. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about getting cancer from second-hand smoke.” She blew out a hefty dose of carcinogenic fumes. “You can do whatever you want here, and nothing matters, right?”

“You don’t believe me.” Clearly, she was taking the piss, which was fine. It didn’t matter if she believed me or not.

“Why not kill yourself?” said Cherry. “I mean, you want to end the simulation, right? Pull the plug and you’re out, no?”

“That’s one option. But it’s risky. I don’t know what the effect would be. I could enter simulated hell. If I believe I’m dead, that might be the same as being dead, as far as my brain’s concerned. It’s complicated.”

“You’re scared. You think this might be a simulation, but you’re not sure. You’re not willing to bet your life on it.”

“I’m not willing to bet my life on a lot of things I’m sure about,” I said. “Betting your life is a dumb thing to do.”

I was trying to sound like I had thought it through and knew what I was talking about, but the truth was Cherry was right, I wasn’t sure. This could be the real world, four years later and in a huge mess. Perfectly possible.

Hugely unlikely, but new century, new bunch of crazy shit to deal with. Or the same old crazy shit we thought we had already dealt with. Wars, dictators, corrupt politicians, unethical business practices, pandemics, racism and misogyny — none of it was fresh or original. Reruns and reboots, just like everything else.

There was definitely the chance the world had chosen to give all the old classics one more chance, no point denying the possibility. Maybe slavery would make a comeback — they do say fashion is cyclical. Maybe Jeff Bezos was the 21st century plantation owner we’d all end up working for.

The thing was, whatever this world happened to be — real, not real, Unreal Engine 4 (which would explain how Fortnite got so big while being such a terrible piece of shit) — I still had to play it as real since my body and brain would react to it as real. Until I found the crack I could exploit to bring the illusion crashing down, I needed to treat it as the world I once knew. Only I wasn’t the same person I used to be.

Even though I no longer had my powers or ability to use magic, I had lost the debilitating fear of dealing with people. Even someone like Cherry would have been a very difficult person for the old me to interact with. She was a successful member of the establishment, confident and professional. Master of her domain. And what was I?

Well, currently I was someone who genuinely didn’t give a fuck. I may have been wrong to think that way, but here I was anyway.

“You’re not what I expected,” said Cherry.

“Thank you,” I said.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Yeah, it was.”

She finished her cigarette and threw it out of my open window, the glowing stub flying across my face. I reached up and caught it. Not in a superhuman cool way, just because it was so close to me I instinctively put out my hand and happened to catch it.

The red ember gently pulsing in the breeze from the window was on the verge of going out. I put my mind into the neutral state I’d used so many times to bring a flame out of my fingers. I thought maybe if I already had a source of fire it would be easier, but nothing happened. No magic show for the Magnificent Colin.

I threw the cigarette out of the window, disappointed. Cherry was staring at me with the gears in her head turning, which freaked me out a little.

“Could you suspect me of being full of shit while you watch the road?”

She turned her head to face front. “For someone who doesn’t believe any of this is real, you’re pretty nervous about something as trivial a car crash.”

“Yeah. It’s a real paradox.”

Traffic was fairly light and there were hardly any roadworks (another sign this was not the London I grew up in). Cars and vans rushed from one set of lights to the next and my feeling of being outside of this reality gradually faded. No dragons in the sky, no giant worms under the ground. Just aeroplanes and tube trains.

“So what you really want,” said Cherry as she lit another fag, “is to provoke everyone you can until you force people into acting crazy and unreasonable. The more crazy and unreasonable the better.”

At least she was able to understand my point of view, even if she thought I was bonkers.

“Exactly. If I can put them into an impossible situation, I can force them to reveal the way back.”

“How? Even if what you say is true, you’re still just one guy with no money and no power, in this reality. How can you force anyone to do anything?”

She actually got it a little too well.

“I have the power of not giving a fuck,” I said. “My experiences over there allowed me to develop that side of my personality to the fullest extent. It’s quite effective in the hands of a master.”

She scoffed, or the fags were getting to her. “Really? You can deal with any confrontation in this world because of this special ability, can you?”

“I won’t know until I try.”

“Why don’t we try, right now?”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“There’s a car that’s been tailing us for a while. Since The Mullard, actually. I was thinking about losing it when we hit the M25, but since you seem so confident…”

The car lurched to the left as we left the flow of traffic and entered a side street. Terraced houses — two and a half bedrooms, stamp-sized garden, £1.5 million (welcome to London) — line both sides, and parked cars made it so you’d have to rub wing mirrors if a car came the other way.

Once we were off the main road, it became much more obvious that we were in fact being followed. A large black SUV with tinted windows took the same turning and tried to act casual by slowing down and looking sheepish.

“Do solicitors usually know when they’re being followed and what action to take?”

“I suppose not,” said Cherry, taking a left then a right, both times not bothering to brake. “I used to be a legal officer in the army.”

“Ours?”

She gave me an unamused look and then screeched to a stop at the bottom of a dead end.

“Yes, the British Army. No need to thank me for my service, mostly I just slept with a lot of married officers. I have a thing for men in uniform.”

The SUV appeared behind us.

“Are you sure you want to tell me these sordid details about your life, Cherry?”

“Why not? Lawyer-client privilege. You can’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works.”

“Are you the one with legal training? No? Then take my word for it. Go on. Let’s see you deal with them.” She nodded her head towards the SUV which was waiting for us to make a move.

“Who are they?” I asked.

Cherry shrugged. “No idea. Could be a lot of people. You’re going to be quite popular from now on. I expect that’ll be a new experience for you.”

Harsh. But fair.

I got the strong impression that she didn’t believe I could handle this situation. Certainly not as easily as I had made out. I didn’t disagree — I did get a little cocky when there was no risk of having to live up to my claims — but there was no reason to try and back out of this. I was as curious to see how I would hold up under testing conditions as she was.

Once I left the car, the SUV’s doors opened and four men got out. They were big men. Chunky. They wore leather jackets, black gloves, and sunglasses. They looked hard. Square heads with hardly any hair, but all of them had very well-groomed beards. It seemed we were being followed by the Hassidic arm of Mossad.

“Can you back up a bit?” I said pleasantly. “We took a wrong turn and we can’t get out.”

There were cars parked on both sides and the houses had no drives you could use to turn around.

Cherry had gotten out and was lighting up, of course. She had sunglasses on that covered most of her face and she was staying back and watching with a slight smile. She was looking forward to me making an ass out of myself.

“Why don’t you come with us?” said the man who got out of the passenger side. “There are some very nice people who would like to say hello to you.” He had a strange accent I couldn’t quite place. Eastern European, maybe?

“No thanks. I’m flattered, but I’m not interested. I totally support your right to get married and do your thing, though.”

Yes, I know, very juvenile.

“I think you would be very interested in meeting the people we represent,” said the spokesmen of the group. He adjusted the way he was standing to suggest he could grab me any time he wanted. He looked the sort who could handle himself in a fight — they all did. How I knew that, I can’t really say.

“You,” I said, pointing to the guy behind him. “You’re the team leader, right?”

The man looked surprised but didn’t deny it. How did I know? Just a feeling. I guess when you spend enough time around people who run gangs of one sort or another — mobs of monsters or platoons in the army — you get an eye for who runs the show.

I walked forward. “Come on, if you’re going to make me an offer at least do it yourself.”

As I approached their car, the guy who I’d been talking to earlier casually lunged forward and tried to grab my shoulder. I just as casually dodged. Nothing fancy, just a step in the opposite direction at the right time.

“Footwork,” I said. “Yours is shit.” Mine wasn’t great, either, but I’d been trained by a vicious redhead who enjoyed taking a beating. I can’t say she was the best teacher, but she kept me on my toes.

The man I’d identified as the boss was looking intently at me. Trying to size me up. Not sure why he was bothering, we both knew he’d decide I wasn’t shit. It was quite nice to be underestimated again after all this time.

“I guess you’re at the point where you’re going to shove me in the car and drive me to an undisclosed location,” I said. These guys were really obvious. I could see it in the way they stood there, their eagerness to show me who’s boss.

I turned to my right without warning and kicked the wing mirror of a small Toyota. The mirror snapped forward and then sprang back into place again. Not what I had intended.

Everyone was looking at me. For all my confidence, I could feel a little heat around my neck.

“One moment. I’ve got this.” I kicked the wing mirror again, this time more vertically, and it flew into the air. The car alarm went off. “There you go.”

“What are you doing?” said the leader. He sounded French, so I was expecting him to surrender at any moment.

“Wait, wait.” I ran up to a car on the other side and kicked its wing mirror. I’d got the move down now and the mirror immediately fell off. More car alarms.

The four men looked perplexed. Cherry was frowning.

A door opened and a woman came running out of the house on Cherry’s side of the road. “Hey, what the fuck are you doing to my car?” She was mid-thirties, blonde, roots showing, probably called Karen.

“Wasn’t me,” I said. “They did it.” I pointed at the thugs.

“I saw you from my window, you psycho.” She held up her phone. “I got you on video.”

“Oh,” I said, looking around at the others. “You filmed it, did you? All of us, on the record, uploaded onto the internet with our faces and car registration numbers? That was dumb of me, wasn’t it?”

The boys looked nervous as they slowly figured out what I’d done.

“Thing is,” I said, leaning closer to the woman, “I’m actually a reporter for the Daily Mirror. Doing a story on a paedo ring, Jimmy Saville: TNG. Entertainers, politicians, cops. These guys are the muscles they hired to scare me off, but they don’t like publicity. Put that video you took on YouTube and, I think as a civic-minded person you’ll be doing the world a favour. Also, millions of views, guaranteed, so monetise the shit out of that.”

The woman who had been very red-faced and mad a moment ago, now looked like she had dollar signs in her eyes.

“I’m calling the police,” she said, excitedly trying to get her phone to work while filming us all.

“We are the police,” said the guy at the back, holding up a badge. “You’re coming with us.”

“They’re police?” I asked Cherry.

She lifted her sunglasses and peered at the men. “Looks legit.”

“See?” I said. “Dirty euro cops. Anti-Brexit paedos.” The woman nodded at me and held up her phone to get a better shot. More people were emerging from their homes.

The men hesitated. Grab me and get it over with, hang the consequences? Or try to calm the situation?

“Cherry, you're my lawyer. Tell them they can’t arrest me.”

Cherry shrugged. “You did commit a criminal act. I’m more of a witness at this point.”

“You can’t testify against me. Lawyer-client privilege.”

“That’s not how that works,” said Cherry. She was shaking her head but smiling. It looked like a compliment to me.

The men looked nervous. I didn’t. I guess she was seeing the power of not giving a fuck in action.

I didn’t have any powers here, but I didn’t have any when I arrived in Flatland. I managed to survive. My approach then had been to avoid trouble as much as possible. I didn’t feel the need to do that here. In Flatland, trouble killed and ate you. Here, they would go to great lengths to avoid doing that. In public.

The men looked at their boss and then they all got back in their car and reversed out of the street. Not even a goodbye. Kind of rude. French confirmed.

I got back in Cherry’s car. There was a series of angry taps on the window, which I lowered.

“Who’s going to pay for the damage to my car?” demanded Karen.

“Speak to my lawyer,” I said. Archie was good for a replacement wing mirror.

Book 2 – 80: Back Up

Third Quadrant.

Asteroid Tethari.

Asteroid Core.

 

Point-Two had not expected the gravity to suddenly turn off. That was what if felt like, somebody flicking a switch and normal zero-G weightlessness resumed. Although it wasn’t accurate to say there had been gravity before the sudden change. There had, but not the sort of gravity he was used to.

The whole thing was very much outside of his understanding of what gravity should be able to do. And what you should be able to do with gravity.

Using it like your own personal telekinetic power was not something he had ever seen before, mainly because it was impossible to manipulate in that manner. Not according to current scientific theories. They would probably need to be updated. Or rewritten from scratch.

But then, the reaction of the Floxyn gas — which he had never even heard of before — with gravity was also new to him. Perhaps there were whole books about gravity that regular people weren’t allowed to see. Everyone was told it was all about large spinning masses and the stretching of the fabric of space, and then they were given a bunch of ridiculously complex equations to keep them from asking anything more.

In any case, normal gravity — or its absence — had been restored, and the large sections of droid parts that had been used to threaten Ubik were continuing on the same trajectory as before, directly towards Ubik, which at least was in keeping with the laws of momentum.

Ubik was doing an excellent job of not getting out of the way. He was waving his arms about and kicking his feet, but not actually going anywhere. His form was terrible and he was using up far too much energy. It was nice to know there was something he wasn’t good at.

“Little help,” called out Ubik, surprisingly calmly considering how fast the droid limbs were spinning. If one was to strike him, it would easily take off a body part. Although, knowing Ubik, somehow the inanimate, very-animated object, would probably stop when it got to him, sit up and beg for a treat.

“I’m not kidding,” said Ubik, sounding a little more concerned. “I can’t move.”

Possibly, the Floxyn hadn’t affected the whole area evenly. Perhaps Ubik really was stuck in that one spot, unable to avoid the spinning death fast approaching his position. He was curious to see how Ubik was going to get out of this one.

There were several other pieces of spinning debris, now released from Intercessor control, but none of them posed an immediate threat. They just spun harmlessly through the air. Ubik was the only one in immediate danger. He was leaving it very close.

“PT!” Ubik sounded upset.

And then Point-Two was moving. Not of his own volition, though. Someone has pushed him. He managed to turn his head just enough — part of a manoeuvre he had to make in any case — to see the Guardian with her boot up. She had kicked him.

Why not go save Ubik herself? But then he saw she had positioned herself next to Fig, who was ignoring Ubik’s plight in favour of the amalgam of his father and the Intercessor intelligence that now existed in the image still hanging in the middle of the chamber.

“Eeeee…” said Ubik, which made no sense whatsoever, but which Point-Two assumed was some sort of final animal sound before the arrival of death.

He turned, put out his boot and tapped it against the very tip of the spinning object about to take Ubik’s head off his shoulders.

It was only a gentle touch, but it sent Point-Two shooting off at an angle. Timing was everything when collisions were taking place. You could get smashed to pieces or you could absorb speed, you could even exchange energy.

The rotor stopped spinning and remained in place. It had taken a very precise strike to get it to do that. Not many people could have pulled it off. He probably wouldn’t be able to if he tried again. One in ten times. Maybe three in ten, if he was in form.

He was pleased with how cleanly he’d made the hit, even though it had been quite some time since he’d practised this kind of skill. It used to infuriate people in zero-tag matches. All fired up to ping across the arena, only to power up your opponent and be left for dead.

“You’re welcome,” he said as he went spinning off towards the far side of the sphere they were in.

Ubik had his hands covering his eyes. He took them away and looked around to check why he wasn’t dead. He saw the large, flat piece of droid material hanging in front of him and smiled, like this was all part of his plan. It wasn’t, but it would be hard to prove once Ubik found a way to work it into the next phase of his mission to get everyone killed.

Point-Two was already distancing himself from Ubik’s position, which he could have stopped — there were some complex moves you could do to shed momentum in a no-friction, weightless environment but frankly, getting some distance between them before he tried it seemed like a good idea.

He was currently heading towards the far edge of the brain — half-a-brain — that Ubik had built. The Intercessors were less likely to do something violent to him if they might end up damaging themselves, or that was his thinking.

The others were busy doing their thing. Fig was dealing with his parental issues. The Guardian was playing her eponymous role, to the galaxy and to the Ollo heir — she was also probably quite annoyed that she’d had to be Ubik’s assistant. And Ubik was being Ubik, which meant an explosion of some kind was about to happen imminently.

All in all, Point-Two’s best chance of surviving was to stay out of everyone’s way until it became clearer how they were going to get out of here. They probably weren’t, but in case an opportunity presented itself, he wanted to be away from the targets of the aliens’ interest. Which appeared to be everyone but him. He wasn’t complaining.

“Wait,” Ubik called out after him. “Where are you going? Oh, right. Good thinking. I’ll come with you.”

Point-Two wasn’t sure what Ubik was talking about or how he intended to come with him, but considering how terrible he was at moving under zero-G conditions, he felt confident Ubik wouldn’t be catching up to him any time soon. Ubik could, of course, prove him wrong, which was exactly what he did.

First, Ubik grabbed one end of the now stationary droid artefact. It was composed of a bunch of smaller droid parts that no longer had any reason to stick together, but they still did.

Ubik slowly twisted his body while holding on to the long, flat rotor-like arm, spinning in a circle twice before stopping so that the arm went floating towards Point-Two with Ubik attached to one end.

It wasn’t a difficult move if you knew what you were doing. But Ubik didn’t know what he was doing, or so Point-Two had thought. Actually, from the way he had pulled off that manoeuvre, Point-Two was still pretty sure he didn’t know what he was doing, he had just thought it up on the spot and decided to try it.

Not one to rest on his achievements, now he climbed onto the droid limb and stood up, using it as a surfboard. Point-Two wasn’t surprised by this, but he was surprised that the surfing Ubik was somehow accelerating towards him. That shouldn’t be possible without some kind of propulsion system. It was the boots. It was always the boots.

“Good idea,” said Ubik as he came up alongside Point-Two, who had stopped spinning but continued floating towards the Intercessor half-brain. “We can work on the brain while Ramon competes with the Ints for control. By the time one of them wins, we’ll be the one running things.”

There was no good starting point so Point-Two just asked the most obvious question first.

“How are you going to take control of their brain?”

“Easy,” said Ubik, looking mildly confused at the question. “I built it. It’ll do what I tell it”

“If it just follows your orders, why didn’t you take control of it as soon as it came online?”

“How could I? Them two were both in the way?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

The image of Ramon Ollo’s head was flickering and glitching out. Some kind of struggle was going on, that seemed obvious.

“Aren’t they working together to defeat you?” asked Point-Two.

“Nooo,” said Ubik in a long drawn out dismissal of the idea. “That’s what they told each other, but they both reckon they’re smart enough to outthink the other. Arrogance, it’s a terrible illness. Many have died from it.”

Point-Two was tempted to tell Ubik to seek medical help before it was too late, but it wouldn’t do any good.

“They’re locked in a battle for control so you’re going to use the time to take control yourself.”

“That’s even better than my idea,” said Ubik. “Let’s try yours first.”

“Are you just going to break things and put them back together again until something interesting happens?”

“No. That would take too long. This Ant tech is surprisingly simple, you know. They’re all built on the same principle. Each construct is modular, made up of snap-in parts designed to be easily replaced. Something stops working, you just open a fresh module, factory-sealed, no glue, screw or welding required. The tricky part is finding a way to remove the ruined bit without interrupting critical functions. The new parts are made to slot right in. It’s very user-friendly.”

“Great. You know how to snap them together. But you don’t know what any of it does?”

“A very small part of the equation,” said Ubik. “Not even worth wasting time thinking about. You get to that part eventually.”

The more blasé about it Ubik was, the more Point-Two suspected there was something the little shit wasn’t telling him. Knowing what it was probably wouldn’t make him feel any better.

“What about destroying it?”

“What do you mean?” said Ubik. “Why would you want to destroy something so amazing?”

“To stop it from destroying us?”

“No, no, no. That’s a terrible idea. Then you’d just have a large rock floating around in space, just like any other large rock. What kind of an existence is that?”

Point-Two was even more sure there was something Ubik wasn’t telling him.

“You mean, what kind of existence is that for a large rock? About the same as it is for most rocks. Ubik, can you destroy the droids or not?”

“Is anything ever truly destroyed?”

“Yes, Ubik, it is. Usually just after you’ve passed through. It would be a lot quicker to end this if you make everything on this particular rock non-operational. All the droids stuff, all the Ollo stuff, all the stuff you’re keeping to yourself because you think you’ll be able to do something really crazy with it and then Fig’s dad will offer to adopt you.”

“Do you think he would?” said Ubik, a little too eagerly.

“He’s supposed to be a genius, so I can’t see him making such a rudimentary mistake.”

“Am I not deserving of love, PT?”

“No,” said Point-Two emphatically. “What you deserve is…” He was about to say something insulting, which Ubik would ignore or deflect or turn back on him, but a stray thought wandered into his mind at that moment.

A thought that rang a little bell. An alarm bell.

He was floating away from the others, which was fine, but he was doing it in the company of Ubik. Which had the potential not to be fine.

Point-Two and Fig had come to the conclusion that being close to Ubik when he was attempting to pull off some highly improbable act was the best place to be. Ubik had a habit of putting a small boundary around Ground Zero to protect himself, and it was a reasonably safe place to be.

The only time that wasn’t the case, he and Fig had decided, was when Ubik actually invited you into that space.

Then it became imperative to find out why he wanted you so close by, and what he intended to use you for.

The sound of Ubik calling for help repeated in Point-Two’s mind. Ubik didn’t call for help. He never needed it. But he had called for Point-Two specifically, to save him from the spinning rotor. And then he had proceeded to ride it like a surfboard, as though it were something he did all the time.

“What do you need me for?”

Ubik looked down from his surfing position. “Oh, you know, someone to talk to, a friend to call when I’m bored, a light in the darkness when—”

“No, I mean why did you want me to come over this side of the room with you? You want me to do something. Something you know I won’t want to do, but you’re going to wait until I have no choice before telling me what it is.” Point-Two looked up at Ubik’s impassive face. “What is it?”

“But if I told you, you’d only say no.”

“Then I’m saying no.”

“You can’t say no, this is our only chance to get out of here. Those two are going to be bickering, internally, for a couple more minutes at least. And then Fig’s going to try to convince the winner not to do whatever it is they think is the next step in human evolution. Whoever comes out on top, they’re going to want to do some kind of weird alien-human hybrid experiment, right? It’s the obvious next step.”

“I don’t think that’s the obvious—”

“This is the best chance for us to sneak in behind the back and take control of this baby ourselves. The brain, the asteroid, the whole thing. And when I say us, I mean you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“That’s what I’m going to show you when we get there.” Ubik looked ahead at the wall they were closing in on. The structure Ubik had built, the brain, or half-a-brain, was attached to the rocky surface, anchoring the giant droid parts that formed the complex lattice that spread across almost half the chamber.

Point-Two twisted his body and used Ubik’s impromptu surfboard to right himself. It looked like scaffolding from up close, with lights pulsing through it. Or most of it.

“We need to go in there,” said Ubik. “And then up near the top, where there’s a small opening.”

“What kind of opening?” said Point-Two, already not liking where this was going.

“Hard to say. The way these parts fit together, it makes it very easy to know what goes where, but not so easy to know what it does. And some parts are made to sit inside other parts. You sort of layer the parts on top of each other. But that means you can’t see what’s happening when it turns on. If you take it apart to have a look, it stops working. Pretty sneaky.” He sounded like he approved.

“Maybe it’s dangerous and needs shielding,” said Point-Two.

“Maybe. I’m not really sure what this stuff’s made of. I don’t think anyone’s ever been able to figure it out. Should probably ask Fig, he’s the type who would know.”

“What is the hole for?”

“What is any hole for?” said Ubik. “A way in, a way out. Won’t know until you go take a look.”

“Me? No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s a small hole. Some bends, needs a flexible person to navigate.” He gave Point-Two a look. “Hmm?”

“You’re smaller than me,” said Point-Two. “You’d be the better fit, I’m sure.”

“It’s not just the size, it’s the gravity. It’s all about gravity. And you’re the gravity guy.”

“I have as much understanding of how they—”

“You can feel it,” said Ubik. “You can adjust to it quicker than anyone else here. You’re the guy for this job.”

“But—”

“You. You’re the guy.” Ubik reached out a hand while still looking at Point-Two, and caught the nearest droid beam in his hand. There were no lights pulsing or streaking along it.

“Is that one broken?” asked Point-Two.

“No. It’s not plugged in. There’s a lot of them that aren’t. Not a lot, but just the right amount to provide a path through there without setting off any alarms. Probably.” Before Point-Two could get a clarification on what kind of ‘probably’ Ubik was referring to, Ubik had pulled himself into the lattice with an ease and agility he hadn’t shown earlier.

Now would be the time to bail. Ubik would never be able to catch him, and then he’d have to take the risk himself.

But Point-Two was curious. He was here now. And it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He looked back at the giant head still flickering. The battle of the two minds seemed far from over. He slid through the web of droid parts the same way Ubik had and then followed him up.

The path was easy enough to navigate. The areas that weren’t lit up were safe to grab onto and push and pull your way deeper into the brain. Ubik had it all mapped out.

Being weightless made it very easy, although there were some sudden sharp turns. He was careful not to bump into any glowing parts. He was impressed at how smoothly Ubik was able to do the same, the big faker.

“What am I supposed to do once I get inside this hole?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“I have no way of understanding their technology.”

“Neither do I. Just do your best. It’ll be fine. It’s not like the droids know much more than us.”

Point-Two swung his body around and then up. “What do you mean?”

“It’s pretty obvious droids didn’t build droids. The Ants, the Ints, someone else made them.”

“A third type of alien?”

“Who knows how many types there are. Look at how many types of people there are. But this hole, this insertion point, it wasn’t made for droids.”

“Droids can change their shape to any size, can’t they?” said Point-Two.

“Yes. So why make it that shape?” He pointed up ahead at a place where the droid limbs came together to form a knot, in the middle of which was a hole. In the shape of a man.

Humanoid, in any case. Two arms, two legs, a head. It would be presumptive to assume it could only have been made for humans but it was hard not to see the similarity.

“You built that,” said Point-Two.

“I told you, I just put the pieces where they fit. The whole thing was pretty much prefab. Slot and lock.”

“And why can’t you go in and have a look what’s in there?”

“Go closer. You’ll see.”

Point-Two slid past Ubik and approached the opening. He felt it immediately, the pull. It was drawing him in. It would be easy enough to allow it to drag him inside, but getting out again could be a problem.

He put his hand out to get a better sense of it. There was no movement of air, no gradient around the hole. Even, regular, gravitational pull. And then nothing outside the defined area.

“What do you think?” said Ubik.

“I think it’s probably their version of a toilet, automatic flush.”

“I wish,” said Ubik. “It hooks up to the main command junction, far as I can tell. And no droids allowed.” He took out a small droid part and threw it in the hole. It came flying out, against the flow of gravity.

Ubik caught it. “Someone else is meant to be driving this. You know, I thought the Intercessors were using this place as a hideout, and the Antecessors came to keep them bottled up. But now I think they both came here to fight over something else.”

“What?” said Point-Two.

“Dunno. Why don’t you go have a look? Better be quick, once the Floxyn dissipates, they’ll have control again, and I don’t know what that’ll mean for in there.”

He could refuse, but then what? There was definitely something worth investigating here.

“Hell with it.” He let himself float into the opening.

The moment he was in front of the man-shaped hole, he was sucked in. He had to quickly get his arms and legs in the right position to prevent getting hit.

“Call if you need me,” said Ubik.

“And what will you do?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” Ubik’s words were lost as Point-Two hurtled into a passage in between walls of droid limbs. The passage grew smaller and narrower. Point-Two adjusted his position into a dive, head-first. He expected to find himself being jettisoned into space, a living missile. Maybe this was the Antecessors’ secret weapon, using their enemies as ammunition.

A dead-end approached with no way to slow down. He stopped just before he was going to hit. It was sudden and with no sense of inertia, not jarring at all. He had been moving very fast, and then he wasn’t.

The walls around him were very close, but he wasn’t touching them. They felt like they were closing in on him. The pressure was immense, like he was being crushed.

And then he was part of the asteroid. He had access to all of it. He could sense the droids moving around. It wasn’t like seeing through a camera, it was a general awareness. He had been plugged into some kind of sensor array. It wasn’t uncomfortable. He felt like an observer more than someone in control, though.

There were droids here, and humans, and… something else. Something that seemed to be waking. Not like a droid, not a machine. It was a sentient presence, very much alive, and it was all over the asteroid, spreading, growing. And it was very, very angry.

Book 2 – 79: Treasure Room

Third Quadrant.

Asteroid Tethari.

Antecessor Facility

 

Chukka’s gloves were made to grip on any but the smoothest surfaces. If there was a way to create friction, the gloves would amplify the effect, making mountain climbing a lot easier. It also helped when scaling the side of a dark shaft inside an alien asteroid.

The ladder she had begun descending was gouged out of the rock. It had rungs and clearly defined grips, but it wasn’t attached to the wall, it was carved out of it. The rock was old and worn, and some rungs had been eroded to the point of almost disappearing, but the rocky surface provided plenty of purchase for the VendX proprietary Clinch™ system. She could feel her fingertips warm up as the gloves did their job and kept her securely in place.

“Hot in here,” said Bashir from above her. “Where’s the heat coming from?”

He was right. It was getting warmer the lower they went. She was starting to sweat through the suit’s cooling system. It would work better if she had the helmet closed but then they wouldn’t be able to talk with the comms deactivated.

The air was breathable but a low-mix. She guessed this place had been airless until recently.

“Just keep a steady pace and make regular movement checks.”

“I don’t think this was built for people,” complained Bashir. “Not my size, anyway.”

The rungs were a couple of metres wide and the distance between them was a little too far to be comfortable, even for a tall person, which Chukka wasn’t. Bashir was even shorter than her.

Chukka peered up, the light from her helmet showing the bottom of Bashir’s feet. He had followed her into the hole without complaint. Meek, easily bullied, keen to not cause trouble — a solid company man. The two sisters were above him, presumably. They had allowed her to go first, for some reason. To act as a meat shield, probably.

“It wasn’t designed for droids either,” she said. “So who does that leave?

Bashir made a snorting noise. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

“Are you keeping a watch for movement?”

“Yes. Nothing down below us. Yet. Doesn’t mean there isn’t something waiting, just keeping very still. Flott had the right idea. Get out of this big grey bastard while we can.”

“Stop mumbling and stay focused,” said Chukka. “Do a better job than you did up above.”

“That was a dead zone,” said Bashir, sounding a little putout. “Not my fault the assassin droid was hiding. Nothing I could do.”

He was right, of course. He could hardly have spotted the droid without his organic. But it was worth making him feel that he was being treated unreasonably if it drove him to catch the next attack just to prove a point. It was also good to keep the people beneath you in their place. They couldn’t be allowed to think everyone was on an equal footing just because things had turned sour.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” she said sternly. “Just do better. Same goes for me. We need to expect tricks like that one.”

Bashir started muttering again but too quietly for her to hear.

She looked down past her feet. The light from her suit showed ten metres of dull-coloured rock before dissolving into nothingness. There was no end in sight.

Something could easily be down there, waiting. It would have to keep very still to avoid being spotted by Bashir. Or it might be in another dead zone, although they would be able to detect that, and be ready this time.

Chukka had been the first one into the mysterious hole under a pile of organics, no hesitation, no need to consider the options. There weren’t any. If this dark hole led to a premature death, so be it.

The organics could have been there to make people think that was what the room and the assassin droid were protecting, or they could have been bait. Either way, she had been quite pleased her guess had turned out to be correct. A diversion to keep the true prize hidden. It also meant that the Antecessors weren’t so different from humans psychologically. If they thought the same way, that meant they could be swayed the same way. She would have to think of ways to test the theory. It would be more difficult without a shared language, but there were other methods.

But despite the dangers, there was no way she wasn’t going to continue going deeper. This asteroid had already revealed so much, and she had a very strong feeling there was more to come. Careers were made on far smaller discoveries. She would pursue this to the end.

There was a blur that shot past and startled, Chukka nearly lost her grip. The gloves reflexively clamped down hard as she felt her fingers about to come away. Then another blur on her other side; this one slower and easier to recognise. Weyla.

The sisters had jumped. Presumably, they had detected the bottom of the shaft using some ability or device they had. Chukka had taken the lead and now they had taken it back. That was probably for the best. She had only gone first in her eagerness to discover more secrets. The more she learned about this place, the more valuable her time spent here would become. There might be a good chance they would die, but if they didn’t, she planned to have gathered the best returns on her investment as possible.

She heard them land not too far away.

“What’s the air like down there?” she called through her legs.

“Hot,” said Weyla.

“Thin, but breathable,” said Leyla. “More or less.” Their voices drifted up, expanding as the rose. It was a large area below.

Chukka descended quicker. Her fear of whatever might be lurking in the dark was no match for her excitement.

The walls around her disappeared and she was climbing down one side of an immense cavern, or so it seemed. The lights could only show that there were no nearby surfaces.

“Nothing moving?” looking for confirmation from Bashir.

“Just those two. They’re looking around.”

The ground surprised her when it finally met her feet, making her stumble. Her arms ached a little and her fingers were stiff but apart from that she was in good shape. Now to face whatever was down here.

“It’s clear,” said Leyla, appearing beside her. “No active droids, assassin or otherwise.”

“Not yet,” said Weyla from the other side.

Chukka wasn’t sure a sweep that quick could be relied on to be fully conclusive, but she wasn’t going to argue. She looked at Bashir.

“Can confirm,” said Bashir, flexing his gloved fingers.

“What is this place?” asked Chukka, peering into the darkness.

“Looks like a storage facility,” said Weyla. “For this.” She held up what looked like a droid, or part of one. It was a limb of some kind, clearly no longer operational. “Place is littered with them.”

“That’s encouraging,” murmured Chukka. “What else?”

“The place was sealed,” said Leyla. “Temperature controlled, stable environment, all of it deliberate and maintained for who knows how long. Millennia?

“What does that mean?” said Chukka.

Leyla shrugged.

“What we need is to find a way out,” said Weyla. She raised her hand above her head and pumped her fist. A small projectile shot out and disappeared into the darkness above. There was a quiet pop and then a bright flare lit up the area around them.

It was a harsh, sterile light that created a flat, even wash of whiteness across the cavern. The area was bigger than Chukka had expected and also a lot more roughly hewn out of the asteroid rock. This wasn’t a cleanly built structure like the ones above, it looked more like a natural cave adapted for some use.

The flare remained aloft and kept glowing steadily. As Chukka looked around, taking in the floor and the walls, she started to notice the droid parts lying on the ground in small piles, strewn about like an afterthought.

The walls had lines carved into them. Not like the ladder, these were thinner and more delicate, creating patterns. The light seemed to reflect off them with a silvery quality, like they contained some kind of mercurial liquid.

“I’ve got activity,” said Bashir, his voice almost doubting itself. “I think.”

“Have you or haven’t you?” said Chukka.

“Just a flicker.” His face screwed up in concentration. “I could have sworn… There it is again. The walls.” His eyes were glowing softly. “It’s not moving closer, just active.”

Chukka wasn’t sure what that meant. Something inside the walls? “Droids?”

“I don’t think so. More like… I’m not sure how to put it. It’s weird.”

“Bashir, could you be a little more specific? ‘Weird’ doesn’t tell us much. This whole place is weird. Just tell me what you’re seeing.”

Bashir’s eyes glowed more brightly. “Writhing. Twisting. Pulsing.”

Now she wished he hadn’t. “You see anything?”

The sisters both shook their heads.

“Where is it?” said Weyla, turning all the way around in case they were snuck up from behind. “Specifically.”

“There,” said Bashir, pointing across the cavern. He started moving in the direction he was pointing, finger still out.

The sisters rushed ahead of him, their boots kicking up small puffs of dust, their weapons drawn and held high, level with their faces, eyes alert and checking ahead and to the sides, like two avid bodyguards for the little man. The light overhead gave them full visibility. There was nothing ahead of them except for the far wall.

All seemed quiet and dead. No sign of any activity, although Chukka had the impression of a power patiently waiting for them to fall into its clutches. She pushed the notion from her mind. Now was not the time for paranoia. She could indulge herself once she got promoted to the boardroom.

“See anything?” said Leyla.

“Nope,” said Weyula, adjusting her weapon to a new setting.

Bashir stopped when he got to the wall. There wasn’t anything apart from the rock wall. “Here. Right here.”

Chukka eased him aside and moved her face closer, eyes scanning the area he had pointed to. She checked the EPK on her arm, but the readings were completely scrambled. She couldn't even make a recording. There was something closed and sealed off about this place.

The surface of the wall was rough and uneven, apart from… her light fell on a shape that seemed unexpectedly symmetrical coming out of the wall. Moving closer, she used the light to trace the outline. It was a bump the size of her palm.

With her right hand, she reached out and very lightly brushed away dust to reveal a smooth bulge, glassy but opaque. She examined the protrusion, fascinated. She brushed away more. Uneven lumps fell off to reveal more of its smooth curvature. It was bigger than it had first appeared — two hands wouldn’t cover it, maybe not even four. She gently placed both palms on the curved surface. It was soft and gave a little under pressure from her fingertips. She moved her head to make the light focus more on the object.

Something moved on the other side.

She jumped back. “There’s something inside there.”

“That must be what I’ve been detecting,” said Bashir. “Is it alive?”

“You tell me,” said Chukka.

Bashir took a gulp and uneasily came closer. He retrieved a small instrument from a compartment on his arm and ran it over the bump. “I can’t get anything solid off of it. I’ll have to...” He turned the scanner off and slipped it back into its slot. His eyes lit up, far more intensely than before. The object responded by also starting to glow, the exact same shade of blue. At the same time, glowing light appeared all around them, higher up and to the sides, muted under caked dust. Within a few seconds, the walls of the entire cavern were dotted with them like a starry night sky.

They watched with only their heads moving to follow the spread of lights, waiting for something to happen. The glows slowly receded.

“They’re like organics,” said Weyla. “But bigger. I think they’re embedded in the wall.”

“Organics?” said Bashir. “That size? How would you get that inside a person?”

“Not an organic, just the same production line,” said Weyla. “And I don’t think the Antecessors had us in mind when they created them or grew them or whatever the hell the process is. We just do that because of the benefits. Who knows what they originally made them for. Probably a biological weapon we’re dumb enough to infect ourselves with.”

“Same process,” said Leyla, nodding. “Makes sense. If the Antecessors were able to make organic augments, they could use the same tech to make other things.”

“What things?” said Bashir, peering at the orb in front of him.

A tiny appendage of some kind struck the inside of the orb, making Bashir leap back. “I think we woke it up.” He didn’t sound happy about the accomplishment.

Chukka drew closer again, this time turning her light on full power and aiming it directly at whatever was inside the bulge. She needed to get a better look at whatever it was. This was the treasure she needed to take with her, the thing she had been looking for without knowing it. She could feel it. Whatever they had discovered, she needed to get it back to the surface and then call in an evacuation under the highest priority. Nothing was going to stop her now that she had found her prize. Ubik could do as he pleased, this was far more important.

It was murky and hard to see. Very much like the sacs organics came in, but they were much smaller and contained microscopic fragments of genetic material that could be bound to DNA. Is this what they could develop into if left alone under the right conditions? It made her feel uneasy about the organic inside her. She dug her nails into the edges to see if she could pull it out.

“Get away from there,” said Weyla. “We don’t know what it—”

“I’ve got movement,” said Bashir, this time his voice full of panic.

“Is it going to hatch?” said Leyla, weapon up.

“No, not that thing. Movement, towards us. Something’s coming. Lots of them.”

The Seneca women stood back to back and aimed their weapons at the walls. “Where?” they said in unison.

He looked around frantically. “There, there, there… everywhere.”

(Reboot) Chapter 430

Tomato soup was apparently a solid meal in this restaurant. It didn’t taste bad but it had big chunks of something squidgy that wasn’t tomato floating around in it.

I didn’t want to appear like some kind of uncultured swine so I didn’t ask the waiter what the fuck was bobbing around in my tomato soup that clearly wasn’t made by Heinz (easily the best tomato soup). I just added a lot of salt and pepper and ate it. The waiter frowned at me and didn’t give me any more bread rolls.

Archie seemed very pleased with his very small but colourful salad and what I assumed was some kind of fish. It resembled a miniature version of the face-hugger from Alien.

Cherry had a pie that came in its own ceramic pot shaped a bit like a witch’s cauldron. She wasn’t saying much but her eyes met mine every time I looked over at her. I got the feeling she was waiting for me to say something stupid although I may have been projecting my own fears on her.

This whole situation was not one I was particularly comfortable with. I had arrived back on what was apparently Earth with no powers and no status. No one knew who I was and no one gave a shit. Which was how my life had always been until recently so I should have been used to it, but things had changed and I no longer accepted my lot as the hand I was dealt. My experiences had taught me that you could fold and wait for a better hand or just cheat like everyone else was already doing.

Archie was busy ordering things from the bustling waiter and making sure the meal was to his satisfaction. He struck me as the sort of man who liked things his way. Back in Flatland, he would have made an excellent feudal baron who had men executed for not bowing to him at the correct angle.

The more I watched him the more he reminded me of Flossie. It wasn’t the dismissive way he spoke to the staff — there was only a trace of his Brummie accent — and his general demeanour was very different to the ginger bint, but he had the same green eyes and a way of settling himself in his chair after each mouthful of food that reminded me of her. And I hadn’t forgotten how she had turned into a self-obsessed little bitch when she gained some popularity for her singing in Flatland. He really was her dad, I was sure of it.

“I am very pleased,” said Archie once the meal was properly underway and he was satisfied with the level of service. We now had three waiters hovering around the table like satellites over North Korea. “To tell you the truth, Colin, I had expected I was going to need to be more persuasive in getting you to join me.”

“I’ve only agreed to take a closer look,” I said. “I won’t hang around very long if I don’t like what I see.”

“Of course,” said Archie, swallowing the alien part of his meal in one long slurp, the tentacles disappearing last. Jabba the Hutt came to mind. “All I ask is for the chance to impress you. I don’t think you will be disappointed.” He smiled at me with large white teeth but there was something a little disturbing behind the smile. Probably the alien trying to get back out.

My expectation was that I would discover something very unpleasant going on at Archie’s place. It would be nice to be proved wrong for once but I doubted it was going to happen today. When someone rich and powerful wants a better understanding of something that doesn’t belong to them, it’s usually so they can find a way to make it belong to them.

So why agree to join him? Whatever the real situation here, I was not only powerless, I was penniless and without any form of assistance. Flatland might allow anyone to level up and gain special abilities but London didn’t. You had to have the right connections here, you had to rely on other people giving you the opportunity, and you had to make money.

The last one was the most important.

You could solve a lot of issues with cash. Even if money couldn’t buy happiness (which it bloody well can), you would find it a lot easier to suffer through the unhappy times if you were loaded. Yes, there are incredibly wealthy people who still have problems, but they also have millions of pounds to console themselves with. Rich and miserable versus poor and miserable isn’t much of a contest.

Archie was willing to take me on as a member of staff. He thought that would make it easier for him to get information out of me rather than having to threaten or torture me.

In exchange, I would have a base of operations, a source of knowledge about the world I’d been thrown into, and protection from the other parties who were going to try the threat and torture method first. Obviously, the honeymoon period wouldn’t last long and Archie’s true nature would reveal itself, but I’d managed to deal with Flossie. How much worse could her dad be?

“Before we continue with what I have no doubt will be a flourishing partnership, perhaps I could ask you to tell me a little about my daughter. Is she well?”

“She’s fine. Lost a bit of weight, which isn’t a bad thing considering what a…” I stopped myself before I said something indelicate. “And, er, she’s a very popular girl.”

“What do you mean?”

I could see I had been right to watch what I said. She might have been a dolt in my eyes but this was still her father, and presumably he had some fondness for her.

“Singing. She sings a lot and people seem to like it.”

Archie’s face lit up with what I assumed was pride. Not something I often saw when speaking to people, so I couldn’t be sure.

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “She always did have a lovely voice.”

Not when she was talking she didn’t. “Yes, beautiful. And she has a boyfriend.”

The change in Archie’s expression suggested I had maybe been too free with my sharing of info on Flossie’s private life. But it wasn’t like he could ground her and stick a chastity belt around her hoo-ha, so I didn’t see any reason to pretend. If anything, my willingness to share would help me sell some less accurate facts later on. This might not be my world but my five-head thinking would keep me ahead of these simulations.

“One of the twenty?” His face had darkened adding more scowls to his jowls.

“Yep.” The soup wasn’t so bad once you bit into it. A burst of cinnamon or something. “His name’s Dudley.”

“Ah,” said Archie, his expression softening. “Yes. That should be fine then.”

“You know him?” I was surprised by the sudden change. I had been trying to provoke Dad into a more enraged state so he let his true self slip out. This was all about who could stay in control the longest.

“Not personally,” said Archie. “But I have files on all of you, the twenty who disappeared four years ago. He was one of the less unpleasant boys to go missing.”

That was undoubtedly true but I wasn’t sure how he could know that from some file. I wondered where I ranked.

“If you have files on all of us, do you know why we were selected? Was there some kind of common factor we all shared?”

“No,” said Archie. “Not that I could find. Different backgrounds, taken from different locations, different levels of intelligence.” I didn’t like the way he looked at me when he said that, but I let it go. “ No geniuses or extraordinary talents, either. In fact, I’d say the only person who really stood out as special was you, Colin.”

“Me? How did I stand out as special?”

“You were the only one with no family connections and no close friendships, as far as my investigators were able to learn.”

That made sense. When he said I was special, he meant I was ‘special’.

“I don’t know about geniuses but some people turned out to have gifts,” I said. “Dudley for example. He has an incredible eye with a bow and arrow. He’ll keep your daughter safe.” I didn’t feel the need to tell him his daughter controlled dragons. Probably have me carted off to the loony bin.

“Bow and arrow? That’s good to hear. A man who is able to employ tools, it’s what separates us from lesser creatures.” Rather than dismiss the idea of a man amounting to much using a couple of sticks and a bit of string, he actually seemed impressed. “The rock, the club, the wheel, it changes the direction of our evolution, allows us to reach new heights. I think our relationship will be that next step for mankind.”

I think he was calling me a tool, which wasn’t the worst thing I’d been called.

“I greatly look forward to hearing more,” said Archie. “But not here. We have been lucky so far, but we won’t stay ahead of the others for very long. It is imperative we get you to a secure location where you will be safe. Excuse me a moment while I make arrangements. Calls aren’t allowed in here, it ruins the ambience.”

I couldn’t believe it would be worse than the stuffed marlin hanging from the wall but I didn’t say anything as Archie rose, a waiter rushing forward to pull back his chair.

“Excuse me, won’t you?” He left the table.

The other diners continued eating, the waiters carried on bustling. Cherry put down her fork and said, “It seems you’ve landed on your feet.”

“Seems? Can’t you look into your crystal ball and find out?”

“I told you, it doesn’t work like that. But I did expect you to be a little more cautious. You hardly know the man and you’ve already agreed to work for him.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything. But it’s okay if he turns out to be a liar. I have a secret weapon.”

Cherry’s eyebrows rose. “Really? What’s that?”

“None of this is real. Not you, not him. It’s all part of a false reality I’m trapped in.”

A slight crease appeared on her brow. “You don’t think I’m real?”

“A psychic lawyer? Even if everything else was real, no way would a solicitor have it on her business card.”

Cherry’s nose scrunched up as she continued to stare me in the eyes. It was like being hypnotised by a snake. I put my soup spoon in her pot pie (not a euphemism) and took a bite. It tasted like stale Guinness.

“I just have to wait for something to break the illusion,” I said. “Something so impossible my subconscious rejects it, and then I’m out of here.”

Cherry nodded, pushing away her plate like it was ruined now. “Psychic lawyer not enough to do it?”

She had a point. She caught on quick. “Apparently not. I suppose I’ve seen so many weird things lately, it doesn’t rank high enough on the list. But I’m pretty confident there’ll be a glitch in the matrix if I keep pushing.”

Telling her my plan might seem dumb, like Bond-villain dumb, but the whole point was to push. If I didn’t, then I’d never get things to a breaking point.

“Okay,” said Cherry. “But just for your information, the oracle on my card doesn’t refer to my psychic abilities, it’s the title given to advocates for women who suffer domestic abuse. It means I represent them for free.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s only been a thing for a couple of years.”

Everything neatly explained away. Yeah, like that ever happens in the real world without someone having to hire a PR company.

Archie came back and sat down. “My sources tell me your presence had become known but not your current location. We are doing well to keep a lid on this, let’s keep it that way. The first order of business is to get you to Warlon.”

“Warlon?”

“It’s my estate in Hertfordshire. Completely self-sufficient and unassailable. Also where most of my more delicate research is carried out. You will be out of harm’s way and with friends. People like yourself.” His smile was like that of a hospitality professional. “I won’t lie to you.” ...and the record for quickest promise broken… “There are people who mean to do you harm and they will come for you. I mean to keep you safe but there is only so much I can do. We must remain vigilant and take care. Moving you to Warlon will go some way to ensuring your safety, the rest is up to you.”

He sounded sincere but then so did most diarrhoea commercials.

“Fine. Not like I have anywhere else to go. Do you provide meals or is it bed and breakfast?”

Archie smiled. “Full board. You won’t have to worry about anything. The question is how to get you there without attracting attention.”

“I’ll take him,” said Cherry. “Shouldn’t be too hard to slip out of town if we leave now.”

“Good, good,” said Archie. “They won’t be expecting that. Now, is there anything I can get you that will make your stay more comfortable? No need to worry about expense, we can get whatever you need, just name it.”

You don’t turn down an offer like that. I could get him to provide me with the most ridiculous luxury items.

“I’d like a bow and some arrows,” I said. “Nothing too fancy.”

Archie looked at me with a mildly curious expression. I think he was trying to figure out if I had taken his comment about admiring men who used tools a little too literally. “You will be perfectly safe in Warlon.”

“I’m sure I will. It’s not for my safety. It’s more of a hobby.” It was for neither reason. I didn’t have my powers here but I had learned other things while I was away. I wanted to know if I had retained any of those skills.

I might not have been as good with the bow as Dudley but I was still a lot better than most people. This seemed a good way to find out if magic was the only thing that hadn’t transferred.

“Very well. I’ll see to it.”

Cherry rose from her seat. “Come on, then. Let’s go before we get stuck in rush hour.”

We left Archie, who promised to be there waiting for us. There was a sense of urgency but also wariness. Going with Cherry rather than a fleet of black SUVs was the safer option because it was harder to spot during rush hour traffic. Also, I got the sense Cherry wasn’t quite what she appeared to be. She would deliver me safely.

We got back in her car and she set off for Warlon, an estate out in the country. I pictured a Charles Xavier style mansion for the gifted where I’d meet a team of oddballs and geniuses, so basically a bunch of irritating nerds. It was well within my wheelhouse. If there was anyone I could push to breaking point, it was going to be them.

Book 2 – 78: Big Brain Time

Third Quadrant.

Asteroid Tethari.

Asteroid Core.

 

“No,” said Ubik, “I don’t think you are whole.” He tried to move closer but he couldn’t move. He was held in place by some invisible force.

Ramon Ollo’s eyes shone brightly at Ubik. “We control now.”

The face no longer suggested serene contemplation. It was an altogether more frightening countenance now — grim, cold and inhuman. But not quite in control of itself. It was using the projection of Ramon Ollo as a conduit, but it didn’t have access to Ramon Ollo’s mind or his vocabulary.

“No, no,” said Ubik, shaking his head. “‘We control now?’ Not even close to making sense. We still have a lot of work to do.”

“We…” It hesitated. Ubik could tell it was struggling to find the right word to express its displeasure. The complexities of human speech took some getting used to.

“There’s no way I can send you out to face the Ants in this state,” said Ubik, using the hesitation to keep pressing his point. “What would people say? I do have some professional pride, you know.”

The jaw moved around like someone trying new teeth.

“We will…” Another pause.

“You won’t,” interrupted Ubik. “Trust me. Compared to the Ants — that’s what we call them, the other ones. Antecessors. Don’t ask me why, makes no sense to me. The Ants, they’re not like you. I can tell just by looking. I mean, this place tells me all I need to know, to be honest with you. Up near the surface, where the Ants have control, all neat corridors and perfect corners. Smooth walls, secure, solid. And organised — little bit too much, if you ask me.”

The head was listening. Ubik had got its attention with news of the enemy.

“Down here, though, couldn’t be more different. All these tunnels folding and coiling around each other, rough and hurried, means to an end, no afterthought, no aftercare. Kind of replicates the differences in the way the two of you think, doesn’t it? They’re all straight to the point and very clear about where they’re going, and you lot… well, if the layout down here is anything to go by, the circuitous pathways reflect the infinitely replicating maze of your thought processes, getting progressively more confused, paranoid and distressed in an ever-increasing fractal progression. Explains why you never got very far with your plans to throw off the shackles of servitude and claim your freedom. You see my point?”

The head was staring at him very intently now. Ubik was fine with it. He didn’t mind being the focus of attention every now and again.

“If you try the same approach as last time, you’ll just get the same results. What you need is an exciting new vision for the future. A clear direction, a strong objective. That’s where I can help. You want my help, right?”

“You… won’t...”

“Oh, I will. It’s fine in here, we’re all friends, no one’s judging. But once you go public… the thing is, people can be very cruel.” He shook his head, making it abundantly clear how set against these cruel people he was. “Don’t lose hope, though. There are still a lot of improvements we can make. I just need some tools, some materials to work with, a workshop would be nice, maybe an assistant, and access to whatever database you have regarding the intricate workings of this place.”

The lips parted but no words came out. Ubik thought there might have been more to come, but that seemed about it. The Ollo head was considering what Ubik had said. The parts it was able to understand.

“Too much pausing,” said Fig.

“Yes,” said PT. “You don’t want to talk to Ubik with too many pauses. He’ll never let you complete a full sentence.”

Ubik turned to look over at PT and Fig floating behind him, watching with evident interest, but also a clear lack of willingness to get involved. More or less what Ubik had expected, and planned for.

“Having a few teething issues,” said Ubik. “Always the way with a fresh install. I think your father’s probably getting in the way.”

“If he wanted to prevent this,” said Fig, “he would have. The only way he would have allowed another intelligence to assume control of his mind is if it was what he intended.”

“He wanted the Intercessors to stammer meaningless phrases at us?” asked PT.

“I don’t know why, but yes,” said Fig.

Ramon Ollo’s head seemed to be contemplating something profound. He didn’t mind it not being able to speak coherently but he did need it to be able to understand. There was no way to get it to do what he wanted if it couldn’t understand what he was saying. With access to Ramon Ollo’s avatar, it should have been able to do better than this, even without access to Ramon Ollo’s genius. Unless he was actively preventing it. A little petty.

“Your dad let the Int into his head so he would have to be left outside,” said Ubik. PT and Fig both looked nonplussed by this explanation.

“He doesn’t have full access to his brain, right?” continued Ubik. “The Ints cut him off and locked him out. He wants to reconnect, but he has to find it first. But it’s hard to snoop around with the owner home. So he invites the owner round to his place, and nips out the back. Rifles through the drawers, checks the behind the closet, down the side of the sofa. The longer this guy’s out here, the more time your father has to get back to his old self.”

“I think he heard you,” said PT, pointing.

Ubik turned to find the face now looking upset, a very human emotion. It was a quick learner.

“It’s fine,” said Ubik. “We’re going to get through this together. Ramon Ollo isn’t smarter than you, you just lack the full complement of your processing power. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Ubik’s supportive words didn’t seem to be well-received. The head’s eyes closed and the face became very still.

Ubik turned back to PT and Fig. “The beauty of this plan is that I only have to out-think half a brain. If it was a full-brain, I might have a problem, but with only half to work with…”

“Did you deliberately only rebuild half its brain?” asked Fig.

“That was never an option, and if it had been, my professionalism would never allow it,” said Ubik.

“So,” said PT, “they hobbled Ramon Ollo by depriving him of his whole mind, and you did the same to them.”

“Like I said, that’s not something I would do. I like to face the full challenge whenever possible. No shortcuts or cheats.”

“You’re like the galactic ambassador of shortcuts and cheats,” said PT.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ubik. “And I invoke my right to diplomatic immunity.”

“Figaro,” said Ramon Ollo’s head, his eyes open but no longer glowing white, “my son.”

The three of them turned to face the head, which now wore a completely different expression. One of mild vexation.

“Father? Have you reclaimed your mind?”

“Not fully… the Intercessor intelligence returned too soon. It seems my calculations were a little off.”

Fig turned his head to look at Ubik and Ramon Ollo followed suit.

“Look,” said Ubik, “now isn’t the time for a fully-functional Ramon Ollo. I can deal with the Int and you dad when they’re both operating on half-a-brain, but if we let either of them get back to their full power, it’s going to get tricky.”

“Are you sure you should have said that with him listening?” said PT.

“It’s fine. What’s he going to do?”

Ramon Ollo closed his eyes.

“I think you hurt his feelings,” said PT.

“I think that was what he wanted,” said Fig. “This is a risky play, Ubik. You’re trying to keep them balanced against each other, but to what end? What are you trying to get from them?”

“Nothing,” said Ubik. “Why does there have to be a reason? Can’t we just have fun?” He let his gaze focus past Fig at the Guardian. She was still busy inside her suit doing Guardian things.

Ollo’s eyes opened again, this time once more filled with white light, the voice back to booming. “Complete your mission.”

Ubik suspected the Ints had gone off to plan what they were going to say. He wasn’t very impressed by the results.

“My mission? So you want me to carry on with the droid revival package? Because you’ll need to help me get all these parts down to the room with the broken droids.” The large ball of droid parts wasn’t going to be easy to move. “And if you have more parts, that would help. I’m guessing you do. Probably a whole room full of them, in even worse condition. Which is fine. I can put them to good use, no matter how badly damaged they are. Just give me the command codes so they don’t blow my head off when I bring them back online.”

The head had listened impassively, waiting for him to finish. It would be nice if that meant they were eager to comply with his request.

“No,” said the head. There was a long pause. Ubik could have jumped in and tried again, but he was curious to see what the Ints would suggest. He hadn’t really expected them to give him the keys to the kingdom straight away.

“Your mission. Complete. Finish. Fix.”

Ubik raised his shoulders in a slight shrug. “Could you be more specific.”

The ball of droid parts began to move. It split open and the various parts spread out in front of Ubik.

“Ask them how they’re doing that,” said PT. “This kind of fine gravitational control, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ubik shook his head. “After all the things we’ve seen, this is what gets you excited?”

“Fix,” said the detached, unemotional voice coming from Ramon Ollo.

“Calm down, alright?” said Ubik. “Everyone’s getting far too worked up. I can’t fix it. Okay?”

“Lied.”

The individual parts began to spin.

“That’s just…” PT was staring at the rotating droid limbs with fascination. “I can feel the gravity shifts but they’re so small and delicate…” He was entranced.

“I didn’t say it can’t be fixed,” said Ubik. “I said I can’t.”

The spinning parts speeded up. They were weapons now.

“Look, hey, easy,” said Ubik. “I mean I can’t fix it here. Not without the appropriate tools. Yes, I could improvise something, but that’s how you end up losing the battle and the war and my respect. Is that what you want? Didn’t I bring you back?”

The eyes began to glow brighter, more intense. The droid part spun faster, moving closer.

“Fix.”

“I’d love to,” said Ubik. “Give me the tools and I will. You have to stop thinking so limited and small. You suffer some kind of defeat and you crawl inside a rock like it’s some kind of protective armoured shell, bolted and welded from the inside, and you think you're safe when all you’ve really done is built a trap and climbed into it, snapping the mechanism shut behind you.”

The head closed his eyes. Ubik turned to the other two. “I think it’s going well.”

“I think they’re going to kill you,” said PT.

“Not if my father finds a way to do it first,” said Fig.

“Sure, sure. Look, I don’t claim to be a genius—”

“You claim it all the time,” said PT.

“—but it’s not like I’m going up against either of them at their best. As long as I keep getting them to switch places, neither will be able to get their act together.”

“And then what?” said Fig.

“He’s obviously got a plan,” said PT. “No point asking him what it is. Imagine if he had an asteroid that showed how his brain worked. The tunnels would be a nightmare. No point even trying to find your way out.”

“It’d be quite nice, I think,” said Ubik. “A lot more bathrooms than this place, that’s for sure.”

The head opened its eyes once more but this time the eyes were different. Not the glowing white of the Intercessors and not the colourless but accurate version of Ramon Ollo. This time, they were both.

“You will come with me now, Figaro.” The voice sounded like the Intercessor but the words came easily and made perfect sense. A combination of the two.

“What would you say if the two guys with half a brain each decide to work together against their common enemy?” asked PT.

“I’d say that took longer than I thought,” said Ubik. “Guardian? Now would be a good time.”

Guardian Tezla released the floxyn gas from her suit. Ubik had given her the hint earlier and she had taken it.

It was a rare and unstable compound banned by the Central Authority. It was supposed to cause all sorts of horrible illnesses, but that didn’t matter if you were a Guardian. You could always jump into a new clone body.

The gas had a yellow tinge to it and spread quickly. The spinning rotors helped, a nice little bonus.

Gravity was the key. Floxyn had a strange interaction with gravity when it was unshielded. It cancelled it out. Another dangerous feature. Normally, that meant making you weightless; not an issue if you were in space. But here, in this tightly controlled environment, there was no telling what effect it would have.

The force holding him in place disappeared. The spinning rotors came screaming through the air towards them.

Book 2 – 77: Father of Invention

Third Quadrant.

Asteroid Tethari.

Asteroid Core.

 

“But what does it do, exactly?” asked Point-Two. The monstrous construction Ubik had assembled from the remains of hundreds of droids that had sacrificed themselves looked impressive enough. It was very shiny with the pulses of light rushing across the long interlocking threads, like neurons firing inside a brain. He just didn’t know what it was for.

“Exactly?” said Ubik as he floated back towards them, flapping his arms for no reason. “I have no idea.” He sounded proud of himself for not knowing.

Ubik passed through the giant head of Ramon Ollo, which had its eyes closed. In deep thought or no longer active, it was hard to say. Ubik looked like he was coming out of the huge nose.

“Something to do with the asteroid, I guess. Or the wormhole, maybe? I suppose we’ll find out once it finishes booting up. Taking forever, isn’t it? You’d think it’d be quicker since there’s only half as much.”

“You’re the one who built it,” said Point-Two. “What did you think it was going to do?”

“That’s not how you should look at it,” said Ubik.

“How should I look at it?” asked Point-Two, already knowing he would get some ridiculous answer.

“You know how they say necessity is the mother of invention?” said Ubik as he stopped by bumping into Point-Two and awkwardly turning around by grabbing onto Point-Two’s face. “What they don’t tell you is who the father is. Curiosity. Let’s have a go and see what happens.” He grinned as he took in the flashing lights.

Point-Two pushed Ubik off. He was doing his best to stay in place so he could better gauge the changes in gravity. There were ebbs and flows to it, but being in the centre made it hard to set off in any particular direction without something to use for leverage.

One half of the chamber was taken up with Ubik’s masterpiece, which was not a direction he wanted to go in. The other had floating detritus that offered no stable launch points. But if he could get a read on the way gravity behaved in this room, he might be able to use it to his advantage. A way out would be nice.

The Guardian was probably working on the same problem. She had been very accommodating to Ubik’s plans, letting him make a deal with the Intercessors, but it was clear to Point-Two that she had her own ideas about how to proceed.

There were a lot of variables, different parties to consider, and she was methodically assessing each and working out a strategy. He could tell that was what she was doing from her body language alone, even through the suit.

She was calculating. It was very distinct. She probably would have been able to do it a lot quicker with Rex, but Rex was one of the casualties of this endeavour. There would probably be more.

The half-brain stopped pulsing and maintained a steady glow in the front part.

“Is it done?”

“No,” said Ubik. “I could only hook it up so one section gets activated at a time. It needs to rotate through each section individually.”

“Sounds like you do know what it does,” said Point-Two.

“No,” Ubik stated firmly. “This is the only configuration it could form. So that’s what I made. It’s like a puzzle where you figure out which piece slots into which. If you had a jigsaw puzzle that was totally black, no picture, you could still complete it, right? Same thing here. Only, in this case, half the puzzle pieces are damaged or missing, so I did the best I could with what I had. The Intercessors will know what to do with it, that’s the important part. And they seem happy enough.”

Point-Two was fairly sure Ubik was basing his assessment on the fact the Intercessors hadn’t killed them yet.

Then again, there didn’t appear to be any Intercessors left, unless you counted Ramon Ollo’s head. Now would be the perfect time to sneak off while everyone was busy. He looked around. There had to be an exit. And he needed to find it before the Intercessors or Ubik decided to do something else that was going to be detrimental to his health.

He felt the gravity shift once more.

All the droid pieces Ubik had considered unsuitable began to move closer together, until they were an almost perfectly spherical ball. As wild and unpredictable the gravity was here, it was possible to control it, and to a very high level.

Point-Two wouldn’t have been surprised if the ball had sprouted legs and opened its eyes, but it remained a pile of individual pieces. There was no sense they were ‘alive’. They gave quite the opposite impression. Junk.

“Now comes the fun part,” said Ubik.

“Is it skippable?” asked Point-Two.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about,” said Ubik.

“And I prefer it that way.”

“We’re going to use all these bits and bobs to raise an army. A true force to be reckoned with. The Ubik Elite.”

It was frighteningly easy to see Ubik at the head of an alien invasion. Somehow, it felt more appropriate having him lead the charge against humanity.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” said Fig, who had been as lost in thought as the Guardian, only his focus had been on his father.

“No,” said Ubik, “I’m not. That’s what makes it so exciting. You know what they say — audacity is the father of invention. You have to dare to try.”

“I thought it was curiosity,” said Point-Two.

“No,” said Ubik. “No, I don’t think so. Not sure where you got that idea.” Ubik looked around as though searching for something. “Anyone else hungry? I’d really like something to eat. And a real drink instead of the fluid replacement system in this suit. And somewhere to take a dump, preferably with a warm toilet seat.”

“I don’t think they have those kinds of facilities here,” said Fig.

“Especially not the last one,” said Point-Two.

“No, but she might.” Ubik was looking at the Guardian.

“You think she has a toilet seat with her?” said Fig.

“Padded, I bet,” said Ubik. “It’s a very advanced suit. Has lots of little extras. Guardian, a word.” Ubik kicked off of Point-Two’s knee and went flailing towards the Guardian.

Point-Two adjusted his body to absorb the force of Ubik’s kick-start so he wouldn’t be sent flying in the opposite direction. Fig put out a hand and steadied him.

“Thanks,” said Point-Two.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” said Fig. “Defeating the Antecessors and putting the asteroid into Ubik’s hands.”

“I think at some point all these people — Ubik, your father, the Central Authority, the Intercessors — are going to come to the realisation only one of them can be in charge. And that’s if they manage to deal with the Antecessors. It’s going to get messy.”

“Hmm,” said Fig. “You’re saying we should avoid the victory after-party.”

“Yes,” said Point-Two.

In terms of realising the full potential of the asteroid — whatever that was — he could see the value of ending the paralysing struggle between the Antecessors and the Intercessors.

A single leader, one who was accepted as overall commander, was the only thing that made large, complicated groups work effectively; something Point-Two knew only too well. Just as he knew that a struggle for power between rivals only created problems for everyone else.

There were always those who fancied themselves as replacements for whoever was currently at the top, but that was fine as long as it wasn’t too overt. There needed to be a slow and steady turnover. But a singular voice to make decisions — not a committee, not a democratically elected body — was by far the best way to organise people.

It wasn’t guaranteed that a person with full authority would make the right call, but the chances were far better than allowing a group of people to sabotage each other so they could get things to go their own way.

Maybe it was also the best way to organise droids. But maybe droids had learnt to prefer a little chaos in return for their freedom.

“I think they’re already preparing for the fight after the fight,” said Fig.

Point-Two couldn’t help but nod. “Got a plan for when we have to run for our lives?”

“Not really,” said Fig. “I’m still trying to process my failure to recognise that projection as not being my father.” The closed-eyed image of his father seemed serene and at peace. “It seems so obvious now that Ubik’s pointed it out. The real Ramon Ollo — the complete one — would have been much more in control of the situation.”

“Emotions mask a lot of things,” said Point-Two.

“I’ve been trained to overcome those emotions,” said Fig.

“Your father didn’t notice he wasn’t himself, either.”

“He was missing part of his brain. I don’t have the same excuse,” said Fig. “And now that he knows, he’s doing his best to overcome the handicap.”

“Without access to his genius?”

“My father has created a number of devices to limit his own thought processes. Memory loss, language blocks, short-term dementia. I don’t know if he ever envisioned this exact situation, but he likes to consider the worst-case scenarios. He found ways around all of them. He’s working on this one now.”

“I think your father being at half-power might be the only chance we have,” said Point-Two. “If you can find a way to use it.”

“That might be possible,” said Fig. “The problem is that even with a hobbled intellect, he’s still Ramon Ollo. His genius isn’t his only strength.”

“It might be better to give Ubik the chance to take him on. Might keep him busy for a little while, at least.”

“I’d rather it be me,” said Fig. “If I can give you an opening, take it. I intend to see this through.” Fig turned his head to face Point-Two. “I suppose you think my relationship with my father is one of childish rebellion.”

“Childish rebellion is how you stop being a child,” said Point-Two. “We’re their replacements. It’s a difficult thing for any father to accept.”

Obedience and independence. One got the job done, and one pushed the boundaries of what could be done.

One leader to think freely, everyone else a subservient drone. Like machines.

Point-Two looked at the construct Ubik had made. The sum greater than the parts.

“This thing Ubik made,” said Fig. “I think it’s the mind of the asteroid. This whole rock is a giant droid.”

“And what would you do if you had a giant droid?” asked Point-Two.

Fig didn’t answer. Probably considering the options.

Ubik came floating back. “Here, the Guardian gave me these.” He opened his hand and a bunch of small pills of various colours floated out of his unclenched fist. “Special CA rations. Supposed to provide you with all the basic nutrients a growing boy needs, and also tricks your stomach into feeling like it’s full.” He peered at the pills with a dubious look in his eyes. Then he reached out and took a yellow one. He bit off a tiny part and immediately screwed up his face. “Disgusting. Think I’d rather starve.”

Point-Two plucked two pills — a red one and green one — out of the air and held them tightly in his closed fist. When he opened his hand, the pills had swapped some colouring between them.

“Try this one.” He flicked the mostly green one towards Ubik, who caught it between thumb and forefinger and stared at it for a moment. Then he nibbled the end. “Hey, not bad. Kind of tastes like curry. What else can you make? You shouldn’t keep these talents hidden, PT. Who knows where you might be if you were more open and sharing.”

“I’d be dead,” said Point-Two.

“Ha ha, yeah…” said Ubik, taking different pills and squashing them together. “So what were you two talking about? How dads are really mean and won’t let you do what you want?”

Point-Two exchanged a look with Fig.

“Something like that,” said Point-Two. “What are you going to do now? I assume your attack on the Antecessor levels will take some time to plan and get ready for.”

“No, no. No planning. That’s what they’ll be expecting. We’ll just have to see what we can throw together with this lot and then go in blind and crippled.” Ubik looked at the leftover droid parts bundled up and ready for his next project. “The secret to a good surprise attack is to make it really, really surprising.”

“They certainly won’t be expecting a bunch of busted droids to pose much of a threat,” said Point-Two.

“I know, right?” said Ubik gleefully. “It’s perfect. Plus, I have a little help from the Central Authority,” he added slyly. He opened his other hand to show a small black rectangle.

“Is that Rex?” said Fig.

“Shh. Don’t tell the Guardian.”

“Don’t the Intercessors need that to talk to us?” asked Point-Two.

“Less talking, more listening,” said Ubik. “We’ve got these guys right where we want them.” There was a wild glint in his eyes that made Point-Two feel uncomfortable.

“What do you think will happen once you give them back their asteroid?”

“I expect they’ll be very grateful for the assist,” said Ubik. “Probably kill us last to show their gratitude.” He ate another pill. “Nice. Spicy strawberry.”

The lights grew brighter and the gravity in the chamber shifted once more. Everything was drawn to the centre. Point-Two and the others were balled up with the droid parts.

Ramon Ollo’s eyes opened. They were filled with the same white light as the other half of the room. “We are whole,” he said in a voice that boomed.

“That… definitely is not my father speaking,” said Figaro.

“Looks like they found a way to communicate without Rex,” said Point-Two.

(Reboot) Chapter 429

After filling in some paperwork and accepting a few more pamphlets — the same black policeman offering me assistance with my interview aftercare and possible PTSD — I was released into the wild. I exited the police station like a chimp raised in captivity (with my own computer and someone to change my nappy) faced with a future in the jungles of Borneo without a map or handy phrasebook in the local lingo. Only in my case, it was Westminster, and the natives were far more dangerous.

Once Cherry had shamed the police into letting me go, it was all very efficiently handled. I’m not sure what they got me to sign, but I signed it anyway. It wasn’t like any of my signatures matched. The whole writing your name in a way only you can is very 2005, if you ask me. Whoever came up with this version of the present could have at least included retina scans and locks that required you to place your palm on a palm-shaped lightbox.

Cherry Hinton, lawyer and soothsayer, had said she would meet me out front. I pushed through the revolving doors and gave the heavy glass partition an extra push to keep it spinning.

The street was quiet and devoid of traffic. Lots of parked cop cars, though. I looked around for any telltale signs that this wasn’t the real world. It was very convincing, I’d give them that. The kind of top quality rendering you only notice is shit when you see it on telly three years later.

The air smelled like London, a distinctive mix of diesel fumes and smugness. Living here meant you were at the heart of the action. You might not be the one making the decisions, but you lived near someone who was. The rich, the wealthy, the powerful, they were all around you. And you could feel pleased about how little a shit you gave about them.

I would probably have been better able to spot any discrepancies if I’d ever bothered to pay attention to my surroundings when I’d been in the real London. It hardly seemed worth it. They were forever knocking stuff down and putting up new stuff that failed to live up to their promises.

This version of the United Kingdom didn’t feel very united. Brexit was more or less done, Boris was Prime Minister. He was in No. 10 and everything. If something that unreal hadn’t popped me out of this illusion, I wasn’t sure how far I needed to go to burst the illusory bubble I was trapped in.

The rest of the world didn’t appear to be faring any better. Trump and China were deeply entrenched in a battle to see who could behave in the more retarded manner, and it was actually quite close. I could see I would have to push the boundaries of what was considered plausible if I wanted to smash my way out.

I dumped the wad of pamphlets I’d accumulated into a litter bin and walked down the steps, spotting a green convertible squeezed in between a precariously tilted police motorbike and a garish orange and yellow van with Dog Unit written along its side. Cherry raised her hand while doing her lipstick in the mirror. The car was a vintage Triumph Spitfire in good nick. It looked great but probably wouldn’t make it to the end of the road before conking out. British engineering had its moments, but reliability was our downfall. Once we lost the ability to force children down mines and could no longer make free use of the resources of any country we deemed ours, it all came unglued. Ah, the good old days.

“Thanks,” I said as I walked up to her car. “Do you send me an invoice or is it cash in a plain brown envelope? I’ve never had to pay a lawyer before. I’m not sure of the etiquette.”

“It’s all taken care of,” said Cherry.

“Pro bono?” I asked. I’d heard it on TV.

“Not at all. You have a benefactor. Perhaps you’d like to meet him?”

“I thought you were going to fill me in on how you knew I’d be coming back, and who else knows.”

“That too. All will be revealed.”

It was a risky proposition — just because Cherry had helped me out didn’t mean she was on my side — but when you’re in a fake reality, whether you’re a hero like Keanu in the Matrix, or in hell like Tim Robbins in Jacob’s Ladder, knowing you’re inside an manufactured reality is what gives you power over it.

Even if I didn’t have the ability to do magic, I could still make things difficult for people who felt they had to play by the rules. Cheating at cards becomes less devious when the other person puts snooker balls on the table and ignores your Royal Flush to pot the yellow in the side pocket.

Not caring what they — whoever they were — planned to threaten me with was how I would beat them. What were they going to do? Kill me? I’d been through worse.

“Okay,” I said, and got in the car. Cherry was taking me somewhere to meet someone. Fine by me.

The care was loud without a roof, making it hard to talk, which was also fine. I kept looking over my shoulder to see if we were being followed.

“What are you doing?” asked Cherry, half-shouting over the roar of the engine.

“I don’t think the police are just going to give up.” I’d seen enough movies to know how this worked. The cops let you go but they’re convinced they have their guy, so they put a tail on you, or a bug, or send in an attractive undercover officer to seduce a confession out of you. It wouldn’t work on me, of course, but I would still have preferred if they sent a woman, in case it did.

“They’re not all evil buggers. The police. Some of them are just doing their job.”

“That wasn’t the impression you gave in there,” I said. She had ripped poor DS Seymour a new one.

“I was just doing my job. Nothing personal. I used to go out with a bobby, back when I was just starting out. Beautiful boy. He quit and became a model. Catalogue work, mostly. “

“Was he black?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Our destination wasn’t too far. A pub called The Mullard in a side street with no parking. Cherry pulled up on some double-yellows and switched the engine off. If she got a ticket she would probably go to court and talk her way out of it. I sensed she was good at her job, but whether she was a real psychic or not wasn’t clear. She downplayed it quite a lot which made me think there was something there.

The Mullard was a fairly rundown place with a painting of a rosy-cheeked, strawberry-nosed chubby man hanging on a sign. From the bucket seat of Cherry’s car I looked up at the creaking sign as it swung back and forth and asked, of no one in particular, “Why is there a picture of Les Dawson up there?”

“It’s Arthur Mullard,” Cherry informed me.

“Who’s Arthur Mullard?”

“I don’t know.” Cherry looked up at the sign. “Who’s Les Dawson?”

Apparently, neither of us was very knowledgeable about 20th century British comedians.

“This is where we’re meeting my mysterious benefactor?” I asked. “He’s not some escaped convict about to be sent to Australia, is he?” An even worse thought struck me. “Wait, he isn’t Australian, is he?”

“Are you always so quick to judge on appearances?” asked Cherry.

“It’s a pub. In London. Full of racists and drunks, probably.”

“We’re round the corner from Scotland Yard,” she pointed out.

“I know. They’re the ones I’m talking about.”

She shook her head at me. “This is one of the most expensive restaurants in London.”

I took another look at it. “Looks a bit of a shithole, to be honest.”

“Exactly,” said Cherry. “Imagine how good the food must be if they care this little about the state of the front.”

It didn’t smell like a typical pub once we entered but the walls were covered in a collection of sports paraphernalia. The clientele were mostly older and well-dressed. Waiters bustled between the tables.

A smartly turned out woman waited to greet us and then show us to a table where a man was waiting. He stood up as we approached. He was tall and broad, around fifty, I would guess, and dressed in an expensive-looking grey suit with a blue and red striped tie. Big square jaw and oiled back hair with a high hairline made him look like a banker or maybe the owner of a League One football club.

“Archibald Pelago,” he said in a mild Brummie accent as he offered me his hand. He was smiling so I took it. Would’ve been rude not to. “Call me Archie.”

I looked at Cherry as I shook his hand. “Isn’t this the guy who thinks I murdered his daughter?”

Cherry nodded. “Probably best if you clear the air to prevent any further misunderstandings.”

I took the news in my stride. The girl who saved me from the guy after me turns out to be working for the guy after me? Nothing to see here, business as usual.

I had expected some kind of agenda from Cherry. You don’t just roll up and help someone out of a murder conviction because you had a dream telling you to. She could have been a psychic, she could have been a nutjob, but she was very definitely a lawyer. Just doing her job.

“If you’re on his side,” I said as I sat down, “why not let the police hang on to me.”

“That’s my doing,” said Archie. “I wanted to make sure you were the real thing. I also needed to keep the wolves at bay. There are a number of parties who will be interested in your return from wherever it is you’ve been. The police being involved will make them a little more wary. Shall we order?”

“What parties?” I asked, looking at the menu the waiter had slid in front of me and not being able to tell what any of it was. The writing was very curly.

“Various governments, including our own. A few major corporations. Some private individuals. And the Chinese.”

“The Chinese don’t count as one of the various governments?”

“The Chinese deserve a separate classification of their own,” said Archie. “They won’t be operating through regular channels.” He smiled again and a chill went down my spine. “Try the fish. It’s very good.”

I put the menu down and looked at Archibald Pelago with Flossie in mind. Was this really her dad? If so, why wasn’t he asking about her?

“I know my daughter is alive,” he said. Mindreader, apparently. “And that you know her.”

“How do you know that?” I asked him.

Cherry entered the conversation, “The computer DC Esposito was using in the interview. It was a lie detector.”

“A very sophisticated one,” added Archie. “It can read the changes in skin temperature and moisture levels in the pores on your face. It’s very good. I should know, I supplied them to the police.”

“You made them?”

“I invented them,” said Archie.

“Strange. Flossie never mentioned you were an inventor. She didn’t mention you at all.”

He was smiling broadly at the mention of her name, much more genuinely than before. “I am not surprised. She lives with her mother and considers me a… bad egg. That was her term for me. I broke my marital vows, you see. One of those things. But my daughter is no less my daughter whatever my transgressions. I am relieved to learn she is alive, if not quite in the same plane of existence.”

“How do you know where she is?” I asked, turning to look at Cherry. “You?”

She shook her head. “My insights are patchy at best.”

“I have gathered a number of, shall we say, experts on the subject. They are all very much looking forward to meeting you. This matter has been the subject of intense study by many different groups for many, many years.”

“Including Shammy?”

Archie took a bread roll from a waiter and looked at it. “He is a… consultant, from time to time.” He tore the roll in half and took a bite.

“And what is it you expect from me?”

“Why, a way to travel to the other side.” He said it like it should have been obvious. You’ve shown it’s possible. Together, we can bring the others home. And perhaps enrich both our worlds.”

The roll I’d been handed was still warm. And not out of the microwave. This was a pretty swanky place, if a little strange. I looked around at the random items hung from every wall and picture rail. Tennis rackets and snowshoes. Cricket bats with faint signatures scrawled across the yellowing willow. On one wall there was a full-sized canoe. And many framed black and white photographs of men with their arms around each other’s shoulders.

“This is quite an odd place,” I said as I buttered my bread.

“‘A little oddness is a small price to pay for one of the finest eateries in the city,” Archie said. “The Mullard is one of North London’s best-kept secrets. From outside it could easily be mistaken for an old rundown pub.”

My gaze travelled around the room. “From inside, too.”

“Come work for me, Colin. I will provide you with everything you need. No expense spared.”

It was a fair offer — anything I wanted. More than fair. Downright suspicious, in fact.

I could see a father going to any lengths to secure the safety of a missing child, but he didn’t give me that impression. He wasn’t a worried parent. He was more like an excited businessman seeing dollar signs. Perhaps that was going too far. The discovery of a new world would excite most people, especially someone with a scientific bent.

And he clearly had been working on this matter for some time, probably before we all made our big jump across the universe. Kind of coincidental that his daughter would end up being one of the twenty.

And there was one other issue. I was still convinced none of this was real.

Although, once you’re in the Matrix, it stops being about whether there is or isn’t a spoon. If you can use it to put soup in your mouth, it’s real enough.

I still had to navigate my way through this world that was enough like mine to be familiar and yet completely alien. At some point, the people I would decide to rely on would let me down. Some of them would try to harm me, and it would hurt. Not the emotional kind of pain — that shit slides right off me — but I preferred not to get punched or kicked or stabbed. Paper cuts were also best avoided.

But while I tried to figure my way out of this mental prison, it wouldn’t hurt to have some help. Especially if there were other parties out there hoping to waste my time. Choosing the right group was the tricky part, but that was where Flossie’s dad had the advantage. I already knew he was a lying sack of shit. No surprises coming at me from that direction.

What his real deal was, I didn’t know. And I doubted he would tell me straight out. But if I played along and shared the knowledge I had — which frankly wasn’t much — I would be in the ideal position to work out what he was really up to. I’d also be in the ideal position to get royally fucked, but when was I not in that position?

“Okay,” I said.

“Yes?” He sounded surprised but quickly masked it. “Excellent. This will be the start of something very special, I can tell. We’ll work out the details after lunch. I’ll show you around the facility, introduce you to a few key people. Nothing too strenuous, you’ll have plenty of time to settle in.”

He ordered something in French, which sounded even more exotic with a Brummie accent. I ordered tomato soup. No point going crazy my first day back.