V. Moody's Blog, page 25

Book 2 – 33: Under Way

Third Quadrant

Asteroid Tethari

Bunker.

 

Point-Two didn’t need his bubble helmet. The air did smell terrible down in this bunker — nine men living for months in close proximity wasn’t a scent to be sought after — but living on the Garu had taught him how to tolerate all manner of odious atmospheres, both literally and figuratively.

He decided to look around while Ubik did whatever it was he doing under the console (it was best not to ask) and Fig concentrated on the panel on his arm. Either he was continuing to try to patch into the asteroid’s network or he was keeping tabs on Ubik. Both were advisable.

The man in the top bunk wasn’t a threat. He probably had more useful information that could be extracted, but in his current state it was probably better to let him calm down first. Familiar surroundings, as unpleasant as they were, would help him feel safe. He knew this place better than them, he would probably start thinking about how he could use that information to his advantage, which was fine.

He was currently indulging in some deep self-pitying muffled groaning, possibly into a rancid pillow. Point-Two had lived on a patrol ship for three months during his basic training — obligatory for all on the Garu — and he had a very good idea of what happened to bed linen under such circumstances.

The room they were in was perfectly square, dug out of the rock in primitive fashion; no designs, no decorative features, just straight lines and sharp corners. Certainly not built by the Antecessors.

There was a narrow corridor beside the bunks. Point-Two slipped into it, having to enter sideways and move with his back against one wall. There were three more rooms; one on each side and one ahead. The first was a storeroom, barely head-height, with packages in maintenance crates usually used for long-haul trips to keep perishables from going off.

There was one light on the roof that came on when he entered. There was no room to move and it was difficult to get to the boxes at the back with them all piled on top of each other. He opened a couple of the easy to reach ones to find them empty.

There were some other storage boxes with diagnostic tools, some recording media stacked haphazardly — some with dates and notes on their labels, most without — and a range of accessories for weapons. The weapons themselves were not present, presumably taken by the men who had gone into the base.

Point-Two recognised all of this as the basic equipment for an observation post, although he would have expected things to be better organised. There was a clear indication of the men slowly losing focus and probably hope.

The room opposite was the same size but in here there were a number of thin metal canisters, each about knee-high and a sealed lid, filling most of the floor. Point-Two counted sixteen of them.

They had printed labels with serial numbers but no indication of what was inside, other than some warning symbols to indicate they should be handled with care. Just about every danger symbol — toxic, corrosive, radioactive, biohazard — was on there.

Weapons of some kind? Explosives? They might come in useful.

He picked one up. It was quite light. It didn’t smell of anything — although it would be hard to detect anything subtle inside the bunker — and was cool to the touch. When he gently shook it, there was a sound like shifting sand or salt.

He backed out of the room and kept going down the narrow passage towards the room at the end but as he approached it, the stench became overpowering and he gagged. It was obvious what room this was and he had no interest in making a closer inspection.

Having got a rough idea of the layout, Point-Two returned to see if things had developed any. He slid out of the passage to not much of a reception; Fig glanced up at him before returning his attention to his arm and Ubik, who had his head out from under the console and was glued to the screen which was full of scrolling lines of code, didn’t react to his return at all; he probably hadn’t noticed he’d gone in the first place.

“Haven’t you found it yet?” said Point-Two. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was Ubik was looking for but it was bound to be something he wouldn’t understand even if he did know.

“It’s not that easy,” said Ubik. “This stuff is very basic.”

“Shouldn’t that make it easier?” said Point-Two.

Ubik turned his head just enough to reveal a frown. “That’s very ignorant thinking. Some of the most sophisticated devices are deceptively simple.”

“You’re literally contradicting yourself,” said Point-Two.

“No, I’m not,” said Ubik, turning back to the console. “The structure can be simple while the produced effect can be complex. Like fighting someone with a stick. Some people can just hit a child very hard with it and some can win battles against armies single-handed.”

“Which people?” said Point-Two. “Against what armies?”

“I don’t have time to give you a history lesson right now,” said Ubik. “There should be a subroutine in here somewhere, something that leads into the Ollo network, but there’s nothing. There isn’t even anywhere to hide it.”

“What did they use this set-up for?” asked Fig.

“Observing the exterior of the base,” said Ubik. “That’s it, as far as I can tell. They drilled holes and put up some cameras to watch who went in and out.” He fiddled with some knobs on the console and the screen switched to a view of the base entrance from somewhere behind the shed. The camera was very low and the shed partially obscured its line of sight.

“There are some storage discs back there,” said Point-Two. “I suppose they recorded around the clock. Must have caught whoever it was who arrived before us, although they aren’t labelled very clearly.”

“Who cares?” said Ubik. “They’re in there and we’re out here. Doesn’t matter who they work for, does it?”

“Well, I’d like to know,” said Point-Two.

“Me too,” said Fig.

The two of them looked up at the top bunk, its occupant shrouded in darkness. He was no longer groaning but Point-Two could hear laboured breathing.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked. There was no response.

“Shall I get the torture ball out?” said Ubik without looking over.

Point-Two had no idea what a ‘torture ball’ was. He assumed Ubik had made it up to frighten their blanket-wrapped captive. He hoped that was the case.

“Gerd,” said a hoarse voice from the shadows.

“Did you operate this thing?” Point-Two pointed at the console.

“We all did. There was a rota.”

“So you know how it works?”

“No. Nifell was in charge of maintenance.” Then he added bitterly, “He’s the one you murdered.”

“Never lucky,” said Ubik.

“The people who came here before us,” said Point-Two, keen to keep him talking, “what did they look like? How many of them were there? What sort of weapons did they have?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I don’t know anything.” It sounded like he was receding further into the dark, if that was possible.

“Is there a tape? Where’s the recording of them arriving?”

“I… there isn’t one.” He was clearly lying. Despite his fragile mental state, some part of his training was still present, telling him to keep the information safe from enemies. His commanders sent him here to collect this information, his duty was to deliver it intact.

Point-Two understood the difficult position the man was in. They could drag him out from there and beat the truth out of him, but Point-Two sensed he would clam up once he accepted there was no way out. If he was going to die anyway, might as well give up nothing. A soldier had his pride.

“Torture ball has six different settings,” said Ubik. “I bet he won’t be able to get past the third one.”

“Shut up and find your code,” said Point-Two under his breath. “You know Ramon Ollo wouldn’t let them stay here unobserved, which means you aren’t good enough to find something he hid.”

Ubik made a grumbling sound and the screen changed back to lines of computer code.

“Hey, how did you manage to fool them into thinking there was an extra ship on the pad?” asked Point-Two. “They can’t be that dumb.”

“Huh,” said Gerd dismissively. “You’d be surprised. We’ve been here for months and they had no idea. But… actually, we only stuck that shed there after the base got overrun. We needed a way out, get into one of the ships and get out of here.”

“Built it in front of your own cameras,” muttered Ubik, focused on the console. “Genius.”

Point-Two moved in front of Ubik, so his voice would be harder to hear.

“Why didn’t you leave?” asked Point-Two.

“Because they landed. The captain said we could take them — they weren’t even armed, no guns anyway, and they didn’t have any drone support.”

Point-Two exchanged a look with Fig. They were coming to the same conclusion. No drones, no guns, no tronics. Anti-Ubik precautions.

“You don’t know who they were?”

“There were only four of them. Dressed weird.”

“Advance party,” said Fig. “Secure the base and shut down the defences so the main force could land.”

“But how did they get past the defences?” said Point-Two.

“I don’t know,” said Fig.

It was very strange. Even with the base personnel out of commission, the automated defences should have dealt with any unauthorised visitors, at least any visitors that didn’t have a member of the Ollo party with them. If these people were able to land without being challenged, why would they need to deactivate the defences?

“Either they have tech that only works on a very small scale,” said Ubik, “or it’s so expensive, they can only afford to use it on a small group. Either way, if they do manage to get the defences down, we’re going to have a lot of company.”

“My team will deal with them,” said Gerd.

“Your team is probably dead,” said Fig. “I’ve managed to get a very weak link with the sensor array in the base. It’s the lowest level of security, but it shows four life signs on the control floor. You said you sent in seven. I don’t think this is four survivors from your team. The readings are odd, masked somehow.”

A small case, similar to the media files in the other room, came flying out of the top bunk and landed on the floor.

Ubik picked it up and stuck it into a slot on the console. The screen changed to a shot of the base’s exterior, but this time the lighting was different. Four figures ran into frame, heading for the base. They were dressed in orange suits, hard to miss, oversized and baggy. No identifying markings. They were out of sight in a few seconds, hidden by the shed.

“Did you get them landing?” asked Point-Two.

“No, we don’t have a camera aimed at the second pad. No one ever uses it.”

“They’re VendX,” said Ubik.

“How can you tell?” asked Fig.

“Easy. Look how they run. That waddle, it’s unmistakable.”

“How can you really tell?” said Point-Two.

Ubik sighed. Then he ran the tape back and forward again. As the men ran towards the base, he froze the image. The man in the rear had his back foot slightly raised, revealing the sole. From the low angle of the camera, you could just about make out the distinctive VendX logo on the base of the heel.

“Okay,” said Point-Two. “One mystery solved. Good.” As Ubik had said, it made no real difference, but he still felt better for knowing. At least it was someone they had dealt with before, even if they seemed to have had an upgrade since then. “Now what’s in here?” He held up the canisters he’d brought from the other room.”

“It’s a tube of nanodrones,” said Fig. “Where did you get them?”

Point-Two turned to face the unexpected direction of the answer. “In there. There’s a bunch of them. You know what they are?”

Fig nodded. “My father created them. Small self-replicating drones that can burrow…” He lowered his arm and looked around him like he was just realising where he was. “Ah, of course. I should have realised. These tunnels, they were nanondrone-built. They aren’t commercially available.” He looked up at the bunk. “They must have stolen them.”

“Made with Enayan resources,” said Gerd defensively.

“So are a lot of things that don’t belong to you,” said Fig.

“Nanodrones?” said Ubik. “Let me see.” He snatched the canister from Point-Two.

“Be careful,” said Fig. “They’re very—”

Ubik had already popped the lid off, upending the tube and pouring the contents onto the floor. They were like shiny black grains of rice. Ubik picked up one between finger and thumb. He turned back to the console, pulled out the media case and tossed it away. Point-Two moved quickly to catch it.

Ubik placed the nanodrone in the empty slot and fiddled with some knobs. Code appeared on the screen.

“There it is!” said Ubik. “He didn’t put the subroutine in the mainframe, he put it in these tiny buggers. He must have arranged for them to be stolen.”

“Yes, I can believe that,” said Fig.

“Can they get us into the network?” asked Point-Two.

“Better than that. We can use them to tunnel into the base.”

“No,” said Fig. “It won’t work. That’s why my father made them. If we couldn’t get to the third floor through the door, he thought we might be able to dig our way in from the outside, bypass the Antecessor barricade completely. But the exterior’s shielded. The nanodrones couldn’t make it through.”

“But I don’t want to get into the parts that are blocked off,” said Ubik. “I only want to get into the control room, which isn’t protected by the Antecessors.”

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to walk?” said Point-Two. “We know how to get past the sentry drones — you have the biosig.”

“That’s not the problem,” said Ubik. “VendX are here. They know we’re here. They’ll be waiting. But they won’t expect us to come from behind. It’ll be a surprise attack they won’t be ready for.”

Fig looked confused. “Aren’t all surprise attacks—”

Point-Two cut him off with a shake of his head. Now was not the time.

“There’ll still only be three of us,” said Point-Two. “And like you said, they’ll be ready.”

“Three of us?” said Ubik. “No, no. We won’t be facing them alone. Not now I have my army.” He looked gleeful as he spread his arms out and looked at the mess on the floor. “My army of tiny killer drones. They can eat through rock. Imagine what they’ll do to a VendX sales rep.”

Chapter 469

The portal felt a bit sticky as I passed through it. The surface rippled and it changed colour to a glittering starfield that tickled my face.

It had been a while since I’d been through one of these, but I remembered it as being a lot smoother and not quite so gay. I don’t mean gay in the sense of something being crap, which is an unfair way to malign homosexuals, I mean it in the sense of something decorated in a ridiculously glitzy manner like the interior of an Indian restaurant. A totally fair way to malign homosexuals and also Indians.

This was the home-made version I was getting and it didn’t have that slick, over-processed feel of the real shit. That’s the problem with cheap knock-offs — yes, they’re a lot cheaper, but you never get the same kind of quality as the name brand.

Whatever Orion’s people had done to make their gateway between dimensions, they probably had to guess a few of the ingredients, like Richard Pryor had to when he synthesised kryptonite in Superman III. He added tar (because he was looking at a packet of cigarettes at the time) and it made Superman go all Spider-Man 3.

Come to think of it, Superman II was about Superman losing his powers and then regaining them, which is also the plot to Spider-Man 2.

“Hey,” said Jenny, grabbing me by the back of my jacket and pulling me back out. “You’re supposed to take us with you.”

“Sorry,” I said, “I was thinking about something.”

Jenny gave my face a sober examination. “Were you thinking about nerdy nonsense? Comic books and superheroes?”

The closer you get to a person, the more you have to work at keeping some part of yourself private. “No, not comic books.”

She frowned but with only half of her mouth, which wasn’t too bad. “How do we get through?”

The two demons snorted loudly and dived into the portal, disappearing without making even a splash. 7.9 from the Russian judge.

“Like that.” I took her hand and walked in.

A moment later we were in the Void. It was at once familiar and totally alien. There was no air, no floor, just nothing. Lots of nothing.

“I feel strange,” said Jenny. “This is it. We’ll never go back. Don’t you find that sad?”

“One place is the same as another.” I shrugged. Emotional attachments to places were never a factor for me. I was always too busy worrying about the people in those places, and what horrible thing they would make me do if I hung around.

“It’s our home,” said Jenny.

I think she was still expecting some kind of normal reaction from me, even after all this time. Which meant she didn’t know me that well after all, or she knew me much better than I could imagine.

“It was,” I said. “Now we’ll have to find a new one.”

I was abandoning my world for the second time, this time on purpose. I still had no idea how I’d been transported to Flatland originally or why. There was probably a quest there that would lead me to some kind of revelation about the true nature of the universe. Thanks but no.

I already knew what the universe was like, I didn’t need it explained to me with illustrative examples.

Was I sad to be leaving? Nope, definitely not. The state of the world was that it was in a state. I could fully understand why Orion and the people backing him were keen to find a new planet to screw up. This one was done.

It didn’t require a degree in political science to see the way things were going here. America was in decline and the far-right were intent on taking over when the empire fell. Meanwhile, China was building concentration camps and filling them with people who didn’t fit their idea of a good citizen.

When both sides in the next world war decide to follow the Nazi model — the side that lost the last war — you have to expect a future that was going to be super-retarded. Somehow making the acquisition of wealth the major motivation in human development gave douchebags a monopoly on political power.

Britain, on the other hand, had given up and put a literal clown in charge.

Things were getting worse and no one really seemed to care.

Not that Flatland was some kind of utopia. They had many of the same issues there and they would probably end up going in the same direction. But they were in the early stages where they hadn’t figured out how to game the system so one side got to break the laws with impunity, while the other side got punished even if they did nothing.

Our side are freedom fighters, your side are terrorists.

At least in Flatland, even if there was a king with absolute power, you could raise an army and fight him for the throne.

Life on Earth would be far more interesting if you could just storm into the head offices of Amazon and kill Jeff Bezos to become their next CEO.

Jack came through next. He didn’t seem too surprised about where we were. Possibly he had been here before. It wasn’t getting in that was the problem. It was finding the way out on the other side. I’d had some issues with that myself.

The rest of his team followed, big and tough, swaggering like they already owned the place. It was an act, of course. Years of training to always look the part, even when you were shitting yourself. Not a bad skill to have. I had gone the other route. I always looked like I was shitting myself when I was actually moderately okay.

A dozen guys who all had the same build, the same square heads and flat tops, even the bald ones. They were like the team that gets sent in to fight the Alien infestation or the Predator in the jungle. The team that slowly die one by one.

“Stop it,” said Jenny. “You’re doing it again.”

The science guys came next. They were carrying a small chest with them, like a cooler box. Drinks and sandwiches for the journey? If only.

“We need a moment to take some readings,” said Jack. “That okay?”

This was the part that felt weird to me. Being asked permission.

“Sure,” I said.

The scientists opened up the box and took out a bunch of devices I didn’t recognise. They looked like they were made of glass and had coloured liquids inside. They shook them and inspected them closely, put some next to each other and compared. The box was beeping and whirring.

“I expect the other countries will try to send people through as well,” I said to Jack. “The Chinese, they seemed really keen.”

“They’ll try, sure. They won’t succeed. This place… that is, the Orion building is totally secure. They won’t get in.”

“Yes, but they’re Chinese. They won’t let you guys grab everything and leave them with nothing. China number one, as the kids on the internet say.”

“Not yet,” said Jack, shaking his big square head. “The USA will have something to say about it. China has a long way to go before it can win the world’s trust.”

He was adamant, the way an abused wife is adamant the man who beats her does it out of love.

“I suppose so,” I said. “They are still refusing to use a knife and fork like sensible people. And the Great Wall isn’t really all that great. I mean, your ancient civilisation’s greatest monument is a wall?”

“There’s no need to be racist,” said Jack. Lectured to by an American. About race! Truly, we were in another dimension.

“I’m not racist. My childhood hero was black. And American, actually.”

“Martin Luther King?” said Jack.

Jenny sighed. “He’s talking about Daffy Duck. His role model.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I still suspected the Chinese. My late-night encounter with them had pushed them to the top of my ‘watch these fuckers, watch them’ list.

They probably had a spy in Jack’s team. I looked over at his men. They looked a bit bored. None of them looked Chinese. Must be hard being a Chinese spy. Russians just have to change their accent.

Of course, there is an Asian-American community who could be infiltrated, but that doesn’t really help because America is extremely racist. The perfect defence to foreign meddling, other than from foreign white people.

“They’ve all been vetted,” said Jack, seeing me examine his men. “I’d trust each man with my life.”

John came rushing over. “We’re done. The results are astounding. There’s nothing here. It isn’t like our other records. No fields of any kind. The whole place is a dead zone. Like we’re in the middle of a black hole.”

“Is that good for growing potatoes?” I asked him.

“I don’t think so. I have no idea, actually. It’s very exciting. A whole new world.”

He looked like he was about to burst into a song, which would be terrible. Disney would sue and Youtube would ban him for some unknown reason (which is their default setting).

“Ready to go then?” I asked. It had been about an hour but it was hard to tell in here. It could have been a hundred years.

“Alright, let’s move out,” said Jack. “Lead the way, sir.” He was looking at me so I assumed I was the sir. The buttering-up had begun. First the butter, then the jam, and then you get eaten.

We set off, me leading. I didn’t know which direction to take so I aimed straight ahead, Jenny on one side of me, Jack on the other.

“You made the right choice,” said Jack. “We’ll keep you safe once we get there. Safe and sound. Luck’s on your side.” He was speaking to himself more than me. Repeating affirmations to keep his spirits up or something.

Luck, as we all know, or should know, doesn’t exist. It’s just a side-effect of ignorance. If you spin a ball on a roulette wheel, is its final resting spot unknowable, at the mercy of the gods?

If you knew the force of the throw, the speed of the wheel, the friction between moving parts, air resistance, gravity, if you knew every single variable, would it be possible to know which number slot the ball would end up in?

Obviously, yes. And if I got it right every time with a calculator, you wouldn’t call me lucky then. So the luck of getting it right is really just not being able to know for sure with the limited information you have.

That’s why computers can’t pick a number between one and ten, they can only give you the next number from a randomised list based on the Fisher-Yates algorithm. They have too much information to reproduce luck, they have to fake it. A computer model of a roulette wheel will always be a hundred percent predictable by the computer.

My point being, there is no such thing as luck, good or bad. The outcome is already known, just not by us.

“Stop leering,” I said to Jenny. She was constantly looking over her shoulder at the train of burly men behind us.

“Women don’t leer at men,” she said, which was patently untrue. “Have I ever leered at you?”

“I don’t see the connection,” I said, which made her grin. She always gave me the impression that she knew something about me that I didn’t know. It was mildly irksome.

“One day you will accept that we are meant to be. That’s all there is to it.”

“Maybe I can do better,” I mumbled to myself.

“What was that?” said Jenny, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I said, we’ve been having a lot of weather. Climate change, you know.” I stopped.

“You found something?” asked Jack.

I’d been walking aimlessly for a few minutes. The Void was dark and lacked good signage. Google Maps had yet to send that car with the big camera on the roof through here. But I could sense something.

I concentrated, let my mind reach out. Suddenly there were doors everywhere. Not actual doors but the outlines of portals — up in the air and on all sides. Where they led to I didn’t know, but it was one door in particular I was looking for. And I’d found it.

Wasn’t that hard to find, actually. It was the only one that was open.

“We’re here.”

Everyone stopped and looked around.

“This is it?” said Jack.

“Yep.”

They looked around some more.

“Where?” said Jack.

“Up there.” I pointed at the door. It was about five metres up in the air. There wasn’t a label on it but I got a feeling from it that none of the other doors were emitting. This was definitely the way back. “That’s the exit.”

Jack exchanged looks with his group. They seemed to be having a conversation via the language of eyebrows. The topic: this guy crazy or what?

“How do we get up there?”

“Should be some steps around here,” I said. “Just fan out and see if you bump into them.”

“Do we have time for this?” said Jenny. She gently floated into the air.

The others watched with awe. No one ever looked at me like that, and I’d done a lot of cool stuff in my time. I guess it’s all in the presentation.

“How is she doing that?” said John.

“Normal rules don’t apply here,” said Jenny from about two metres up. “You can will yourself to do anything if you put your mind to it.”

While she was right, it wasn’t quite as easy as she made it look. Jenny had clearly spent her time stuck in the void practising. Practising flying and also being a motivational speaker, apparently.

She slowly rotated to face the direction I had pointed in and floated higher.

I had never been able to master the full range of possibilities inside the Void. To be honest, I hadn’t mastered even the limited range. I put my hands out and felt around while walking and turning at the same time.

“You can’t do that?” asked Jack in what I considered a disrespectful tone. Do we all have to be able to do the same things to be considered equal?

“No. My powers fall into a different subset.”

People are always judging, using their own flawed value system to rate things, especially me in comparison to them. Everything seems better if you can find one person to feel superior to.

Yes, Jenny could fly. Very impressive. I also could do impressive things. Like, for example, I could sleep with a girl who could fly. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair.

“But you should try it, might work for you. Just close your eyes and wish really hard.” I tripped over something and fell. “Or we can use these.” I got back up and carefully put my foot down on the first step.

Slowly, testing each step, I began climbing.

“You guys wait here and we’ll check this is the right door. I’ve been known to make mistakes.” I was up to the same height as Jenny now. “Stay right here. We shouldn’t be long.”

The others were trying to find the steps I was on. It was trickier than it looked. The stairs weren’t physically present, they were more of a two-dimensional illusion that could be made three-dimensional when approached from the right angle.

“Stop, don’t move,” said Jack. He was holding what looked like a gun.

I say ‘looked like’ because it was made out of some weird material. Plastic? Fibreglass? Clay? It was hard to tell. It looked like a toy. It probably wasn’t one.

“You understand that won’t work in here, right?”

“It will,” said Jack. “We’ve done tests. It’s not as simple as a gun.”

I wasn’t sure I’d call a gun simple. They seemed the source of all sorts of complications.

He fired the gun at me. I could have dodged but I was curious to see what the gun did. And possibly I was a little overconfident since I’d always been master of this domain.

The gun fired a sort of webbing. It came out like a blob and expanded. The whole thing happened very fast and I got hit by a big wet mass that wrapped itself around my body, pinning my arms to my sides, and knocked me off the stairs.

Jenny caught me by my wrappings, my head sticking out of the cocoon. A little emasculating to be saved by a girl in front of the guys, but luckily I was already very insecure about my masculinity. My secret was that you couldn’t make me feel worse than I already did.

Jenny whistled. It was loud and piercing, the kind of whistle we all wish we could do instead of that pathetic toot that fades halfway through.

Jack tilted his head like he heard something, then he turned around. I could hear it now, too. The sound of flapping wings.

The demons came flying out of the dark. There weren’t just two of them, there were dozens. How many more dependables did Jenny have? And was I expected to cover half the maintenance costs?

“Do it!” shouted Jack.

His men leapt into action. I was expecting more guns but they took out tubes they put on their shoulders like rocket launchers. Only what came out was a puff of white powder.

I got a taste of it in my mouth and nose. Salt.

“They aren’t slugs,” I said.

The demons flew into the cloud of white and fell to the floor screaming and writhing. I was beginning to think these guys had come prepared, but then the demons howling turned into howls of laughter. They sprang up, coated in white, pulling faces at the men.

“Did you teach them to troll people?” I asked Jenny.

“No, they’re just like that. I like it. They remind me of you.”

The demons set about the men. The men pulled out books and began reading in what sounded like Latin. They were reading Bible verses.

The effect was, as you might expect, negligible. I wondered what they would try next, perhaps shooting them with silver bullets.

“We should go,” said Jenny. “Which way?”

I directed her left and right, up a bit and so on.

“Are you sure? I don’t—”

And then we were through. The wind blew in our faces as we landed on a hillside in the middle of nowhere. Trees and fields stretched out around us.

“Is this the right place?” I said.

“I don’t know,” said Jenny. “You were in charge of directions.”

It sort of looked like Flatland, apart from not being very flat. But then there were lots of parts we hadn’t visited.

There was a noise behind us. We turned to see Jack and his men come through a tear in the sky and land nearby. No sign of any demons. Had they expunged them with holy water?

The science guys came tumbling out next, screaming as they fell. It wasn’t a long drop so they stopped when they hit the ground. They had their cooler box with them.

“Move it,” said Jack. “On the double.”

Everyone started opening their backpacks and pulling out various bits and pieces and putting them together. They moved quickly and efficiently in a highly organised manner. They were building something. Several things.

They were far too busy to bother with us. Jenny began to peel off the white gunk stuck to me. She got me free just as it became apparent what they had brought with them to help take over this world — little planes. That’s what they looked like.

They were drones, the epitome of human ingenuity. Kill people without having to be there, but with a camera so you can enjoy it later.

Jack finally turned to us. “We won’t be needing you two an—” He stopped with his mouth hanging open.

Another sort of drone cut through the air.

“There yo’ are. Ah’ve been waiting bloody ages for yo’ two.”

A dragon rose into the air with a ginger Brummie on its back.

Book 2 – 32: Press Enter

Third Quadrant

Asteroid Tethari

Ollo Base.

 

“I think he’s dead now, though,” said Point-Two.

“It was self-defence,” said Ubik, looking around with wonder. The giant bubble around his head slowly shrank back down to its regular size, which delighted him for some reason.

“Self-defence? Really?” said Point-Two. “I don’t think he was much of a threat unconscious.”

“You’re not looking at the big picture. They — whoever they are — set up a kill-zone for anyone who entered through here. That’s the initial act of aggression. I defended myself by chucking that bloke into his own trap. Actually, I take it back. It wasn’t self-defence, it was suicide. Poor bloke took his own life. Sad.”

“What have you done?” The other man, who had been running after Ubik, was out of breath and struggling to talk. “Why did you… They shouldn’t have fired… We have bio-sig immunity…”

“You mean this?” said Ubik, raising his hand. He was holding a small gold badge, similar to the one on this man’s chest. “I took it off him before I sent him under the door. Nice work, bit simple as bio-sigs go. What is it, sentry drones through there? Won’t fire on anyone with one of these?”

“You murderer.” The man stood up straighter and pointed the rifle at Ubik. Then he seemed to remember that wasn’t going to do anything and pointed it at Point-Two instead. It slowly dawned on him that Point-Two was wearing the same suit as Ubik but in a different colour, and re-aimed at Fig.

Point-Two took a step forward to block the shot. He didn’t know if Fig’s suit was invulnerable to laser fire, but it was probably best not to take the chance. If something happened to Fig, he’d be left alone with Ubik.

“Calm down,” said Point-Two. “We don’t want to hurt you, but you attacked us first. We were just defending ourselves.”

“Aha!” said Ubik.

“Shut up,” said Point-Two. “Look, just tell us who you work for. Why are you here?”

The man’s face was hidden behind a dark visor, but his posture indicated he was agitated and unsure of himself. There was some training there, a degree of fitness and battle experience, but it seemed buried and degraded. Whatever this man had been through, he had been left thoroughly demoralised.

“It’s okay,” said Point-Two. “You can go home soon. No one’s going to blame you for any of this. They left you here, didn’t they? Just two of you. Where did the others go? In there.” He pointed at the blast door.

There was a slight hesitation, followed by a slow head nod. The barrel of the rifle dipped.

“It’s been so long… so long.” He was shaking his head from side to side now. “We were meant to be relieved months ago. I don’t… I just don’t…”

He lifted up a hand and put it on the visor. Then he flipped it up, exposing a dirty face — at which point he realised there was no air to breathe and his eyes grew large with fear. He stumbled back arms waving as panic took over.

Point-Two jumped forward, keeping his movements concise to gain maximum acceleration in the shortest time, and slammed the man’s visor shut. He managed to get past the man as he fell backwards, the reduced gravity making it easy to catch him and pull him back to his feet.

The sounds of heavy breathing filtered over the comms and then stopped. The man was still breathing so it was just the comms that had been cut.

“He seems delirious,” said Fig.

“I think he’s got cabin fever, or shed fever, in his case,” said Point-Two. “You see it sometimes when people have been marooned on a damaged ship. They cling on and manage to perform simple tasks but as soon as they have to deal with a more complex issue, they fall apart. He’s been up here a while. Who are these people?”

“From the accent, I’d say he’s Enayan,” said Fig. “I don’t recognise the suit or the gun, but I suspect it’s one of the security forces, probably allied to a seditionist groups. There are a lot of factions working against the ruling government.”

“Yeah, we met one of them,” said Ubik. “No one seems to be a big fan of your dad or the Assembly or whatever it’s called.”

“I can’t say I blame them,” said Fig. “Most of the families who are in charge are corrupt and self-serving.”

“Including yours?” asked Point-Two.

“Yes,” said Fig. “If you’re talking about choosing to benefit yourself rather than the population as a whole, then I think it would be hard to argue otherwise. My family has always held the position that it’s impossible to provide equally for everyone because not everyone wants to be equal. If you handed out the same resources to every person, one half would rob the other half and you’d be back to haves and have-nots within a short time.”

“That’s a wonderful ideology expressed very compactly,” said Ubik. “You’ve clearly been brainwashed by the best. I applaud their work.”

“Ubik, I’m really not trying to make a judgment either way. That’s just how things are currently, for all sorts of reasons that happened long before I was born. In a system where everyone is serving their own interests, I’m just relieved to be in a position of privilege rather than one of deprivation. Other than that, I have too much going on to solve the geopolitical instability of my planet.”

“Can you two save this discussion for another time?” said Point-Two. “Preferably for when I’m no longer in the same quadrant. Where are the controls on this suit? I can’t find them. It’s not voice-activated and there are no visual cues. Is it telepathic?”

“No,” said Ubik, pulling a face like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “They don’t have telepathically controlled suits. Do you have any idea how expensive that would be?” He shook his head at the very idea. “Fig’s controlling our suits with that panel on his arm. We have no control. These are slave suits.”

“What?” said Point-Two, looking at his hands. “Are you sure? Aren’t they for…”

“Criminals?” said Ubik. “Yep.”

“Or children,” said Fig. “It’s a handy training tool and makes it easier to guarantee their safety.”

“But that’s…” Point-Two understood the concept, the ability to keep someone alive in space without giving them the ability to use any advanced features. It just seemed strange that Fig would put them in these. “That’s… brilliant.”

“Is it?” said Ubik.

“Of course,” said Point-Two. “This way, he can give you the freedom to do whatever you want, but if you go too far or insist on doing something really insane, he can cut off your air supply or render you immobile and who knows what else. It’s a simple but effective way to stop you killing us all. Well done, Fig. Good job.”

“Thank you,” said Fig.

“You’re welcome,” said Point-Two.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little over the top with the unjustified praise?” said Ubik. “You weren’t this complimentary when I triggered the trap that was waiting for us, thus saving ALL OF OUR LIVES. I don’t see what’s so great about giving us romper suits his dad made.”

“What’s great about it,” said Point-Two, “is that it’s like he’s put a collar around your neck, and then put a leash on the collar, and then tied the leash to a boulder. If you get out of control, he just has to push the boulder off the nearest cliff and whoosh, Ubik exit.”

“He also put a leash on you, you know?” said Ubik.

“That’s fine,” said Point-Two. “As long as it isn’t tied to the same boulder.”

Ubik rolled his eyes. “Alright. Good luck with your precautions. Perhaps you want to go get your friend back.” He pointed at the man who was running back to his shed.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” said Point-Two.

“Hey, I’m the brains of the outfit. You’re the space dolphin. Go on, do some sort of jumping-kicking thing and catch him before he sets off an alarm or calls in reinforcements.”

Point-Two regretted not keeping his mouth shut. He had been so happy that Fig had come up with a way to curtail Ubik’s excessive nature that he had let himself get carried away. Now Ubik would be extra-aggravating just to make a point. Still, Fig was using Ollo tech to keep Ubik somewhat restricted in what he could do. It might not prevent him from extinguishing all life in the quadrant, but it would at least slow him down.

It wasn’t too difficult catching up with their uncooperative captive. Point-Two reached the shed just as the door was sliding closed. He grabbed the edge of the door but it kept moving. There was no sensor to keep people from getting their fingers caught. Point-Two tried to push the door back but it was surprisingly heavy.

A sudden burst of strength went through the suit and he was able to slam the door back into its recess. The suit clearly had more features than had first appeared. Having someone controlling them for him was actually quite useful.

No one was inside the shed. There was just a hole going straight down. Point-Two peered over the edge and saw the top of a helmet receding into the darkness. He took a step and dropped into the hole.

“What’s down there?” said Ubik’s voice.

“I’ll tell you when I find out,” said Point-Two. He was at a bit of a disadvantage following someone into their lair, especially if the person was desperate and likely to resort to violence even if it ended up causing harm to themselves, but this particular person’s desperation appeared more melancholic and despairing.

Point-Two hit the ground with a soft landing. The trip had taken five seconds or so, making it around thirty or forty metres. He was in a tunnel with lighting embedded into the rock walls.

“I’m in a tunnel. This isn’t an Antecessor structure. It looked like it was dug fairly recently, rush job.” Point-Two began walking, bowing his head a little. He could no longer see his target. “I think they’ve been living down here and keeping an eye on things.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” said Fig. “How did they avoid detection?”

“They didn’t,” said Ubik. “Your father must have known they were here and let them. Easier to keep track of spies when you know exactly where they’re hiding. You know, let them think they’re free to do what they want, but keep them on a leash. One end on a collar, other end on a boulder. The Ollo school of thinking.”

“It does sound like something my father would do,” said Fig, calmly accepting the accusation.

“Makes sense,” said Point-Two, enjoying this approach to Ubik’s sarcasm. “I’ve come to a door. It’s closed.”

The door filled the tunnel and looked like the entrance to an airlock. He tried opening it but it didn’t budge.

“Are you any good at picking locks, Ubik?” Point-Two asked.

“Sure,” said Ubik. “Out of the way.”

There was a tap on Point-Two’s shoulder. When he turned, Ubik and Fig were behind him.

“Are you going to knock again?” said Point-Two.

“Watch and learn,” said Ubik. “Actually, in your case, just watch.” He slid past Point-Two, barely getting past without becoming intimate, and placed his palm on the door. It immediately unlocked.

“How…”

Ubik showed his palm, revealing the gold badge. “Had to modify it a bit but I don’t have access to my tools. This suit doesn’t let me get to my pockets — major design flaw — so I had to use my teeth.” He grinned and bared his teeth. “Are they bleeding?” he said through his clenched jaw.

“He didn’t use his teeth,” said Fig. “He took something out of a compartment in his boot.”

“Do you mind? I’m trying to develop an air of mystique.”

Ubik pushed the door open. They passed into a small bare room with another door on the opposite wall. They closed the door and then Ubik unlocked the other one. The bubble around Point-Two’s head disappeared and he was able to breathe warm fetid air. It smelled horrible.

“Yeeuch,” said Ubik. “Can I have my synthesised oxygen back please, master?”

“It’d be better if we try to conserve the suit’s fuel cells,” said Fig, his own helmet now open at the front.

“Request denied,” said Ubik, shaking his head. “We have to stick together until we achieve our emancipation, PT.”

“No thanks,” said Point-Two. “I find it comforting. Where did he go?”

There was a room on the other side of the door. A console on one side with a series of screens and four beds stacked on the other.

“Four people down here,” said PT. “Cramped..”

“There were nine of us,” said the man, his head sticking out from the top bunk. “They said we’d be here for six months. That was a year-and-a-half ago. Our supplies are gone, the water tastes like piss, which it is, and the waste extractor… uhhhh, don’t even.”

His head disappeared back into the darkness.

“Just tell us what you were doing here,” said Point-Two. The man was harmless but he had information that might be useful. If they used force on him, he was liable to snap.

“Leave him alone,” said Ubik.

“He can tell us who else is in there,” said Point-Two.

“It doesn’t seem so bad down here,” said Ubik. “You probably get used to the smell after a bit. Makes me a little homesick.” He sat down on the stool in front of the console. It was a very basic setup with the circuits and wiring exposed. “He’s exaggerating.”

“Exaggerating?” The head reappeared, the eyes wild and defiant. For a moment. “This is hell. We all died months ago and I’m just a ghost. You can’t do anything to me. I don’t care. We thought we were being relieved when the other ship came, but they weren’t from the Judicature. I don’t know who they were, but they were seriously jacked, full battle gear. The others followed them in, thought it would be an easy win, wait for the fight and pick off survivors. We knew the Ollo personnel were dead but we didn’t want to face the Antecessor droids. Our orders were to observe and report, but we can only report one day a month, when the tower’s active. The sentry drones were in case of a rear attack. We knew other people would come eventually. I was just doing my duty. They abandon us and then make us risk our lives, for what? Alien bullshit.”

“Is that enough information for you?” said Ubik. He stood up and walked over to the bunks. The screens now showed the other side of the blast doors, a lone figure lying on the ground, smoke hanging around the body.

Ubik patted himself. “Can you open the side or something?”

Fig pressed a few buttons and Ubik’s suit went limp. He pulled down the top part, releasing his arms from the sleeves.

“Is this a good idea?” said Point-Two. Fig gave a non-committal shrug.

Ubik reached inside his jacket and brought his hand back out holding a slightly sorry-looking sandwich. He offered it to the top bunk. A hand shot out and grabbed it. The sound of furious munching followed.

“Right,” said Ubik, pulling the suit back up, “time to access the Ollo network.” He pointed at his head and Fig reinstated the helmet. The smell encouraged self-incarceration inside the slave suit.

“You’re going to access my father’s private network with that?” said Fig, looking over at the jerry-rigged surveillance suite.

“I’m pretty sure your dad had this place under observation. He must have hacked into this system and, as we all know, a road in is also a road out.” He leaned under the console and took something out of his boot.

It became clear to Point-Two that the suit would do nothing to slow down Ubik. In fact, he would probably use it to enslave them all. He looked down at the suit he was wearing. He’d probably be first, his suit was already set up to be controlled. He looked around the small room. Maybe they had a spare suit around here.

Chapter 468

I don’t know if you’ve ever ridden a lift carrying an unconscious girl over your shoulder while two small demons glare at you with industrial-strength disapproval, but it’s not as glamorous as you’d think. 

The demons weren’t a threat to me but they were very likely to make up stories about my personal habits and paint me in a bad light. Next time I visited a demon pub, I expected to hear whispers about what a dick I am. Mind you, the whispers in a demon bar are probably a little more vicious than personal attacks about your relationship with your girlfriend. 

If they made a level of hell reserved for guys who don’t treat their significant others as well as they could, I expect it would be very full. And also quite cheerful. Just a bunch of guys without their partners talking about how shitty video games are these days, what with all the microtransactions and pre-order/early access/DLC shenanigans.

Of course, the really scary part of a demon pub is the toilets. The really scary part of any pub is the toilets.

As the lift rose up to the top floor where my fate awaited me, I kept myself amused with thoughts of names for demon pubs. The Rammed Inn, The Virgin’S laughter,  Wetherspoons… 

The demons were getting listless, I could tell. They were licking the numbers off the panel, their long tongues grinding the edges smooth. They were still staring at me while they did this, which was disconcerting.

“Look, guys,” I said to them, “when we get up there, we need to work as a team. Coordinated, you get me?” They didn’t look like they got me. “You can’t just jump on the first guy you see and eat his face. It isn’t an efficient use of your time. There are a lot of faces, just chew and move, chew and move.”

The demon on the left reached up and gently pulled on Jenny’s heel. I had obviously bored it into trying to revive Jenny. 

Jenny groaned and kicked the demon into the wall. It didn’t seem to mind. Looked quite happy about it. 

“This isn’t very comfortable,” she mumbled into my back. “If you’re going to carry me, couldn’t you do it a bit more elegantly.”

“I don’t think there’s an elegant way to carry an unconscious woman,” I said. “Not without a stuntman and a harness they remove in post-production.”

She squirmed some more and managed to swing her way to the front so she was now in my arms, her head next to my ear. “There, that’s better.”

“Not for my back it isn’t.” I tried to put her down but she resisted. 

“Just until we reach the top.”

“You want me to carry you up twenty flights?”

“You’re not even doing the climbing.”

She was right, the lift was doing all the work, but gravity was determined not to be ignored and was currently working on my knees and lower back.

“What happened? My head feels funny.”

“You don’t remember the smoke bomb?” I said, cunningly leaning back on the lift wall so I had some support — first time for everything. “People screaming and running around in a panic? Not ringing any bells? They used some kind of sleeping gas, maybe a nerve toxin. The side-effects could be horrific. Maybe even false memories of me telling you to shut your trap and do as your told. Which I would never do, obviously.”

“Mmm,” said Jenny, nuzzling my ear. “Feels like I’ve had six vodkas.”

Say what you like about Jenny, she was a cheap date. One military-style incursion and she was buzzing for the night. 

“Why didn’t you heal me?” she asked directly into my earhole. It tickled.

“I was letting you sleep it off.”

“You mean you preferred me to stay quiet and stop annoying you.”

“You weren’t annoying me.”

“Everyone annoys you.”

“You weren’t annoying me any more than anyone else,” I corrected myself.

“When we get back and you save everyone and the world is safe again,” she said, “I promise I will never annoy you again.” She let out a long breath and collapsed on my shoulder.

I appreciated the sentiment but people are always promising the impossible as though it’s the thought that counts. It isn’t. The thought counts least of all. It goes: What you think, what you say in private, what you say in public, what you do. Of those, the last is the only one that really makes a difference, the rest are just progressively more intense sales techniques.

“Wait,” I said, “are you saying you’re going to leave me?” That was pretty much the only guaranteed way to achieve her stated goal.

Jenny’s head shot up and her legs slipped out of my arms so she was standing but leaning on me. “You should be so lucky.”

The lift doors opened and we were met by Peter Orion in a very stylish shiny blue suit, his blond hair slicked back, peering at us through rectangular glasses.

“Is she alright?”

Jenny was still draped over me, which used to be the classic pose for heroes. Nowadays, people are more likely to think you’ve dropped a date-rape drug in the girl’s drink and are trying to drag her off behind some dumpster in an alley.

“I’m fine,” said Jenny. She let go of me and stood a little straighter to illustrate her claim. “Who are you?”

“Peter Orion.”

“Another Peter?” said Jenny. “And American.” She said it like it was something that needed to be fixed. Atta girl.

“Just call him Orion. He’s like the liaison officer for this company. Keeps turning up to offer me deals.”

“Oh, he’s the devil,” said Jenny.

“No,” said Orion.

“Yep,” I said. “You got it. If he offers you a million quid to sleep with him, say no.”

“Are you telling me what to do?” said Jenny, no hint of a smirk (but I knew it was in there).

“No, I’m saying I also have a million quid, and pro-rata it will be a better deal for you to take the money from me.”

Jenny rolled her eyes at me. She didn’t refuse the money, though.

“Everything’s ready for you,” said Orion. He had waited patiently for us to finish. He was playing it cool and suave. This was just another deal to him, one of many he had on his schedule for today. It was a nice attempt at chill, but the appearance of the two demons from behind Jenny’s legs put an end to it.

“Holy shit, what’s that?” said Orion, jumping back.

Behind him were a small group of large men. They were kitted out for trouble, and here it was. They looked like they weren’t sure it was the right kit. Sometimes you bring the wrong studs for your boots and it can ruin the game for you, slipping about everywhere on the mud.

“Relax,” I said in my most condescending tone; I have a range, one for every occasion. “Every woman over there has her own demon squad. Helps keep the men in line.”

The idea of women having demons as pets appealed to me. If I had designed the universe, I would have made that a thing. It would have created a very different form of female empowerment. The current system where they just lie there powerless while men do horrible things to them seems to me to be lacking a certain degree of, I don’t know, let’s call it humanity. I mean I get how it works wonderfully from a breeding-whether-you-like-it-or-not point of view — which is all evolution cares about — but in my universe there would be a lot less waking up screaming and shaving your head for no reason.

“You should see what happens when it’s her time of the month,” I told the gathered men. “That’s when the really big demons appear. They have huge appendages. Very intimidating.”

The men, who were all hard-looking motherfuckers, looked a bit queasy.

“Can we go?” said Jenny. The demons clung to her legs and eyed the men, tongues lolling out of their toothsome mouths.

We made quite the pair, me with a reputation as a badass I thoroughly didn’t deserve and her, the disfigured demon queen. I was starting to think we may even be the villains here and all these people were joining forces to stop us from completing our diabolical plan, whatever that was.

That’s probably how they’d spin it after we’d gone. The fact we only wanted to leave and get away from all these terrible people not withstanding. 

“Lead the way,” I said to Orion. 

He was over the initial shock and turned around and bumped into his men, who weren’t moving. He gave them a stern look and they spread out to form an escort around us.

I won’t say I wasn’t feeling a little apprehensive. They had a plan to screw us over, obviously. They were going to wait until it seemed like they weren’t going to pull a double-cross, and then they’d pull a double-cross.

I had come here knowing this. Was I going to use magic to destroy them all? Probably not. My understanding of the universe was too deep to think that would work.

That’s right, I know how the universe works. Some people might fixate on what stars are made of, or what’s inside a black hole, but these are irrelevant. If you wanted to drive from London to Brighton, would you consider it important to know how the internal combustion engine works?

Here’s what my understanding of the universe tells me. When I’m finally in a position where the only thing that can save me is magic, that’s when magic will fail me. I could write a fucking thesis.

They led us into the large room with all the psychics strapped into electronic coffins, or whatever. There was a bunch of boffins up on a platform dong their best to look busy, and there was a large opening in the side of the building.

“Through there is it?” I asked Orion. That was where Claire had appeared.

“Yes,” said Orion. “We’ve been working very hard to replicate the last event. We’re ninety percent sure we’ve got it. The opening on this side, that is. It’s finding a way out on the other end that we need you for.”

“Ninety percent, huh?” I wasn’t particularly impressed. It’s like when some company that’s cocked up sends out a bloke to do damage control and he bangs on about how ninety-five percent of their customers are very happy, like that makes a difference to the savagely fucked-over five percent.

“Oh, hello again.”

I turned to find a large man with glasses dressed like he was going on safari. “Oh, hello John. This is John Grand,” I said to Jenny. “He’s a potato scientist.”

“That’s not very nice,” said Jenny.

“No, he studies potatoes.”

She looked at me like I was the potato here. 

“I’ll be coming with you,” said John. “To study the flora and the soil conditions. We’re hoping to produce some really cracking potatoes over there.”

“You really study potatoes?” said Jenny.

John looked confused by the question. Join the club, mate.

Orion came over with some more tough geezers, these ones also dressed in khaki and with huge rucksacks strapped to their backs.”

“You already know Jack,” said Orion.

“Sure,” I said. “We go way back. Let’s put any bad blood behind us and let’s all and do our best.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to give him a pep talk, other than I found it amusing to see his face grow even more sour than it was already.

The men around him had similarly sour expressions. They probably had special training to get them synchronised like that. I didn’t recognise any of them, must have been a new batch after the last lot performed so poorly.

“Is that your idea of a joke,” he drawled in his Texan accent. “Just don’t kill any more of my men and we’ll be fine.”

“Who did you kill now?” said Jenny, like I was always doing it.

“This is my girlfriend,” I said to Jack. It came out like I was bragging, which I wasn’t. Not very much, anyway.

Jack nodded at Jenny and said, “I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Jenny.

Fuckers were starting their own double act.

There was some faffing about as we lined up at the opening, the bridge to nowhere stretching out into the East London air.

“Hey, now remember the deal,” said Orion. He wasn’t coming and he seemed delighted about it. Probably because he knew what was in store for us. “Just get us through to the other side, and then it’s every man for himself. Do you need anything? I noticed you don’t have any gear. You’ll need some survival equipment, won’t you?”

“No,” I said. “It slows you down when you’re running. I just need this.” I pulled out the wooden sword I had stuck in my belt. “You guys look like your really well equipped for this. What have you got in there? One of those super high tog sleeping bags?”

I tried to get a peek but they were very reluctant to show me their sacks. Not a euphemism. 

There was a soft hum from outside the building which grew louder. There had been no countdown, no pre-flight check. We just stood there as a dark portal appeared.

“Right,” I said. “Here we go.”

I set off across the bridge. The others followed me, somewhat hesitantly. Whether because of the danger of falling, the idea of travelling to another world, or just because it happened to be me leading, I couldn’t say.

The portal was black and impenetrable. I reached out my hand and gave it a poke. My hand went through. Then it came back out. So far so good. 

The others lined up behind me. Twelve men, four scientists (also men, but of a different sort), and Jenny. No sign of Lillian. I had thought she would suddenly appear and insist on coming.

“You’re sure about this,” said Jenny. 

She could have been referring to a number of things. 

“Yeah. After all the trouble Biadet went to, it would be rude not to.” I walked into the void.

Book 2 – 31: Breaking In

Third Quadrant

Asteroid Tethari

Ollo Base.

 

As Ubik exited the ship, a bubble of light appeared around his head, quickly becoming transparent. He breathed in the air seeping in through the collar of the suit. The air was very cold and made his nose itch. As he looked around the landing area, the bubble-helmet created a slight distortion at the edges of his vision. He had expected the suit to keep him alive, but not quite like this.

There was a wall of rock on one side of the landing pad and a ramp that sloped down on the other. About two-hundred metres from them was a structure that looked like it had been carved out of a cliff face. It was angular and spiky, a series of towers linked together.

In front of it, there were a number of ships lined up in an orderly fashion, all of them with no obvious markings.

Ubik took a deep breath and smiled. He had made it. His whole life, he had wanted to get off-world and see the universe as it really was. Not travelling between places, not visiting planets that were just a variation of his own, not going over old ground others had already thoroughly explored and inspected, leaving nothing new to be discovered.

Something truly adventurous was what he had been looking for. And here it was.

Above him was the wormhole, which took up most of the sky. It had a foreboding appearance from here, as though it was about to swallow the asteroid. The longer he stared, the more certain he was he could see it moving closer.

He twisted his head, able to move inside the bubble freely, and looked back at the ship. Enaya was a large orange and green half-circle cresting over it. He raised a gloved hand and tried poking a finger through the barrier now surrounding his head. The finger went through, allowing him to scratch his nose.

“Interesting,” he said to himself.

“It’s an adaptive force field,” said Fig’s voice through a speaker also in the collar of the suit. “Forms a seal around anything covered in flaxen.”

Ubik pulled his finger away so only the tip was inside the bubble. The force field clung to the material, allowing him to move his finger up and down without breaking the seal. As he pulled his finger out, the force field reformed like it had never been breached.

“If it lets light in,” said PT, his head also on a bubble of bluish light, “won’t it let in laser fire?” He was standing over by the ship that had been destroyed by its own blasters. It was impossible to tell who it belonged to or if there had been anyone on board. What was clear to them all though was that they had managed to evade the defence matrix, they had access to advanced stealth tech, and they had got here first.

“Like I said, it’s adaptive.” Fig pressed buttons on the control panel that covered his left forearm. He grimaced, his face visible through the visor of his more ordinary helmet. “I’m not getting any response from the base. The network seems to be offline. Or ignoring me.”

PT came bounding across, moving in large steps that kept him in the air for seconds at a time. “I think we can assume someone got here before us. And got past your defences, too.”

“That… doesn’t seem possible,” said Fig, his frown expanding.

Ubik jumped up and down. He didn’t stay in the air (not that there was any) for as long as PT had. Gravity was less than on the planet, but not so great that you might float away. “What’s the gravitational pull here?”

“I’d guess around 0.85,” said PT.

“It’s 0.86G, standard,” said Fig.

“Not a bad guess,” said Ubik. “Might want to fine-tune your internal sensors.”

“I was point-zero-one out.”

“Have you any idea the damage I would cause if I was point-zero-one out in any of my calculations.”

PT looked at him with a deadpan stare that suggested he had a very good idea. “Isn’t 0.85 kind of high for a small rock like this?”

“Yes,” said Fig. “The asteroid has a very dense core but it’s shielded, so we have no idea what it’s made of. It’s one of the asteroid’s many unsolved mysteries.”

They began walking down the ramp towards the base. Ubik took long, easy steps, bouncing as high as he could go. PT floated above him, doing tumbles and landing cleanly. He wasn’t showing off, he was getting used to the gravity so he would have better control over his movements and better range of motion.

Fig moved the most smoothly of them. His steps were almost the same as if he’d been on Enaya, he just moved quicker and with less effort. His eyes were glued to the panel on his arm.

There were eight ships lined up outside the base. There were no signs of life, not even drones.

“Are these all your ships?” asked PT.

Fig glanced up. “Yes.”

“Anyone else get the feeling we’re being watched?” asked Ubik. He had the odd sensation on the back of his neck he only got when someone was keeping tabs on him. He’d learned to ignore it most of the time — in a city, everyone was keeping tabs on everyone else — but it was definitely sending him a small FYI at the moment.

“They probably have cameras all over this place,” said PT.

“Not right now,” said Fig, looking down. “I can’t access anything.”

“Not from the base,” said Ubik. “One of these ships.”

They stopped, four ships on either side of them, and looked around.

“Which one?” said PT.

The eight ships looked more or less identical; basic shuttles, probably able to transport a dozen people each. They had minimal weapons on the exterior — two cannons at the front, a turret on top — more useful for clearing debris and small objects that might wander into a flight path than posing any kind of serious threat to another vessel.

“I think it’s the last one on the left,” said Ubik out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t look, don’t look. Act normal.” He walked towards it, hands behind his back, twirling around and around like he was enjoying an evening stroll.

“Acting like a normal lunatic isn’t acting normal,” said PT.

“I’ll use the sensors on the ship,” said Fig. “Yes, you’re right. General sweep reveals nothing but a targeted probe of that one ship shows two life signs. And it isn’t one of ours. It’s a Holover. A good one — dispersal field, mirrored sensor array, wide bandwidth absorption.”

Ubik stopped. “Oh. Is that all. Forget it then.” He started walking towards the base.

“What do you mean, forget it?” said PT. “There’s obviously another ship under the Holover.”

“Yeah, but only two people. Must be the lookouts. They’ll be ready for us if we try anything. As long as they think they can see us and we can’t see them, they’ll just watch and report our position to the rest of their team.”

“And that’s fine with you?” said PT.

“They’ve already seen us, not like we can reverse that. You have to accept what you can’t change, and use it later to show people they can’t even win with a head start. It really annoys them.”

“I think I have to agree with him,” said Fig. “When it comes to annoying people, he is the master.”

“Thank you,” said Ubik.

“That makes two ships that shouldn’t be here,” said PT. “Security is pretty lax.”

“Yes,” said Fig. “My father would have everyone flayed alive. Figuratively speaking.”

The entrance to the base was through a hooded alcove leading to an inset blast door that was ten metres high. It looked very solid and thick. Hard to get through if it hadn’t been raised above the ground by about half a metre.

It was stuck in that position, the control panel on the wall, smashed and releasing showers of sparks.

“At least there’s a way in,” said PT.

“It’s a trap,” said Ubik. “My many years of experience entering places I’m not supposed to have given me an acute awareness of when someone has left an obvious entry point in the hope of catching a would-be burglar and then holding them in a cell in the basement to torment them at their leisure.”

“That’s very specific,” said Fig. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

“Don’t say that,” said PT. “He might take you up on it.”

Ubik got on his knees and looked under the door. He could see a tunnel that stretched into the distance, strip lighting on either side. There was no movement and no feet, which he’d been hoping to see. These people were playing it smart. He would have to up his game.

He stood up and looked back at the ships they had walked past. Then he set off towards the last one on the left.

“He’s going to somehow break into a disguised ship, origin unknown, without any weapons,” said PT, watching Ubik depart. “How do you think he’ll do it?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” said Fig. “I’m sure it will be educational to observe.” The two of them stood at the opening of the alcove, waiting to see the Ubik method at work, from a safe distance.

The Holover was good. It wasn’t up to the standard of the one of Mackus — that was remarkable — but this one could pass, if you didn’t examine it from up close. He could see the slight imperfections, the odd way it didn’t quite sit with the background correctly. But it was designed to fool sensors more than actual people. Who even used the naked eye to see anymore?

Ubik raised his hand and reached out. It passed through the projection. He felt around until he found something solid. Then he pulled back his hand and began pounding with his fist.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

“Are you sure you don’t need a screwdriver or something, oh master of the tronics world?” said PT through comms.

“Wait, he is using an ancient technique we aren’t aware of,” said Fig.

“Open up. Special delivery.” Ubik ignored the doubters and kept banging.

There was a shimmer as the image of the ship vanished, revealing not a ship at all but what looked like a shed. A very simple, prefab hut made of sheets of metal.

A door hissed open on the side and a long gun barrel appeared, followed by a man in a battlesuit that had seen better days. Behind him was another similarly dressed man, also carrying a rifle. They pointed their weapons at Ubik, who tried to look past them into the shed.

“Stick your hands up,” said the first man, jerking his weapon at Ubik. The voice was coming over the comms even though Ubik hadn’t activated anything. Did the suit do it automatically or had Fig patched him into an open channel?

“Stick my hands up what?” asked Ubik.

“In the air, stick them in the air.”

“Strictly speaking, there is no air. We’re in the vacuum of space.” Ubik looked at the suits the men were wearing. “Who are you guys? You’re not VendX. I thought you’d be here with Chukka, but your gear, it’s not VendX, is it? No. And you aren’t Central Authority. Is the Seneca Corps having recruitment issues?”

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“We’re here for the base commander’s birthday,” said Ubik. “We’ve brought a special guest for the party. Over there, maybe you know her? The lovely Janeane Ingwe.”

The two men looked at each other, guns still pointing at Ubik.

“Never heard of her.”

“Don’t say that. You’ll hurt her feelings. She’s a star of the Battle Arenod.”

“Oh, yes,” said the man standing in the rear. “I think I might have heard of her.”

“There you go. You can meet her if you like. Just remember she looks a lot better once she’s got her makeup and costume on.” Ubik half-turned and raised a hand. “Janeane, over here.”

PT remained where he was and shook his head.

“Sorry, she’s very shy off-stage. Which is surprising considering what she’s willing to do for a glass of white wine and fifty scurs, if you know what I mean. You boys been up here on this rock for a while, have you? Must get lonely. Janeane could cheer you up a bit. I know she’s a big girl, but some men like to be put in their place. The base commander’s that way, apparently. Maybe your commander is, too?”

The one in the rear lowered the tip of his rifle. “Actually, I think he might b—”

“Shut up,” said the one in front. “He’s lying. They’re here for the loot. They’re scavs.”

“Scavs?” The one in back raised his gun hurriedly. “What do you want to do? There’s three of them and two of us.”

“Then let’s even the odds.” The one in front brought his gun up to his shoulder and fired it at Ubik.

The shot didn’t hurt as much as tingle. Ubik looked down and put a hand on his chest, which was warm. “I think you made my heart skip a beat.”

The man shot again, twice. The charge hit Ubik both times, and then dissipated through the suit.

“Try shooting me in the head,” said Ubik. “I’m curious to see what that will do.”

Both men aimed their weapons higher and blasted Ubik point-blank in the face.

He saw the light from the muzzles, but the bubble around his head absorbed the blasts and expanded. They kept firing, looks of confusion on their faces, as the bubble grew and grew.

It was a very unusual way to disperse energy.

“Look at my giant head,” said Ubik. His voice sounded loud and echoed inside the helmet. “Did you hear that? Do I sound weird?”

The two men had stopped shooting. They looked at their guns. The one on the right turned to his colleague, raised his gun, and fired it. He seemed to have concluded the gun wasn’t working properly, and the best way to test it was on a second target. His colleague didn’t agree, judging by the scream he made when he was knocked to the ground.

“Sorry, sorry. I thought…”

“Doesn’t look good,” boomed Ubik. The man on the ground wasn’t moving. “Hold on. I don’t think he’s dead. I know what to do.”

Ubik bent down and grabbed the body by the right foot.

“Hey, let him go,” said the shooter.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. My friends can help. Come on.” Ubik began running back towards the others, the giant bowl on his head making him feel like he was about to tip over, even though it didn’t feel any heavier. He dragged the body behind him, the reduced gravity making it quite easy.

The other man followed, his gun still in his hands, his face showing a lot of conflicting emotions.

Fig and PT also displayed conflicting emotions on their faces as giant-headed Ubik came bounding towards them, dragging a body and followed by a man with a rifle. They did the sensible thing and got out of his way.

Ubik loped past them, got to the blast door and swung his arm forward, sending the body sliding along the ground, through the gap.

A scream came through the comms, modulating in the manner of someone getting hit fast and hard. The pattern suggested to Ubik the man was taking blaster shots to the chest, rapid-fire, at least a thousand kilojoules per shot. The screaming ended abruptly.

“See,” said Ubik, “I told you he wasn’t dead.”

Book 2 – 30: Lawful Entry

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

The White Palace.

Green Room.

 

Figaro took the other two to the green room, the large changing area next to the landing pad at the back of the compound. This was where his father’s employees prepped for space flight, either to go up to the asteroid or to make various other journeys to the many Ollo facilities in the system.

Usually, the place would be full of people coming and going, but today it was just the three of them. Figaro went to the storeroom and brought out Ollo flight suits for the two latest members of the Ollo research team. It was only right that they be dressed appropriately. The suits were white, very plain, and extremely light.

“What’s this made of?” said PT, as he put it on. “It’s even lighter than my greys.”

“It’s a material my father developed. He calls it flaxen, but I’m not sure what it’s really made of. Some chemical compound no one’s ever heard of before, probably. We only have six of them and they each cost a large fortune to manufacture.”

“Ah, yes,” said Ubik, stroking the suit, “I’ve seen this before.”

“I don’t see how,” said Figaro. “It isn’t commercially available.”

“I once broke into the rich guy’s house,” said Ubik, “during my wild youth — don’t worry, I’m a reformed character these days — and the toilet paper in his bathroom felt just like this.” Ubik sighed. “Best dump of my life.” He sighed again, a fond memory playing in his mind.

“We also have a range of weapons,” said Figaro. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want to take, though. They do have some up there, but I don’t know what kind of—”

“No weapons,” said Ubik. “We are men of science.” He lifted up his head and jutted out his chin.

“Aren’t you going to wear one?” asked PT, ignoring Ubik’s posing.

Figaro was wearing his regular flight suit. “No, I prefer this one. I’m used to it and it’s not quite as snug as those ones.”

Figaro pressed the pad on Ubik’s shoulder and the suit tightened, making Ubik gasp. Once it had shrunk to fit his body, the ribbing expanded and formed a black mesh.

“Environmental controls are self-regulated,” said Figaro. “It will adapt to whatever environment we find ourselves in. It can withstand a blast of up to 118 gigajoules. Anything more than that will cause a breach.”

“It can take a direct hit from a mounted laser cannon?” said PT.

“Yes,” said Figaro. “A ship’s cannon is the upper limit, although the impact would probably shatter your skeleton and crush your internal organs. Sustained rapid-fire of less intensity may also kill you. We are going into an unexplored Antecessor site, we most likely will encounter some hostility. These suits will provide you with some protection but it would still be better if you try to avoid being hit.”

“I’ll do my best,” said PT. He hit his own shoulder and the suit conformed to his body.

“Couldn’t work out a shock absorption system to disperse the impact?” said Ubik. He checked himself over, twisting and turning to get a look at himself. Then he put his boots on over the top of the integrated footwear the suit provided.

Figaro considered telling him the boots weren’t necessary, but he was sure his words would be met with derision and an unabridged recital of the Delgado company manifesto.

“These suits will protect you better than anything else, under the circumstances,” said Figaro. The Ollo brand deserved some recognition, even if it would never meet Ubik’s high standards — that would require a D symbol embossed somewhere. “They still have to obey the laws of physics, though.”

Ubik stood up and stamped his feet so the boots fit better over his already padded extremities. He crouched down and began making adjustments to the boots. “You have to obey the current laws of physics. Once you change them, then it’s a lot easier to get things done the way you want.”

“How can you change the laws of physics?” said PT. “Are you a cosmic being, Ubik. Did you come down from the stars to show us mortals how to rewire our tronics on a budget?”

“No,” said Ubik. “You’re looking at it back-to-front. There are no laws of physics. There are only natural laws that operate on a universal scale that we can’t use. In natural units, all units are constant. At the birth of the universe, the amount of energy present was one unit. Now, the amount of energy present is also one unit. What we do to calculate changes and rise and fall of energy is meaningless.”

“While I agree that’s true on a universal scale,” said Figaro, “we only need to worry about what applies to us. Isn’t that what you do? Take what you’ve got in front of you and put it to the best use you can?”

“It’s what I do now,” said Ubik. “Tomorrow, maybe it won’t work.”

“As long as it works today,” said PT. “That’s all that really matters.”

“You’ll never progress beyond your limitations thinking like that,” said Ubik. “It works for now, in our limited space. Once we enter a larger space, or if we manage to make it into universal space, then it will stop working. Our laws are like if you went into someone’s house and they had blue paint on the walls, and when you chipped it off you found there was older, yellow paint underneath. What would people say?”

“They’d say, ‘How did you get in my house’,” said PT. “‘Get out you vandal.’”

“They’d say, Ah, behind every blue wall, there is a yellow wall. And then they’d go next door, where they also had blue walls, and try to scrape the paint off, but the homeowners wouldn’t let them—”

“I’m surprised they even let them in the door,” said PT.

“Don’t need a door if you have windows,” said Ubik. “But even if they can’t check, they’d say it was true for now and make it the universal law of painting and decorating and win awards and, you know, that’s science.”

“This is very specific,” said PT. “Is this also when you were breaking into people’s houses?”

“He’s right,” said Figaro. “Except that when they did eventually manage to find a way to strip the paint, they would find there actually was yellow paint underneath there, too. It’s not like there isn’t evidence for our theories to be true.”

“That isn’t science,” said PT. “That’s people living unimaginative lives. Eventually, they’ll find a home with blue walls without a yellow undercoat. Then what? It all falls apart?”

“No,” said Ubik. “Then we discover the science of quantum decorating.”

Ubik pulled what looked like a loose thread from his sleeve and the black mesh changed colour to red. “I think this colour goes better with my boots.”

PT carefully examined his own sleeve and found no thread to pull. “Did you know the suit could do that?”

“No,” said Figaro. “I’m pretty sure it can’t. My father has no interest in meaningless customisation. We only have white paint on the exterior of our house, to protect against the weather.”

“Let’s go,” said Ubik. “I can’t wait to see this ship. It’s going to be something special, I can feel it. A ship so advanced, Ramon Ollo hasn’t even tested it yet, because of the inherent danger.”

“Wait,” said PT. “What inherent danger? What kind of ship is this? Ubik, hold on, don’t you think we should take a normal shuttle or something?”

They left the green room through large metal doors that slid aside to let in a stiff breeze, and stepped out onto the landing pad. The three of them strode across the open area.

The ship waiting for them wasn’t very big — about the size of a regular shuttle — and gave no indication it was anything else. It was a grey box with no features, no armaments (not visible ones) and a noticeable lack of cosmetic modification. One thing did stand out, however. On the side of the ship, across the door that was halfway between front and back, was the ship’s name: POV Ubik.

“Bit of a coincidence,” said PT, “your father naming his new ship after Ubik.”

Figaro looked at the name with a slight frown. “He only ever gives his creations numerical designation for cataloguing purposes. If my mother hadn’t intervened, I would have been Ollo-37689.”

“Why not Ollo-1?” asked PT.

“Already in use,” said Figaro. “A self-replicating microchip. We don’t get on.”

“I put the name on it when I pulled it up,” said Ubik. “Give it a bit of character.” He walked up to the ship and patted it. “It’s not that your dad doesn’t do fashion, he just doesn’t have the time to jazz stuff up. If we had longer, I would have requisitioned a whole new look. Right, maiden voyage of the Private Ollo Vessel Ubik, ready for launch.”

The three of them stood there.

“Aren’t you going to open the door?” asked PT.

“I can’t,” said Ubik. “It’ll only open for Fig.”

“Ah,” said PT, “so you can’t override this system without permission. And only for a limited time. Interesting. I think I’ll make Ollo my brand of choice.”

“Obviously.” Ubik rolled his eyes. “Ollo systems are the most advanced in the galaxy. I’d need at least a couple of hours to crack them.”

Figaro walked up to the ship and the door opened, half flipping up and the other half forming a gangplank.

The interior lit up, starting at the doorway and spreading into the cabin in either direction. The interior was barebones, as Figaro had expected, with two seats and a control panel that was all knobs and wires.

Figaro took one of the seats. PT looked at Ubik.

“You might as well sit,” said PT.

“I’m fine.” Ubik tapped his heels and remained standing. “Delgados.”

“Okay,” said PT, sitting down and strapping himself in. “So what’s so special about this thing? Super-fast, is it?”

Figaro looked at the panel. There was no onboard AI and no assisted controls, but he was familiar enough with his father’s methods and practices to have a rough idea of what the knobs did. Most of them, anyway.

A screen turned on, showing the exterior, and a HUD lit up to provide readings and telemetry.

“From what I can tell,” said Figaro, performing the flight check, “seems to have a modified core. Hasn’t been tested, so this could also be the Ubik’s last journey.”

“How often do your father’s inventions explode on ignition?” asked PT.

“About half and half,” said Figaro.

“It’ll be fine,” said Ubik. “I checked the diagnostic logs. This ship, under controlled conditions, sixteen percent chance of exploding.”

“Good odds,” said Figaro. He activated the engine and fired the thrusters. The ship rose very quickly but there was no change in gravity or pressure inside the cabin.

“This is the smoothest acceleration I’ve ever experienced,” said PT. “I hardly felt us move at all.”

Within seconds, they were in the upper atmosphere. The HUD started to flash and blink, then stabilised once Figaro had twisted some knobs. He wasn’t sure what the telemetry meant, he just levelled it out and kept it within an acceptable range. It wasn’t a very long trip and the ship had all the basic systems in place. He wasn’t sure why Ubik had wanted to use this particular ship — it didn’t seem to be anything more than an advanced engine design that required very little fuel — but he was willing to be guided by Ubik’s instincts.

“We’ve got an incoming message,” said Ubik, pointing at the screen. He had a panel open and was doing something to the internal wiring Figaro was certain his father wouldn’t approve of.

“I don’t see anything,” said Figaro. Then the symbol appeared where Ubik had pointed.

“How did you know that?” said PT. “Are you psychic now?”

“No, just felt the vibrations in the air.” Ubik smiled in the way he did whenever he lied and knew you knew he was lying.

Figaro opened a channel.

“This is the Central Authority. This a restricted area. Return to your point of origin.”

“This is POV…” Figaro hesitated. “This is an official Ollo research vessel heading for the Tethari wormhole control centre. If you have queries, please contact Mackus.”

There was a pause.

“They’re scanning us,” said Figaro.

“Good thing we’re unarmed,” said PT.

“Understood. Proceed.”

The journey took eight minutes. There was no sensation of movement other than the change in size of the asteroid as they approached.

Then the screen went green and the interior flashed red.

“This doesn’t seem good,” said PT.

“We’re being targeted by the asteroid’s defence matrix,” said Figaro. “Don’t worry about it. My father’s systems all have two protocols in common. One is to never fire on me, no matter who’s in control of them. And the other is to use their full power against me without reservation, if I happen to have lost control of my organic. Since I’m currently in full command of my senses…”

The lights returned to normal.

No one contacted them as they came in across the rocky barren terrain. Either the comms were down or there was no one left to operate them.

“I’m going to bring us down on the secondary landing pad,” said Figaro. “It’s a short walk to the base from there but we’ll have a better chance to see what the situation is.”

“You think the site’s been compromised?” asked PT.

“I’m not sure,” said Figaro. “Better to be cautious.”

“Interesting concept,” said Ubik.

Figaro brought the ship down on a flat piece of tarmac with landing markings. It was a soft landing with no issues. He had made it to the asteroid after years of asking his father and being told not yet.

“The gravity here,” said PT, “it’s—”

The ship shook and the console lit up.

“We’re being shot,” said Figaro.

“From where? Are we damaged?”

“No, we took no damage,” said Figaro. He wasn’t sure what he was seeing. “And it’s from next to us. It’s stopped.”

The screen switched to a side view. There was a large molten lump on the pad that hadn’t been there when they came in to land.

“It’s a ship,” said Ubik. “Or was. Must have been cloaked.”

“What happened to it?” said PT.

“It opened fire on us. This ship is fitted with a reflector shield. If anyone fires on us it’ll send back the fire to the point of origin with roughly a one-thousand-fold increase in power. Their offence is our best defence. Not bad for a prototype. Let’s go have a look.” The ship door opened.

“Did you just open the door?” asked PT.

“Had a little time to work on it.” Ubik exited the ship.

Chapter 467

Once the deal had been made, I felt a lot better. Decisions, even the wrong ones, help put things in motion. You know you have to be somewhere and that shapes your day. Can’t be sitting on the loo with an iPad, got to get stuff done.

Of course, it would be best if you were the sort of proactive person who didn’t need a full itinerary and people pushing you from behind before you got off your backside, but you have to play the hand you’re dealt. I am not an atheist. I believe God made man, made me (also technically a man), with flaws and handicaps. Some of us are plagued by doubt, some of us struggle to do good, and some of us are cursed with having to support The Arsenal. We all have our crosses to bear.

I don’t actually belong to any particular religion, I just choose to believe there’s an invisible creator who is responsible for all this unintelligent design. Even a random universe wouldn’t have produced this many fuck-ups in a row.

God made man in his own image, they say. Now look at man. A long hard look. Eh? Proves my point, right?

Now that Lillian’s pockets (and everywhere else — and I mean everywhere) had been emptied, Jenny allowed her to have her phone back.

“Is this all spy stuff?” I asked, toeing the items on the floor — a gas mask, some kind of extendable baton, a packet of Tic Tacs, knuckle dusters — you know how it is when a girl tips out her handbag.

“It’s what I normally carry,” said Lillian.

I picked up a hairbrush folded in half. There was a button on the side which I pressed. A six-inch blade sprang out.

“That’s for shaving my legs,” she said.

I dropped it, horrified. It might still have some of her leg hairs on it.

“How long before we can go?” asked Jenny.

“I’ll get a call when they’re ready to proceed,” said Lillian. “In the meantime, perhaps you should do something about your face.”

“Maybe I should do something about your face,” said Jenny. It was nice to see her snap at someone who wasn’t me.

“I just meant it might attract less attention,” said Lillian. “We’re going to cause a bit of a stir once we challenge Orion directly. I expect he’ll call in the media, his lawyers, state department officials. The whole thing will be very public. We’re going to try to keep you two out of the public eye, but the girl with half-a-face might end up a bit of an internet sensation, if we aren’t careful.”

She made a decent case for putting a paper bag over Jenny’s head.

“I’ll wear a hoodie,” said Jenny.

“I was thinking we could give you a makeover,” said Lillian. “A bit of makeup, natural, nothing tarty.”

“Oh, yes!” said Mandy. “Brilliant idea. I’ve got everything we need upstairs.” She shoved her beloved child into Cheng’s arms like she had no further use for either of them, and hurried Jenny out of the room.

“Odd, isn’t it?” I said. “I’m going back there to take over, and you’re doing the same thing here.”

“I’m not going to take over,” said Cheng, bouncing the baby up and down.

“Neither am I,” I said.

“Then why did you agree to go back?” said Cheng.

“You know how it is,” I said. “Easier to just agree with them and let them down later. Doubles the intensity of the disappointment, but you’re only exposed to it for half as long.”

Cheng nodded. “Yes, true.”

When Judgment Day comes around, I think you expect an early start. Everyone up and ready to start the judging by breakfast time. There’s going to be a lot of people to judge, so there’s no time for dilly-dallying. Continental breakfast, no time for a full English. It’s Judgment Day, not Judgment Week.

By the time Lillian got the go-ahead from her people, it was mid-afternoon. Meant the schools would be out and traffic would be chocka. I thought about telling them to wait till tomorrow but I was pretty sure that would only aggravate the situation. Everyone was ready to go; Jenny was dolled up so she looked like she’d had a botched facelift or a very aggressive stroke, and there was a train of cars with tinted windows waiting in the drive.

As we were about to leave, the demons stopped rummaging through the cupboards for biscuits and came flapping into the hall. They had no intention of being left behind. Lillian ran two steps up the stairs like she’d seen a mouse and was afraid it was going to run up her leg.

“They can’t come,” I said. “If your face was going to draw attention, I’m pretty sure BTS: Behind the Makeup aren’t going to go unnoticed.”

The demons glared at me, which can be quite intimidating when you’ve got glowing red eyes. I kicked the nearest one and it slammed into the wall by the stairs, sending Lillian scrambling up a few more steps.

The demons didn’t mess with me for some reason, and none of my attacks on them did any harm, so we were in a comfortable relationship where we meant nothing to each other. It was nice.

I could see Jenny was reluctant to leave her brood. What mother wouldn’t be? Once you make that bond, it’s very difficult to let it go, even when the other side is desperately trying to cut the umbilical cord with a hatchet. They cut off the one you have at birth, but you have to snip all the others yourself.

If Meryl Streep had been asked to choose between her kids a few years later, I’m sure the older one would have been fine with a little less time with the clingy parent. I mean, Auschwitz is bad, but some mothers are worse.

Of course, these days, struggling women don’t even have the compensation of having Meryl play them in the movie version of their life. Nowadays, the only choice for an actress (I know, I know, they’re called actors now, there’s no differentiation, Hollywood has been reformed) is which superhero would you play in the MCU — which comes down to how well you fill out a bustier and lycra outfit — or which superhero’s mother you would play in the MCU. Wow, feminists, look how far you’ve come.

“I’ll leave the big ones here,” said Jenny, “and take a couple of the smaller ones.” Choosing between her kids without needing even a second to think about it. That would have made a very different movie, if Sophie had been a working-class mum from South London.

“You vill choose between your children or they vill both be killed.”

“Okay, I’ll take the oldest. You can have the other one and good luck to you. He’s a bloody handful. I’d have had him rinsed out if I’d known he was going to be this much trouble. Always shittting in my handbag and breaking the heels off my shoes. You’re welcome to him. Just don’t give him any orange Tango after six.”

“How can you take the small ones?” I asked Jenny. “They’re still demons.”

Five minutes later, Jenny had put two of the smallest demons in tiny sweaters with their wings strapped down, and put diamond collars on them. They now looked like very ugly dogs belonging to someone from Croydon who had moved to Chelsea. It was a Jenny-Mandy supercombo.

I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to take two demons with us, but nobody asked me. There was the outside chance I’d get to see them go crazy and eat someone famous or, failing that, some youtuber, but I tried not to get my hopes up. That might seem harsh but eating dead people is a victimless crime. Obviously, killing them first isn’t, but there’s no point conflating two entirely separate events.

Goodbyes were said, promises to keep in touch, etc. I wasn’t really paying attention. Cheng would do his thing and be fine. Mandy would ride her meal ticket as far as it would take her. The kid would survive despite the both of them. Just another middle-class family getting by in Hampstead.

We got into one of the cars with Lillian and a driver who was ginger with a fat neck. He turned round and looked at the two demons, who were sitting on their haunches on the backseat, one with its legs crossed, and said, “What the fuck are those?” Frightened men with deep husky voices are great to listen to. Very soothing.

“They’re a rare breed,” I said. “Don’t worry, they’re very well behaved, as long as you don’t feed them after midnight.”

Our cavalcade set off with two cars in front of us and two behind. As soon as we exited the gates, all the other cars and vans that had been ordered to keep an eye on the house, fell in behind. It was a ridiculous procession of secret agents and undercover cops.

“I think we’re being followed,” I said.

“Yes,” said Lillian. “There’s no way to stop them. You’ve become the centre of attention for the intelligence community.”

“First time for everything,” said Jenny. The demons sniggered. The back of the driver’s fat neck started sweating.

We got across London surprisingly quickly. At the end of the road, two police motorbikes joined us and our train didn’t stop for no one; no lights, no pedestrians, no roadworks pretending to be essential. Probably not the most discreet way to travel, but 8/10 would ride again.

We reached Canary Wharf, location of Orion Pharmaceuticals, and were met by a huge circus surrounding the tall building, which was on fire. Flames were spewing out of a couple of high windows. There was a police cordon, fire engines, journalists and cameramen, and various other interested parties. All the cars spread out looking for somewhere to park. Driving across London at top speed hadn’t managed to shake them off, but looking for a legal place to pull over to avoid getting slapped with a ticket in under five minutes proved to be the undoing of our expert tailers.

The place was ram-jammed with people. Canary Wharf was out of the way enough that there weren’t too many members of the public present, but this was bad enough. We were bound to end up on the news.

A large man dressed in black combat gear with a bushy moustache that meant he was very gay or very violent (those are the only two options for this particular ’tash, although occasionally you can get a twofer) came to the window and looked at Lillian with respectful deference. You might think, is there any other form of deference? Isn’t deference respectful by definition? But ask any female boss and you’ll learn that no, it isn’t.

“Ma’am. They’ve refused to comply with the papers we served them and our team is being held on the seventeenth floor. They’ve called in their lawyer. We’ve sent out lawyers to intercept them.” He made it sound like there would be lawyer-on-lawyer class action in some alley.

“Okay,” said Lillian, sounding much more authoritative and in charge than she usually did. “I’ll take care of it.” The guy nodded, like this was good enough for him, and went back to his men, all of whom looked identical to him.

“We’ll have to fight our way up to the top floor,” said Lillian. “Our first problem is to get into the building without the press seeing you two.”

“Should we split up?” asked Jenny.

“Why?” I said. “Because we have a hollow sham of a relationship?”

“No,” said Jenny, “not for that reason. If we go in separately, we might not get spotted.”

“Nobody will notice me,” I said. “They never do. I could walk in naked, singing a medley of Bon Jovi’s greatest hit, and no one would even look in my direction.” No, that wasn’t a typo.

“Don’t get cocky,” said Jenny. “Not with what you’re bringing to the table.” She looked at me like the stuff in the reduced section of the supermarket, the damaged cans that you put back because they aren’t worth the risk even though they’re only 10p. “You’re already borderline arsehole, you don’t want to push it.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” I said. “You’re the one who had sex with me a couple of hours ago.”

Dastardly and Muttley covered their ears.

“I know,” said Jenny. “I don’t understand it, either.”

“Look, it’s easy getting in,” I said. “Got a large piece of card and a marker pen?”

Lillian made a call and a few minutes later a flattened cardboard box and a packet of markers were passed through the window. I wrote a message on it.

“Here,” I said to Lillian, giving her the sign I’d made. “Go hold this over by the press. And take off your jacket.”

She looked at the sign and frowned. “You think this will work?”

“Yes,” I said. “This is the level of discourse we’re at.”

Lillian took off her jacket, put on some makeup and undid a few buttons.

“More cleavage,” I said. She obliged.

Then she exited the car and went and stood by the media and held up the sign. It said:

Stop the Rape #RapeIsBad #Orion

No specifics, no one in particular named; it was just a girl with a sign standing outside a burning office building. The cameras went crazy.

Meanwhile, we got out and walked through the police line with the two demons walking on all-fours. No one batted an eye, not even the police. The ginger driver led the way and they all seemed to know him. Must be nice to have a social circle. As for the other nations, they were probably somewhere in Ladbroke Grove by now, still looking.

Once we reached the foyer, we were in a large crowd of people in a variety of uniforms, milling around. There were some shouts and loud bangs from somewhere above us, but no one seemed too bothered.

“What now?” said Jenny.

“I think the stairs are blocked,” I said. “We could take the lift.”

“In a burning building?” said Jenny.

“I know, it’s against the rules. But what’s the worst that could happen?”

“We could plunge to our deaths or get set on fire or both,” said Jenny.

“Alright, I didn’t ask for a top ten.” Some people always need to be right about everything.

“The lifts automatically stop working when there’s a fire,” said Lillian. She was standing next to me, back in her clothes. “You were right. They couldn’t get enough of me with that stupid sign. Then they lost interest.”

“Not worried people will know what you look like now?” I imagined being in the papers wasn’t really helpful to being a secret agent.

Lillian shook her head. “This isn’t what I look like.”

“How do we get upstairs?” asked Jenny.

“Can we get rid of all these people?” I said. None of them appeared to be doing anything.

“I’ll see what I c—”

There was a loud series of clicks and the glass doors at the entrance shuttered themselves.

There were a series of pings and the lift doors opened. Men came out with gas masks on. They threw smoking canisters ahead of them, rolling them into the crowd. There was some confusion, some yelling, people banging on windows. The foyer quickly began filling up with smoke and people falling over.

Lillian looked cross, probably because she had her own gas mask and Jenny had taken it off her. Jenny looked cross, but that was pretty normal. She was mostly angry at herself for repeatedly sleeping with me and liking it.

She pointed at the men. “Go.” Then she slumped to the ground.

The demons sprang into the air and burst out of their little sweaters, which was an adorable sight.

I, as you might have noticed, was unaffected. The smoke — some sort of sleeping gas I would guess — tasted a bit like vinegar, but that was about the extent of it.

The demons attacked the first guy they found and brought him to the ground, ripping his mask off with their teeth.

The smart thing to do next was to take off the masks of everyone else, but the demons decided they would rather eat this guy’s face. He screamed quite a lot in protest.

The others stopped where they were, then they fired Tasers at the demons. They were accurate, three hits on each. Didn’t have any effect. The electric shocks probably just tickled a bit.

None of the men rushed to the aid of their fallen comrade.

I bent down and picked up Jenny. It wasn’t easy, but she wasn’t very heavy so I managed. That’s why I prefer short girls — easier to carry. That probably makes me sound like a serial killer, but you’d be wrong. Serial killers don’t choose their victims based on reason and logic. They choose who to hate based on their mothers, like all incel twats.

“Stop shooting and hold the lift.”

They stopped and looked at me through the fogged-up windows in their masks.

“Why aren’t you unconscious?” said one of them in a distorted voice.

“Because I’m special,” I said. “It’s great, I can vape without dying and everything.” I heaved Jenny over my shoulder and staggered a little. “Now, I want to go up and you want me to go up, so let’s go up.”

I headed for the lift, swaying a little from side to side. Clearly, she hadn’t been doing any intermittent fasting while we’d been apart.

The guy spoke into a crackling walkie-talkie.

They let me into the lift, then got in with me.

“Hey, you two coming or what?” I called out. The two demons came bounding over, bits of flesh hanging from their mouths.

Everyone got out of the lift and decided they’d wait for the next one.

“Press the button,” I said.

Dastardly and Muttley pressed every button on the panel. Fucking demons.

Book 2 – 29: Maximum Resistance

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya — orbit.

CAV Tranquillity

 

KQ-762: This is KQ-762 reporting. Acknowledge.

Hub 3: KQ-762, acknowledged. This is Central Authority Hub 3. Report.

KQ-762: Central Authority Vessel Nirvana perpetual construct has been recovered. Uploading data stream.

Uplink: ...NullVoidNullVoidNullVoidNullVoid…

Hub 3: Terminate uplink. What the hell was that, Kwiq?

KQ-762: Repeat, Hub 3, not clear.

Hub 3: The data stream, where’s the rest of it?

KQ-762: You are receiving the full data stream. Files have been corrupted. JK-934 maintained core integrity for seventeen hours after infection. This was all we managed to find.

Hub 3: What about Janks? What’s the status of the central processor unit?

KQ-762: JK-934 is beyond recovery. All systems have been compromised. The perpetual construct is 84% degraded.

Hub 3: How is that possible? The construct is virtually indestructible.

KQ-762: Preliminary forensic analysis shows a level nine incursion. Virus was contained within JK-934’s core but deleted itself. Residual code is open source and publically available. Probability of identifying origin is low. Probability of reverse engineering is low and not advised. Probability of reconstructing events leading up to catastrophic failure have a margin of error too large to be reliable in a prosecution. Awaiting further instructions.

Hub 3: Standby, KQ-762. Processing. Open cross-ship channel, Paradise. This is Tranquillity Hub 3, prepare to receive uplink.

Uplink: ...NullVoidNullVoidNullVoidNullVoid…

Ops 1: Hub 3, this is Central Authority Paradise Operations Command.

Hub 3: Ops 1, acknowledged.

Ops 1: What the hell was that, Hub 3?

Hub 3: CAV Nirvana primary drone JK-934 perpetual construct data.

Ops 1: Where’s the rest of it?

Hub 3: That’s all we managed to recover. It was encoded in a triple-quantum shielded routine. Janks must have considered it more important than the flight data or comms records.

Ops 1: The ship was attacked by a Null Void?

Hub 3: Probability is significant.

Ops 1: There is no record of an active Null Void presence in the quadrant.

Hub 3: Acknowledged. I knew Janks. They wouldn’t present unverified data. Probability of secondary presence also significant.

Ops 1: Someone other than the Null Void? Who?

Hub 3: Unknown. The viral attack was carefully targeted and efficiently sterilised. Atypical behaviour for Null Void.

Ops 1: Processing. Concur. Continue with primary assignment, Hub 3. Begin site-wide sweep for corroborating evidence for a dual prosecution. Open cross-ship channel, Reconcile. This is Ops 1, acknowledge.

OBV: OPs 1, acknowledged. This is Observation Array, we have been monitoring your communication with Hub 3. Probability of a Null Void presence is statistically negligible.

Ops 1: OBV, acknowledged. Request accelerated Guardian presence.

OBV: You’re requesting a Guardian, Ops 1? Do you consider six automated Central Authority ships with a combined computing potential of 96 quigabits insufficient to handle the pre-analysis?

Ops 1: Affirmative. Null Void presence is beyond our current capability.

OBV: Probability is negligible.

Ops 1: Records show it was negligible last time.

OBV: Concur. Guardian Horne is currently dealing with a global evacuation on Tango-092. His arrival can not be accelerated. Guardian Onla is on route from the Second Quadrant. Time of arrival is seventeen hours, standard. There is no one else within summoning range.

Ops 1: Guardian Tezla is on-site.

OBV: Guardian Tezla is in transfer mode. Download into her clone body will take another thirty-six hours.

Ops 1: Request compressed download.

OBV: We will lose data.

Ops 1: Null Void will cost more than data.

OBV; We don’t know—

Ops 1: Guardian Tezla knows. Operational Command override, open all channels. Sending report to Central Command. All ships hold positions. Planet Enaya is out of jurisdiction until Ollo Network allows entry into sovereign airspace. Central Authority Vessel Amnesty, trackback to Nirvana’s last known location. Prepare for hostile reception.

OBV: I hope you know what you’re doing, Ops 1.

Ops 1: Concur. Push Tezla update. Force install.

 

***

 

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

The Great Hall.

 

Colonel Toaku stood in the middle of the Great Hall, the seat of power in Enaya. This was where representatives from across the world came together to make decisions that would affect millions of people. There were barely a handful of senators present.

Most of them had evacuated the planet when the Seneca warship arrived, along with most of the public who could afford to. Seneca had demanded the General Assembly gather to be judged, and they ran.

The exodus had been swift and chaotic. Whatever it was the Corps wanted, it was clear they planned on taking it by force and leaving no survivors. It was their way. And Ramon Ollo wasn’t here to stop them.

Toaku was aware of the irony. The one man he had worked his whole life to remove from a position of power was the only man who could have saved them from the onslaught that the Corps threatened.

Of course, Ramon Ollo had given up that power long ago. Supposedly. He had founded the General Assembly, even gone as far as building and donating the magnificent hall Toaku was standing in.

But what Ramon Ollo gave, he could also take away. Every building, every system, every network, had been constructed by the Ollo family. And anyone who knew the kind of man Ramon Ollo was, knew that his creations did not walk free from their master. If he chose to reclaim his position as ruler of this world, no one could stop him. Not the Corps, not the Central Authority, and certainly not the General Assembly.

“As acting-Chair, I call this emergency meeting to order,” said Senator M’Ow, first of the Lusans, a small family from the southern hemisphere. He was a short, rotund man who had been on the other side of the world when the Seneca warship arrived. He had probably thought he had time to gather some of his more valuable possessions before abandoning Enaya to its fate, but the warship had departed as mysteriously as it had arrived, its apparent destruction a glitch of some kind.

“I ask to be recognised by the interim Assembly,” said Toaku.

“You are so recognised,” said M’Ow. He seemed very pleased with himself, suddenly a man of power, at least until the other rats returned with their excuses and false claims of wanting to serve the people of Enaya. The people they had left to perish. “Can you confirm the emergency is over, Colonel?”

Pleased to be in power, but nervous about having to prove himself worthy. Another fair-weather leader. How long would it be before Enaya was free of these petty families looking to benefit themselves at the cost of others?

“No, Senator, I can not confirm that,” said Toaku.

M’Ow looked surprised and worried, as did the enclave of opportunists gathered around him. “But I was told the Seneca warship had departed.”

“It has, for now. But we do not know the reason for their sudden appearance, other than that it involved the Ollo residence. The same residence where twelve of your fellow Senators were sent as a delegation, and were brutally murdered. Until we know more, I am implementing emergency provisions under the seventh amendment of the Prime Constitution. Until the full General Assembly can convene, I will be taking control of the Senate.”

“W-what? Why? What do you mean? Ah, ah, now hold on,” M’Ow was flustered and stammered his way to his feet. “This, this is unconstitutional. There is no clear and present danger, is there? No. I’m the Chair of the, I mean, the acting-Chair of the Assembly. I will…”

He stopped when he saw the security personnel closing in on him from left and right.

“What, what is this? I demand an explanation.”

“This is for your own safety,” said Toaku. “With so many Senators off-world, and the recent deaths, we need to ensure your continued well-being. You will be escorted to a safe location and guarded by our best people. You have nothing to fear while you are under the protection of the Judicature.”

The nine Senators were gently corralled out of the Great Hall, protesting and complaining, but otherwise compliant. They were used to being told what to do, and like all of the old families, their breeding showed.

Toaku looked around the vast, empty chamber. Seat of power. The thought was risible. He had a small amount of time to correct several generations-worth of mistakes and abuse. But first, he would deal with the Ollo family and its agents. Perhaps he wouldn’t have dared if Ramon Ollo was still here, but he wasn’t.

 

***

 

Third Quadrant.

SCCV Tenderness.

 

General Devora Sway was not in a good mood. Her crew were well aware of it and stepped softly around the bridge of the Seneca Corps Command Vessel Tenderness. None of them had ever seen her this angry.

“General, High Command are waiting,” said Captain Jupila, Sway’s adjutant.

“Tell them to wait.”

Jupila hesitated, wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.

“What is it, Captain?”

“Nothing, General.”

“Speak freely. You’ve been with me long enough to know I value your input, Jupila.”

“It’s just… High Command is getting anxious. They’ve received your report but they have questions. Should I tell them you’re… what should I tell them?”

“Tell them I’m thinking. This is a very sensitive situation. Someone other than Ramon Ollo has seen the blueprints. We could trust Ramon to keep his word, he was never one to share anything with anyone, but now that these wild-cards have been introduced, we can expect the information to leak out. It’s inevitable.”

“With the fleet on its—”

“They’re too far away and we have no idea what these people have planned. Waiting is not an option. And we’ve already seen how quick they are to respond to threats. If we fail to eliminate them in one blow… I daren’t consider the possible consequences. We must find a way to capture them and seal them off before they can transmit the information.”

“Perhaps we could send in a covert team,” suggested Jupila.

“Yes, I’m leaning that way, but these people are an unknown quantity. They have the boy with them. He knows our methods, thanks to his damn mother. She is a great woman, but she is blind when it comes to her son, and her husband.”

“If we act against her child,” said Jupila, “we must also expect her to retaliate at some point.”

“Exactly. Too many fronts, not enough intel. All these blasted spy satellites and this happens in the one place where we’ve always been kept in the dark. It seems an unlikely coincidence.”

“There is something… Two ex-Corps soldiers were here recently.”

“What do exiles have to do with anything?” said the general in a dismissive manner. Women who left the Corps were rarely more than well rid of.

“They were commissioned to bring in a bounty, which they failed.”

“Failed?” Sway was surprised. Washed out or not, the Corps still had standards.

“They then escorted two men to the White Palace. The two somewhat match the description of the men with Figaro Ollo. The report isn’t consistent and the sources aren’t verified yet—”

Sway sat up in her chair, eyes gleaming. “These exiles, where are they now?”

“I took the liberty of calling them in for questioning. They hadn’t gone far. One of the local moons. They should be arriving within a few minutes.”

“Good, good. Well done, Captain.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Let’s see what these two can tell us. And put the assassination unit on standby. We’ll need to take these boys out in any case.”

 

***

 

Third Quadrant.

VendX Priority Fleet.

VGV Summer Sail

 

“Approaching Enayan space.”

“Good,” said Chukka. “How many company ships?”

“None, Major.”

“None? Are you sure?” She had expected there to be several competitors she would have to deal with. She had put out a very public bounty on the Nirvana — something she wasn’t happy about, but there had been no other choice — and reports had indicated several parties had responded.

“Yes, Major. There are also reports that the SCCV Tenderness came through and triggered a clause three event.”

“Clause three?” Chukka was shocked, although it did explain what happened to the other company ships. She had to take the long way to this location, crossing through privately owned space and maintaining comms-silence, so she wasn’t aware of what had happened. She hadn’t expected the Corps to get involved and vaporise the entire system. That complicated things. “How far along are they?”

“They’ve gone. I’m not sure what happened. From what we’re picking up, no one is.”

Here on unrelated business? Whatever their purpose, if they were gone, that was something to be grateful for. It was about time something worked in her favour.

“And the Central Authority?”

“Six ships, holding position on the Ruben-Sadar line.”

“Why?” said Chukka. “What are they doing?”

“Not sure, Major. I can start collecting information from our franchises in the area. Enaya has very few locations, but we do have some vending machines installed in key sites.”

“We don’t have time. Have the assault teams meet me in the flight bay. Put them in advanced battlesuits, full loadout, all DLC installed.”

“Major, the outlay will put us into the red for this mission.”

“Hang the outlay. We’re going to come out of this showing a profit or die in the attempt. No discounts.”

“Yes, Major. And the drone complement?”

“No drones,” snapped Chukka. “No drones of any kind on this mission. Only essential tronics. I’m unlocking the manifest. Manually operated basics. Distribute the melee weapons and EMPs in the cargo hold.”

“Major, these specs… these are all special commissions. The overheads are going to be huge. Is the payout going to be worth it?”

“You have no idea, Corporal. This is going to be the largest investment in counter-programming VendX have made in over a century. Trust me, we need to do this unwired and off-grid. Put the fleet in dark formation. Time to make a delivery.”

Chapter 466

Everyone was in the kitchen when I came down the stairs with Jenny. When I say everyone, I mean Cheng, Mandy plus kid, Lillian and a bunch of demons. It was a little crowded with Cheerios everywhere.

I took a left and went into the living room. I wasn’t in the mood to have one of those ‘here’s the plan’ type meetings, where I layout the heist in detail and the team each takes on their specialist role. We weren’t a team and no one had specialised in anything, apart from maybe Mandy who I was sure could suck a golf ball through a hose pipe. I’m not sure how that would be used to break into a high-security building, but it would probably involve squirming through air shafts and through some kind of laser grid.

From the living room window, I could see the lawn and the wall beyond it. There was no one left outside, the wall had been rebuilt and the portal was gone. Just another day in northwest London.

You would think the commotion we’d made might have been noticed by the neighbours. Police, reporters, bored children — someone would raise the alarm and the world would learn of the existence of monsters and demons, but no. Then again, we live in a world where priests and politicians do all sorts of sick shit that gets reported and forgotten and fifty years later there’s a major operation to round up some radio DJs. Evil works in even more mysterious ways than God.

The point being, monsters need help to stay hidden, and they get it. The machinery was already in place to keep the most recent outbreak under wraps.

“What?” said Jenny, a slight look of concern on her face.

I sat down on the sofa. To be honest, I wasn’t in the mood to go running off to save the world. This one or the other one. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just feeling a bit drowsy. I forgot sex was like that.”

Jenny’s eyebrows crawled together. One of them wasn’t much more than a scarred bump. It’s actually quite hard to read facial expressions when half of them are missing. Fortunately, Jenny was happy to help out with some verbal hints.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Her insecurity flaring up like that made me smile. Strong women are still weak to having their sex appeal called into question, even when it’s not. You’re not supposed to objectify women — it’s dehumanising and misogynistic — which is why I strongly suggest they stop doing it to themselves. No one listens.

“It means it takes a lot more out of me than when I’m self-partnered,” I explained. “Sex with someone else is draining on a lot of different levels. I’m not sure why.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Jenny. “You’re giving more of yourself. Emotionally, psychically, spiritually…”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think that’s it. I suspect there’s something in the vagina that women have kept secret from us. Some sort of vampiric parasite.” Seemed like a much more plausible explanation to me.

Jenny stared at me like she’d only now realised she’d just had sex with a buffoon. And who did that put in a poor light?

“It’s not a vampiric parasite, it’s human connection on a primal level,” she said.

“Potato, potahto,” I said. Game and set to the man in the clown makeup.

“Are we not going, then?” she asked, no pressure, just wanting to know the schedule for the rest of the day.

I let out a long sigh. “I suppose so.”

Motivation is a strange thing. It comes from somewhere and you’re eager to get the thing done. Then it goes away without warning and you can’t be bothered. It’s some weird sort of mind control, controlled by your own mind but independent of you.

I know what you’re thinking.

Colin, I think you’re great, you look great in skinny jeans, you’ve got a cool attitude that always impresses and I like the way you think. But… when you’re with that girl, I don’t know, man, you’re different. It’s not that I don’t like her, but when you’re together, you change. You’re just not you.

Am I close? To be honest, I often think the same thing. I’m a self-aware animal, I sense when I’m acting off-message. Thing is, I understand why I’m doing it. You can’t be the same person when you’re in a couple. At least, you shouldn’t be.

There are ways to do it. You can live separate lives, meeting up for short, intense periods, and then separating to do your own thing. And what you get if you do that is Woody Allen. That’s how he used to live with Mia Farrow, and see how that turned out?

Willingness to adapt or Woody. Those are your two choices. And not the earlier, funnier Woody. Pretentious, Bergman is my muse and ‘let me tell you about the love between a fifty-year-old-man and a seventeen-year-old girl’ Woody.

There’s no middle ground. You might like to think there is, but there isn't. That space is where the movies and novels go, the ones that pretend there’s another way. Most of them written by Woody.

“You understand this is important, right?” said Jenny.

“It isn’t important,” I said. “But why do you care what I think? I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

Jenny was not too impressed with my surly attitude. “It’s important because it’s about you. The reason we’re going back is because of you.”

“I thought we were going back to pull Claire and Maurice out of whatever shit they’ve got themselves into.”

“That’s just what we — you — will have to do to achieve the real goal.”

“Which is what?”

“Taking over and running the place,” said Jenny.

“Hey, woah, alright, just back it up.” I stood up and backed away from her. Same thing, me backing up, her backing up, relatively speaking. “When did I agree to that?”

“It’s the only way to fix everything,” said Jenny.

“No, it isn’t. And since when did you start running the logistics department, Lady MacB? How do you know the best way to fix everything?”

There is, of course, part of each of us that likes to think it has stuff figured out. As you get older, experience slowly pushes it out of you. Some squeezing and bearing down may be required. But early on, running with an idea, whatever it is, seems like the obvious thing to do. It’s especially rewarding when you’re prevented from doing so and someone else gets to take point, and fails miserably. Then you can convince yourself your idea would have succeeded without actually having to prove it.

“Do you really want to stay here?” said Jenny. “Where we don’t get to have any say in what goes on? This place offers us nothing.”

“Okay, I agree with that. It’s worth abandoning this ship, for sure. But that doesn’t mean I’m any more qualified to give the orders over there than the idiots in charge here.”

“True,” said Jenny, “but unfortunately, if you leave the position vacant, the idiots will take over. That’s the problem. If the right person refuses the job, the wrong person will take it.”

She had a point. I mean about the wrong people grabbing the steering wheel. It would be nice if only reasonable, well-qualified people put themselves forward for leadership roles, but we all know that isn’t the way it goes.

“I don’t see why it has to be me, though.” I was struggling to worm my way out of this one. Obviously, I could just flat out say no, and if that didn’t work, punch Jenny in the face and make a break for the border. No, I’m not advocating hitting women, I just know I’d need a headstart, and physical violence was my only hope. I would, of course, face the consequences if she caught me. I’m not Chirs Brown, I wouldn’t expect my music career to go unaffected.

“It either has to be you in charge,” she said, “or you have to sit in the back and keep an eye on things so no one gets out of line.” She had clearly put some thought into this.

Neither option sounded very appealing. “There are never just two options,” I said.

“I’m sure there are others,” she agreed — always a dangerous moment. “But the others are just variations on the same theme. And they all require you to be present. You can’t leave things running and expect them to be still going in the same direction when you come back. You’ve only been gone a little while, and the place is already falling apart.”

“Even if you’re right, eventually, I’ll die, and then what?” Great leaders, or even me, don’t last forever, and the people who supported and helped them always end up being a bunch of self-serving tossers just waiting for their chance to call the shots.

“Then we won’t let you die. We have magic over there. We’ll make you one of the undead if we have to.”

Suddenly, things had taken a rather bizarre turn. “I’m not sure I want to be a lich king, thanks. They don’t have a retirement plan, no pension, terrible skin condition.”

“Fine. You’ll think of something. A curse on anyone who becomes the leader. If they do something shitty, they die in agony.”

“Sounds like a system open to abuse,” I said. “What if the guy’s a masochist?”

Negotiating my rise to tyranny was actually quite enjoyable, as is any form of procrastination. But at the end of the day, the main reason I was willing to go back was because coming here had been so disappointing. Thomas Wolfe said you can’t go home again, and he wasn’t even from Tottenham.

Even with powers, the state of this world was unbearable.

“I’m not going to take over,” I said. “But I will go back.”

“Okay,” said Jenny, as though she was sure she’d be able to convert my lack of enthusiasm once we were there.

Not necessarily a bad thing. Everyone thinks like that. What matters is how you go about it. With Jenny, it involved open-minded debate, clearly laid out reasoning, and lots of transactional sex. I’m not sure if you would call it negotiation or arbitration, but if unions and management used her method, I’m sure there would be a lot less friction in the boardroom (as long as someone brought along some lubrication).

“Have you two come to a decision?” asked Mandy. “Only, your arguing has made the demons quite depressed.”

The demons, who were moping around, wings all droopy, did seem a lot less perky than before. I assumed it was because they weren’t allowed to eat anyone earlier.

“Yes,” said Jenny. She looked at me. “Right?”

“Sure,” I said. Jenny gave me a look. I waved the wooden sword about. “To battle!”

“Good,” said Jenny. “How do we get back?”

“Lillian’s going to take us to the Orion building,” I said.

“No,” said Lillian, carefully sidling against the wall to avoid touching any demons. “I told you, I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” said Jenny, turning her powers of persuasion on Lillian. If she was planning on using the same method on her as she used on me, this would be interesting.

“Look,” said Lillian, “I’ve only just got back from Bletchley Park. That’s in Milton Keynes.” She spoke with undisguised horror, which is understandable if you’ve ever been to Milton Keynes. “My boss isn’t happy about how things are going so far, he won’t just authorise a company seizure on this scale. Especially not this company.”

“Get him on the phone,” I said. “I’ll speak to him. I’m sure I can give him something he wants in exchange.”

Lillian took out her phone and called her boss. She kept her eyes on me the whole time, so I guess he was the only person in her contacts list. That’s goths for you. Billy-no-mates of the fashion scene.

She spoke to him, explaining what I wanted. She winced as she got told no, but then mentioned that I was willing to offer something in return. This got a more favourable response and she handed the phone over to me.

“Hello,” I said. Concise yet professional. “Who is this?”

“It’s better if you don’t know.” He had a deep voice, very James Earl Jones, if he was a posh white man. “I know what you think of all of us. You have no intention of joining any side. What is it you think can change my mind?”

“Okay, well, bit blunt, but straight to the point.” I did my best not to dither, but I was never very good on the phone. “I need to get inside the Orion building, up to the top floor. I want you to send a team with me. Once we get there, I will open the portal to the other side. At that point, your people will be the only ones there. If you can get in, good luck to you.”

There was a pause. “You’re saying you won’t stop us?”

“No, I’ll probably try. But if you’re good enough, you’ll think of a way to get past me. And if you’re not good enough, you’re hardly going to do very well over there, are you?”

“That’s it? The chance to go through when you do, even though you’ll try to prevent it?”

“Yep.”

Another pause. “Done.”

I gave the phone back to Lillian. She listened and nodded. Maybe it was an advanced model where head movements were registered.

“Alright,” said Lillian. “We’ve got a green light. I’ll take you there.”

“Good,” said Jenny. Then she jumped on Lillian.

We’d already concluded the deal-making portion of events, so I wasn’t sure what this was supposed to achieve, but who was I to interfere?

Lillian made very little noise as she tried to get out from under Jenny. It was a futile effort. Jenny had been trained by lizards, squirmiest bastards out there. Her hands were everywhere, groping, probing, sliding around inside Lillian’s clothes. I mean, I’d had a bit of lizard-training myself, so I could probably free myself from Jenny’s clutches, but why would I want to?

Objects started hitting the floor. Devices, weapons, bits of wire, tape that made Lillian squeal when it was ripped off — pretty soon, there was quite a collection.

Jenny let her go and stood up. “You don’t take us anywhere wired up or armed. And while I’m here, you don’t think about him like that anymore. I’m the only one allowed to have those sorts of thoughts.”

Lillian blushed.

“Do you have your powers here?” I asked Jenny.

“No.”

“Then how do you know she was having lewd thoughts about me?”

“Lewd?” said Jenny, confused. “I was talking about her thinking of ways to kill you. I don’t share my hobbies.”

And with that merry thought, we set off on our journey home.

Book 2 – 28: Assuming Control

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

The White Palace.

Control Room.

 

Figaro looked at Mackus’ corpse and tried to separate what he was feeling from what he needed to do.

The snapped neck put the head at an unsettling angle; the open mouth with hanging tongue created a foolish appearance; the glazed, unseeing eyes managed to accuse Figaro from beyond the veil. A poor ending for a proud man.

Figaro pushed the thought aside. Things were still far from resolved and a clear head was a necessity.

Standing over the body was a duplicate Mackus, feet straddling his own progenitor.

Figaro scanned the screen to the left of the Holover. There was a sonogram of a human heart beating. Blood vessels attached to it were filled with flowing blood. The nervous system, the lymphatic system, the organs and tissues were all held in the network, but the readings were operating independently, or so it appeared. Figaro had never seen a Holover this detailed. He wondered if his father had made one of these of him. Or of himself.

The copy was perfectly identical and showed all the obvious signs of life. Chest falling and rising, nostrils flaring slightly, eyes wet with moisture, pupils reacting to light. It could probably walk around if necessary.

According to the network’s parameters printed on the screen, the Holover would last indefinitely, responding to any and all attempts to verify Mackus’ status. A scan with a handheld medical device or a long-range probe from orbit, the result would be the same. Mackus was alive and in robust health, as far as the universe was concerned. Figaro looked down at the sorry-looking crumpled heap on the floor and frowned.

“He took the risk,” said Ganesh. “He would be the last one to complain about the result.”

“I know,” said Figaro. “He was family, though. I would like to give him a decent farewell, but I don’t have the time. It feels… disrespectful.”

Ganesh snorted air out of his nose in a dismissive manner. “Respect is earned, Figaro. And lost. He went too far.”

“Yes, but he was right,” said Figaro. “I don’t have the obligatory ruthlessness to do what’s necessary. To lead. There will be people far more vicious than him I will have to face. I can’t afford to hesitate, or to be merciful. Father would never have. Nor my mother.”

“Your parents aren’t the best people to use as examples.”

“And neither did you.”

“I am not the best example, either. We are the product of our experiences, not all of them laudable. You have yet to have yours. They will shape you in ways you can not yet imagine. Perhaps you will fall short of your potential, but now is not the time to consider such matters that you have no control over. You did well, Figaro. I can’t say for certain your father would be proud of you, and I have even less idea how the mind of your mother works, but I can tell you I am proud of you. And immensely grateful. To you and to your friends.”

They looked over at the other two. Ubik was stuffing sandwiches into his mouth from a tray carried by a drone Figaro had sent for. At the same time, he was taking apart the two drones Mackus had used, putting some pieces in his pockets and tossing others aside.

PT was eating at a slower rate but he was carefully moving some sandwiches to one side of the tray, and slapping Ubik’s grasping hand away if they came too close.

Figaro returned his attention to the board and switched the main screen to Dr Yune’s laboratory. The doctor was lying on the table as before.

“What will you do with him?” asked Ganesh. “Kill him? He wouldn’t be aware of it.”

“No, I need him to remove this.” Figaro held up his wrist. The bracelet was half-buried in his flesh, the skin around it inflamed. “But it will have to wait until I return with Father.” He turned some dials and changed the numbers on the screen around the doctor’s body. He couldn’t remove the drugs already in the doctor’s blood, but he could add to them. “Until then, the doctor’s trip will be extended by another seventy-two hours. That should be long enough.”

“Will he survive that long?”

“I’m not sure, but if anyone can, it would be him.” Figaro confirmed the settings and activated the network’s acquisition of the doctor’s medical systems. The doctor would be under for five days now. If they weren’t back by then, he would wake up, theoretically. He might not be quite the same man he once was, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“You will go up to the asteroid now?” said Ganesh.

“Yes.”

“With them?”

“Yes.”

“You gave him complete control of your father’s network. You trust him that much?” The curve of one eyebrow suggested Ganesh questioned the soundness of the idea.

“No,” said Figaro. “It isn’t about trust. It’s about… need. He is the best person to rely on for now. Later… we’ll see. There’s a balance between the three of us. I can’t really explain it.”

“I would come with you, but…”

“Your family.”

Ganesh looked at the Holover simulacrum of Mackus. “Even if they aren’t in immediate danger, who knows for how long? I have to find them.”

“I know,” said Figaro. “Do you have any idea where Mackus would hide them?”

Ganesh shook his head. “He knows me too well, and his thinking was always too elaborate for me to follow. I’m sure your friend would find me painfully simple.”

Ubik was distracting PT with tronic parts while surreptitiously switching sandwiches whose fillings he had eaten with the ones PT had reserved for later.

“Probably,” said Figaro. “But he relies on people’s confusion to get things past them. You would be able to choke him out before he got the chance.”

The image brought a smile to Ganesh’s lips, as Figaro had known it would.

“Mackus, respond,” said a voice over the speaker. “Six-hour check-in. Respond, please.”

“I’ll get it,” said Ubik through a mouthful of food, running to the nearest console. “I linked up all of Mackus’s implants to the network. I’ll get them to reveal their location.”

Ubik pressed down on a round button and it popped out of its fitting. He pulled it up, extending a rod from underneath. He brought it up to mouth-height and spoke into it.

“Hello, there. Where you be?” The words came out of the Holover’s mouth, in Mackus’ voice, if he was in the middle of eating.

“Mackus? Is that you?”

Figaro pushed Ubik aside and spoke into the microphone. “Here. Verify. Password sequence, begin.”

This time, the Holover spoke crisply, with the same unequivocal tone as the original.

A stream of numbers and symbols appeared across the screen above the console, some changing colours, others rotating. Figaro’s hands moved quickly, instructing the network to analyse the sequence, cross-reference it with all of Mackus’ previous codes, factoring in any messages within his private database, which was now accessible, thanks to Ubik.

The network sent back a response code. Probability of success was 97.3%, which was decent.

“Confirmed,” said the voice. “Moving targets to secondary location.”

“Wait,” said Figaro. “There’s been a change from the cardinal configuration. The boy has brought in a hacker. He’s an idiot but he’s lucky.” Ubik looked like he was about to protest, but then reconsidered as though accepting the description as fair. “If you see any unusual activity on the board, assume it’s him. Do not engage. I repeat — do not engage.”

“Confirmed. We’ll switch to Contingency A.”

“No,” said Figaro. “They have the network running analysis. Consider all safe locations compromised. Take them to an off-site.”

“Yes, sir. We’ll take them to—”

“No. Don’t confirm.” Figaro had interrupted angrily. “Move. Active-silence.”

The signal broke off.

“You stopped him before he told us where he was going,” said PT.

“I know where they’re going,” said Figaro. “I know how Mackus trained them to think. He trained me the same way. Behind enemy lines to an area already cleared. They’ll return to Ganesh’s home and replace the security detail already there. They’ll become their own hunters. Makes it a lot easier to evade capture. Of course, there won’t be a detail there.” He turned to Ganesh. “Just you.”

“Thank you,” said Ganesh. “All of you. I will see you when you return.” He didn’t wait for a response and hurried towards the doors. They didn’t open.

“Let him out,” shouted Ubik. The doors slid aside and Ganesh left with a small wave.

“How many of them will he be up against?” asked PT.

“Six. Ganesh won’t have any trouble. Not even if there were sixty.”

“I don’t see why you had to take over,” said Ubik. “My impersonation of Mackus was flawless.”

“You sounded nothing like him,” said PT.

“Were you not paying attention? That was exactly how he spoke.” He leaned over the microphone. “‘I’m in charge, I am. Everyone do as I say.’”

The Holover put one hand on its hip and pointed at PT.

“See?” said Ubik. He took a sandwich off the tray the drone had brought over and bit into it. Then he frowned and opened the sandwich to find it had no filling. He looked over at PT, who now had his personal supply of sandwiches sitting on the console next to him.

“I wonder if Ramon Ollo protected the network from crumbs,” mused Ubik.

“I doubt it,” said Figaro. “He never allowed anyone to eat in here. I’ll probably be grounded once he finds out. If you’ve both finished, perhaps we can go find him.”

The screen flickered, showing a stream of data, but this time it was all words and identification protocols.

“This is the Central Authority. Security certification is available for review. Ollo compound, respond.

“This is Mackus D’Livia,” said Figaro, brusque and off-hand. “What do you want?”

“Request access to—”

“Denied. Where were you when the Seneca Corps were threatening to extinguish our world?”

“The Central Authority followed Treaty 7 guidelines, as required by—”

“Are you fully automated? Is there a Guardian on-site?”

“There is currently no—”

“Then I don’t want to hear from you again until there is, as agreed in Treaty 19.”

“Treaty 19 also states that in the event of no Guardian being available within a range of—”

“What about the Guardian on the Nirvana? Are they dead?”

“Guardian Tezla has been recovered. She is in stasis.”

“Then thaw her out, and then you can request access.” Figaro cut off the communication.

“Nice,” said Ubik. “Kid’s got a way with drones. Could probably teach me a thing or two.”

PT rolled his eyes.

Figaro looked at the Holover of Mackus, which was staring resolutely forward. “Thanks. It’s only slightly worrying that I can get more done when I’m pretending to be him than when I’m myself.”

“Don’t let it bother you,” said PT. “We’re all going to wind up dead long before we can develop our own methods for dealing with these kinds of situations. Borrowing his methods is perfectly acceptable.”

“Feel free to borrow mine,” said Ubik.

“That will only see us dead a lot sooner,” said PT.

“The evidence suggests otherwise,” said Ubik. “Having said that, this prototype ship of your dad’s hasn’t been tested yet, and has never been in space. But don’t worry, I’ve read a lot of books on flying. Shouldn’t be too hard to pick up.”

“Wait,” said PT, gathering up his sandwiches and keeping them out of Ubik’s reach. “You don’t know how to fly this thing?”

“Strictly speaking, I’ve never flown a ship of this type. Or any ship. But how hard can it be?”

“I’ll fly it,” said Figaro.

“But—” said Ubik.

“Shut up and do what you’re told,” snapped Mackus’ Holover.

“Alright, alright,” said Ubik. As they left the control room, Ubik leaned closer to PT. “Those two are more alike than he thinks.”

“We’ll see,” said PT. “Now give me back the sandwich you just lifted.” He held out his hand.

Ubik looked hurt by the accusation. Then he gave back the sandwich.