V. Moody's Blog, page 28

Book 2 – 16: City Boys

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

Elect City.

 

“We are now approaching Elect City Station with full access to all of Elect City’s amenities, accommodation and entertainment venues. Please make sure you take all belongings with you when you leave the shuttle. Thank you for choosing the Ollo Transit System. Life is a journey, please enjoy the rest of yours.”

Ubik listened to the soothing voice welcoming him to the city, which was being ignored by everyone else in the car. They were too busy being shocked and outraged by what he had just revealed to them about their city and the people running it. People they had installed through a democratic process and whom they believed to be acting in the best interest of the citizens. That was their first mistake.

The shuttle was fast approaching the city, its gleaming silver towers about to swallow them up. From the window, Ubik could see the way the buildings had been carefully designed to form a rising peak, tallest at the centre, making the city’s skyline look like a mountain, or maybe a magic castle. Very pretty.

It spoke of a deliberate, careful design. No waste, no excess.

Overhead, the sky was no longer streaked with falling debris. Now there were ships flying in, lots of them. There were probably even more over the spaceport, but these ones were headed directly for the city centre, where there would be landing pads for smaller, wealthier vessels.

Ubik was sure there were going to be a lot more arrivals over the next few hours. There were plenty of interested parties who would want to be stationed close by for when the Tethari asteroid revealed its secrets. Down here, they could prepare and gather information.

“What have you done?” whispered PT. “There’s going to be a riot in here in a minute.”

The other occupants of the car were talking loudly, asking each other questions, demanding answers and making complaints. It made Ubik miss home, the one he had before he’d hidden himself away in a junkyard. There was nothing quite like the crowded conditions of urban living to bring people out of their shells.

“It’s fine,” said Ubik. “They’re just venting.”

It was standing room only and people were jammed together close enough that it was impossible to start any real trouble. Most of them hadn’t been able to see Ubik when he showed them what their government was really up to, and even those who had, couldn’t work their way towards him. If there had been someone in charge, someone to speak for the group, then maybe they would have found a way to separate him from the herd and calmly determine what he knew, how he knew it and what they should do about it.

It was a good thing that wasn’t going to happen because he had mostly made it up on the spot. What they had seen was a very warped version of the truth.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Marium, is that you? It’s Bari. Wait, you aren’t Marium.”

“It’s me. What do you mean, who? Me. Me.”

They had moved on from shock to wanting to share their outrage with friends and loved ones. But they were quickly discovering that their communication devices weren’t connecting them to the people they wanted to speak to. The devices were insisting the calls were being made to the right person, which technically they were, but everyone was being put through to someone they had never spoken to before.

“You did this, didn’t you?” said PT under his breath. “They’re going to figure out it was you. How does freaking out a moving vehicle full of people help?”

“It could be worse,” said Ubik. “At least we’re on the inside of the moving vehicle and not on the roof.”

PT gave him an odd look. “The more you mess with these people, the more attention you’re going to attract. Wasn’t the idea to keep a low profile and track down Grandma?”

“I don’t know whose idea that was,” said Ubik, “but it wasn’t mine. You’ve got shake the tree if you want apples for lunch.”

PT was still giving him an odd look. If anything, even odder than before.

“Why can’t I get through?” someone shouted out. “Is anyone else having trouble connecting their calls.”

There were shouts back confirming that others were also experiencing technical difficulties.

“Is it the meteor shower? Has it caused some kind of interference.” Ubik had his hand cupped over his mouth as he offered this theory. “Maybe it’s the government. They’re blocking us from telling anyone else what we found out,” Ubik added in a slightly different voice.

Both his suggestions caused a debate to break out among the passengers. A loud, volatile debate in a confined space. Bodies shifted and bumped into one another as people became flustered and upset.

“I know you want to create confusion,” hissed PT. “I get it. Panic and pandemonium everywhere you go, and you can just slip through the gaps. But if this place was designed by your idol, he’s going to have systems in place to locate troublemakers like you. All these cameras and surveillance and stuff, they’re going to know it was you.”

The shuttle was slowing down as it entered the station, a gleaming white, spotless portal into the heart of the city.

“Please remember your baggages and valuables,” said the soothing voice over the speakers, drowned out by the mild hysteria spreading through the car.

The rest of the cars that made up the shuttle weren’t infected, which was a shame, but it should still be enough. Like PT had said, once there was pandemonium, there was a much better chance of passing by undetected.

“This is nothing,” said Ubik. “Low–level stuff not worth worrying about. They’ll see it as a glitch of some sort, minor bug affecting a tiny proportion of their network. Crossed wires somewhere, that’s all. Nothing’s actually broken, everything’s still up and running, just not quite the way it’s supposed to. They’ll send out a maintenance crew, assure the people they overreacted to nothing more than basic security footage used to provide security and better services. No one really wants to believe their own government is out to get them. That’s just crazy talk.”

“Yeah?” said PT. “They don’t look like maintenance drones to me.” He nodded through the window behind Ubik.

Ubik turned to see drone after drone lined up along the station platform. They indeed did not look like maintenance drones. The armour plating and mounted cannons weren’t going to come in very useful when it came to fixing broken circuits or replacing a power source.

Ubik grinned. A Ramon Ollo city wasn’t going to be a pushover. But then it was still a city and a city was the sum of its parts. Ramon Ollo could only provide the outer structure and the infrastructure, he couldn’t do much about the occupants.

“Okay, please remain calm everyone, we’re here now,” said Ubik, raising his voice. “Nothing to worry about. These government drones will take you away for questioning, nothing too invasive. I suggest you be as cooperative as possible, no matter what they threaten you with.”

The expected pandemonium arrived, at maximum volume. Some people had correctly identified Ubik as the source of their troubles, but there were too many people shouting and screaming to allow any sort of concerted attack towards him. The restricted space, the agitated commuters, the confusing situation no one had expected to be in, it was all too much.

These people weren’t capable of organising themselves like that. It was the way they had been trained, without being aware of it, by their rulers. There was no reason why they should be the only ones to benefit.

The shuttle stopped and the doors slid open. Everyone in the car burst out in an explosive rush, eager to not get caught up in whatever this was. They didn’t want to know, they didn’t care what was happening in shadowy government departments, they only longed for their ignorance to be restored and to be left alone.

The drones quickly moved in to contain them, ignoring their protests.

Ubik waited until everyone else had disembarked. The other cars were also emptying and many of the other passengers paused to watch was happening, and then hurried away to avoid getting involved.

“Now what?” said PT.

“If we had more time, I’d go have a look around this marvel of modern technology. They probably do tours.”

“No,” said PT, “I mean, how are we going to get past the riot drones?”

“Them? Oh, you know, walk.”

Ubik headed to the side of the cordon of large drones keeping the agitated crowd pinned in one area of the platform as they conducted checks. The drone hovering at this end rotated its head section to look at Ubik as he approached.

“Welcome, Colonel Toaku,” said the drone in a deferential manner. “Would you like me to send for your car?”

“No, it’s fine,” said Ubik. “I think I’ll walk. Such a nice day.”

“As you wish, sir.” The drone moved aside to let Ubik passed. As PT approached, it moved back in the way, cannon pointing at his head.

“She’s with me,” said Ubik.

“My apologies, miss.” The drone moves aside and PT hurried past.

“Who’s Colonel Toaku?”

“No idea,” said Ubik. “Must be a case of mistaken identity.”

“And who is Janeane Ingwe?”

Ubik gave PT a sideways glance. “Never heard of her. Your new love interest? What about the Seneca girls? You’re kind of a slut, PT.”

They were walking through the main concourse now, the crowds of people uninterested in two visitors. The floor lit up with useful information and adverts for local hotels and restaurants.

“How did you know that would happen?” said PT. “How did you know those people would react like that? They should have grabbed you and demanded answers but they just went nuts.”

“Look around,” said Ubik. “This whole place, the way it’s built, the cleanliness, the lines, the angles — I mean, the angles — this world is heavily suppressed and restricted so it can operate at optimal levels. That sort of efficiency comes at a price. Human nature can’t be squashed like that and not squeeze out at the edges, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” said PT. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ll see.”

They exited the building into bright sunshine. The towers had been specially constructed to reflect light in a way that illuminated the streets with hardly any shadows burying the streets in darkness as would be normal with such huge structures looming opposite each other.

People were walking, vehicles were hovering, drones were flying overhead. Ubik let out a long breath. This felt far better than floating around in a tiny spaceship. There was something about being on a planet, feet rooted to the ground without the need for any assistance, that was natural.

“This is so much better than floating through space,” he said.

“We’re still floating through space,” said PT.

“Okay, there’s no need to be pedantic,” said Ubik. “I can already tell you’re going to fit in here just great. Let’s get a ride out to the Ollo place.”

There were cabs lined up at a rank, waiting for people as they left the station. They approached one and a screen popped up next to the front window. There was no driver.

“Oh,” said Ubik, after he had input the details of where he wanted to go.

“What?” said PT.

“It’s a bit further than I thought. We can’t afford the fare to the Ollo place.”

“We have to walk?”

“We could,” said Ubik. “It would take us a few days. It’s on the other side of the planet.”

PT shook his head. “Not even the right hemisphere.”

“We were falling out of the sky,” said Ubik.

“Can’t you just…” PT wiggled his fingers in the direction of the cab.

“No,” said Ubik. “Someone would notice.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about getting noticed.”

“Haven’t you noticed the increased traffic up there?” Ubik looked up. “The locals I can handle, but the new arrivals aren’t going to be that easy to fool.”

PT was staring up at the sky. “Bounty hunters or corporate raiders?”

“Both. And others. We need to get some money, local currency, and we need to use legitimate forms of transport so we don’t stand out.”

“And how do we do that?” said PT.

Ubik looked around, and saw the answer staring back at him. “You know those squeezed out bits at the edges I was talking about?”

PT followed his gaze. At the other end of the street was a large building with a screen out front showing the same fighting videos as the ones back at the spaceport.

“I told you, I’m not fighting.”

“But you’re Janeane, now. You can enter the women’s category.”

“I think someone might notice.”

“Not the registration drones, they’ll see you for who you are.”

“I knew you made me female for a reason. I’m not going to beat up a bunch of women for you, Ubik.”

“I like your confidence. Apparently, gender equality has yet to make it out to the Second Quadrant.”

“I’m sure there are some very able fighters in the women’s division. I’ve seen the Seneca Corps at work, I have no illusions about how hard they could thrash me. But there’s no way we’d get away with it.”

“We don’t have to. We just need to get in the door. Don’t you think it’s strange there’s such a massive fighting arena in a city as advanced and civilised as this one? Come with me, Miss Ingwe. Let me show you how a city works from underneath.”

He set off towards the arena. He didn’t have to look back to know PT was a couple steps behind him.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty Seven (part two)

Nic had lost track of time. The light from his bedroom window suggested it was early morning, but he wasn’t sure of which day.

How long had he spent inside the recreation of the past? It had seemed like several hours but it was hard to tell.

Rutga was asleep on Nic’s bed. He was lying on top of the sheets, fully clothed in what was clearly a military uniform, and he was breathing. The whole situation wasn’t as bad as it could have been but by no means was it good.

“He’s an old friend of my dad’s,” said Nic. Which was true and, he thought, enough information to not require further explanation.

“Oh,” said Fanny. He took a bite out of the hot pie that was in his hand. There wasn’t a bakery on the school grounds, and he certainly hadn’t baked it himself, but food had a way of appearing around Fanny. “Army buddy?” Flakes of pastry fell from his mouth, but he caught them with his other hand, probably to save for later.

“Yes,” said Nic. “They were in the army together. I, ah, bumped into him. He needed a place to sleep. Temporarily. Don’t tell anyone, I don’t think we’re allowed to have overnight guests.”

It was sounding more and more plausible as Nic spoke. He had inadvertently encountered someone who had known his father back in his army days, someone who was in a bit of a state, and he had offered to help him. Perfectly legitimate and believable.

Fanny was nodding like he found Nic’s story acceptable. He was used to Nic behaving in slightly odd ways, so why not bring home a middle-aged man and let him pass out on his bed?

“He’s back,” Fanny yelled, turning slightly so his mouth was pointed towards the hall.

“I told you he would be,” shouted back Davo.

“We were worried,” said Fanny. “It’s not new for you to wander off, but it’s usually because you’ve got yourself involved in something awful.”

He had a point. It wasn’t like those times Nic had gone missing previously had turned out to be him getting lost in a good book and forgetting dinner.

“There’s no need to be worried,” said Nic, trying to make his frequent near-deaths sound manageable. “I always come back.”

“Yah,” said Fanny, licking the crumbs off his hands. “But one of these days, you’re going to come back dead. It’ll be very sad. I’ve been preparing myself.”

“You have?” said Nic. “How?”

Davo appeared in the doorway. “He’s been writing up the menu for your wake. He expects me to have it catered. Who’s the fellow with the red nose?”

Rutga did have quite a red nose. It was naturally quite rosy but it seemed to have an added blush of colour to it this morning. It might be a result of their fight. Rutga had taken some hard knocks.

Nic wasn’t about to take full credit for beating a man far his superior in skill and experience. He had the benefit of an expert’s insights plus the fact Rutga hadn’t been expecting to fight an equal. Surprise was a powerful weapon.

“He’s an army buddy of Nic’s dad,” said Fanny. “I think he’s been, you know…” Fanny mimed swigging from a bottle.

“Ah, that would account for his nose,” said Davo.

“He isn’t a drunk,” said Nic. It would have been easy to pass Rutga off as a bit of a lush, and himself as some kind of saviour to the downtrodden, but Nic felt bad misrepresenting the man. He didn’t deserve to be tarred as a charity case when he was quite capable of looking after himself, and anyone who crossed his path. “He’s just a bit tired.”

Nic leaned over Rutga. He had asked the High-Father to lend Rutga’s services to him, but he hadn’t expected to receive Rutga comatose. How was he meant to wake him? And would he be ready and willing to serve? The High-Father could certainly force people to cooperate, but he seemed reluctant to do use that power most of the time. And then there were times where he did it without considering the consequences in the slightest. It was difficult to grasp exactly what boundaries the High-Father had set himself. Extremely flexible ones, would be Nic’s guess.

“We have to keep him a secret,” said Fanny, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“I should think so,” said Davo. “Tongues will wag.”

“You’re getting the wrong idea,” said Nic. “He’s actually a very nice—”

“Arghh,” shouted Rutga as he sat bolt upright.

Fanny and Davo both instantly disappeared, diving out of the doorway. Nic jumped back, more from surprise than fear.

Rutga blinked a couple of times, looked around the room, and then rubbed the back of his head. He winced. “I think a mountain jumped me from behind.”

“Ah, no, sorry about that. I accidentally threw you at a wall.”

Rutga frowned. He furrowed his brow like he was trying to recall something.

“You threw him?” said Fanny, peeking back in. “That’s not very nice.”

“He was showing me some moves,” said Nic. “He’s in the army.” It felt like everything should be clear without the need for further elaboration. An old friend of the family giving Nic some tips so he could better take care of himself. Sounded perfectly reasonable.

“I was showing you how to slam someone’s head in, was I?” said Rutga. “Does sound like something I would do.”

Nic let out a breath, relieved Rutga was playing along. Even if he didn’t quite remember what had happened, he wasn’t yelling and demanding answers. None of the Where am I? and How did I get here? type of questions that would have been Nic’s first reaction.

Rutga was taking it in his stride, as though this sort of thing happened to him all the time. Which very easily could be the case.

“Sorry, lads,” said Rutga, holding up a hand in apology. “Had a bit of a nightmare, you know how it is with warfare, limbs flying about, corpses all over the place. You think you can handle it just fine, and then you wake up screaming. Didn’t mean to startle anyone.”

Somehow, his mixture of joviality and deeply disturbing imagery seemed to put Fanny and Davo at ease.

“You’re a friend of Nic’s father?” said Davo.

“That’s right,” said Rutga. “Long time back. Knew him in the army. He was always getting himself into some scrape or other. Young Nic here is the spit of him. Thought I’d seen a ghost first time I set eyes on him.”

Nic was impressed at how easily Rutga had slipped into the role he had been unknowingly assigned. He had a knack for it, or years of practice.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Fanny.

“Ohhh, I’d love one.”

“I’ll see if I can dig up some biscuits,” said Davo. “Maybe the nice ones Fanny keeps hidden and thinks we don’t know about.”

“Hey, have you been eating my biscuits behind my back?”

The two of them drifted off to the kitchen. Nic puffed out his cheeks. So far so good. Now, he had to deal with Rutga, who no doubt had much harder to answer questions, and wouldn’t be so easily appeased.

“Nice boys,” said Rutga. “I can tell they’ve got your best interests at heart. Don’t believe a word you told them, though.”

“Didn’t they?” said Nic, shocked. “But it was true, mostly.”

“If you want trust, you need to be a bit more than mostly true. Now then, what exactly am I doing here? I might have been hit on the head, with a wall, but I’m fairly sure I was in the capital, last I checked.”

“You don’t remember how we got back to the school?”

“No,” said Rutga, gently stroking the back of his head.

“Rutga, I believe you when you say you knew my father, and I think you’re loyal to Ranvar, in your own way, but who do you really work for? The High-Father?”

Rutga gave Nic a curious look. “You think I work for a dragon? And a dead one, at that.”

It was hard to know if Rutga was playing a part or if he really had no idea the High-Father was more than just a dragon. Nic hadn’t expected a straight answer in any case but he had wanted to see if he would be able to see something in Rutga’s reaction now that he had the added perception of an older and wiser Tutt to call on.

“You’re here to help me, right?” said Nic, hoping that would be enough to activate whatever it was the High-Father had put in place. But he saw nothing other than a genial old soldier. The High-Father agreed to give Nic use of Rutga, perhaps Nic should have asked for specific details of how that would work.

“Yes,” said Rutga. “Of course. What exactly would you like help with?”

Rutga seemed amenable but a little baffled. The blow to the skull probably didn’t help. “You’re okay to do what I ask, even if you don’t know why you’re helping me?”

“You need help, that’s all I need to know. You're Tutt’s boy. I’ll always help you in any way I can, Nic.” He sounded sincere, but then, he was trained to.

“It doesn’t bother you that someone might have tinkered with your mind? Made you think you’re doing what you want to do, even though it’s someone else’s idea?”

Rutga looked confused. “If I believe it’s what I want, what difference does it make?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t worry too much, if I were you. We’re very resistant to magic in my family, all the way back to the first Rutga — we’re all military man with heads made of wood.” He rubbed his scalp. “Take more than a bit of hocus pocus to get in here.” He knocked on the top of his own head while tapping the wall with his other hand to make a hollow thud.

Nic smiled. He’d never had an uncle before.

“They’re trying to start a war,” said Nic, “one they think will end the injustices of the world, but it will only make things worse.”

Rutga nodded. “You could be right. One war usually leads to another. It’s a bit of a merry-go-round. What’s that got to do with a lad like you? You should be learning your letters and leave the fighting to men like me.”

“Yes,” agreed Nic. “But I think I can stop the fighting before it starts. If I can… a lot of people are going to be very upset. They’ll probably want to have a word or two with me about it.”

“I see. And you’d rather not speak to them?”

“I’d rather not. At least, not until I’ve had a chance to see it through. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to keep an eye out for any…”

“Suspicious characters?”

“Yes, exactly. As long as I have a little advance warning, I should be okay. I don’t think they’ll try anything too overt, it would expose them too much. That’s what they don’t want. They all like to act like the other side is all self-interest, while their intentions are pure. But none of them are really looking out for anyone but themselves.”

“True, but that’s always been the way. Not much to be done.”

“I think there is,” said Nic. “If everyone saw what the others were up to…”

“Ooh,” said Rutga. “That’s a dangerous game. Men like to keep their flaws private. They’ll be mighty upset if you reveal them to the world.”

“As long as everyone’s equally exposed…”

“They’ll be equally upset with you. I see why you need someone to watch your back.”

“I would do it myself, but I’ll be a bit distracted.”

Rutga sat quietly for a moment. Then he sprang to his feet. “Leave it to me.”

Nic hadn’t expected Rutga to be quite so eager, but that was the power of the High-Father. If he had wanted Nic to think he was acting true to his own beliefs, then that’s what Nic would believe without a moment’s doubt. It was disconcerting to think about, but as Rutga had said, if you weren’t aware of it, there was no difference.

“What will you do?” asked Nic.

“I’ll be around. You won’t see me, but if you need something, just call. I’ll hear you. And if we do have visitors, well, if they get to you then that means I’ve already been disposed of.” He grinned like this was something to be pleased about. “Now, where’s that cuppa?”

He walked out of the room as Fanny exited the kitchen and took the steaming mug out of Fanny’s hand. He drank it down in one go, gave a loud, “Ahhh,” and then headed for the front door. “Nice meeting you lads. Maybe we’ll see each other again and I’ll share a few war stories with you. Then you’ll be the ones having nightmares, eh? Haha.”

When he’d gone, Fanny turned to Nic. “He’s an odd bloke. I like him, though.”

“Yes,” said Davo. “Perhaps you could ask him for advice on women. After the horrors he’s seen, your love life should only cause him mild nausea.”

Nic turned around to go back in his room.

“You better get washed up,” said Davo, “or we’ll be late for class.”

“Actually,” said Nic, “I think I’ll skip classes this morning.” Fanny and Davo both stared at him, agog. “It’s only the Arts Course this morning. I’m not even going to be a mage.”

Brill emerged from his room, ready to leave. He stopped when he saw the three of them in the hall. “What’s going on here?”

“He’s doing a bunk,” said Fanny.

“Davo, that’s not like you.”

“Not me,” said Davo. “Him.” He pointed at Nic.

Brills pulled an appalled face. “But it’s the Arts Course. Mr Periwinkle will be very aggravated if you play truant. He’ll take it out on the rest of us.” Appalled escalated into alarmed.

“No, he won’t even notice,” said Nic. “Tell him I’m feeling under the weather. He’ll understand.”

Nic returned to his room before the others could find more ways to express their astonishment. He actually did feel a little out of sorts. He hadn’t had any sleep in a while and the bed looked inviting. But there was no time for that.

What he had said to Rutga had been the truth — he believed the way to stop the war between Ranvar and its neighbours was possible through exposing a few secrets — but he hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to do it.

He had the map that gave him the ability to see what everyone was up to, but the problem was that if he looked at everything at once, none of it stood out. And if he focused his attention on one small part, there was no way to know which part was important at any given time.

He could spy on the Gweurvians or the Ranvarian ministers or the rulers of the neighbouring kingdoms, but there was no guarantee they would say or do anything of interest while he watched them.

He couldn’t watch them day and night. Even if he could, he’d only be able to watch one person at a time. That sort of approach was not going to work.

What he needed was a much broader approach.

He heard the others leave for class and stripped off his clothes. First, he would take a shower and get rid of the dirt and grime of the last couple of days. He put on a bathrobe and went to the bathroom.

He was skipping school and doing as he pleased. It was a liberating experience. For some reason, it was the most invigorating shower he’d ever taken. His mind raced with ideas as he scrubbed himself clean.

He returned to his room and dried his hair with a towel. He sat on his bed and stared at the wall opposite. His mind drifted with minimal effort and he saw the world from a bird’s eye view. He was over the school, where there was hardly any movement. The children who were still attending were all in class as they were supposed to be.

With a shift in thoughts, he was able to identify where specific people were. They lit up so he could see them through walls. He was careful not to choose anyone who might notice him, but students sitting at the back of a classroom or a dinner lady in the cafeteria wouldn’t be aware of his presence.

He could see them, but no one else could. This ability was powerful, but it was limited to him. He had been thinking about making it available to more people. To everyone. If they could see each other, there would be no way to hide anything. But he had no idea how to do that, and there would be other repercussions. Not everyone would be as circumspect as him.

Were there any Gweurvians nearby? He searched for them and found small groups dotted about the countryside. What were they planning? Their main goal seemed to be to provoke the Ranvarian forces into taking action, most likely in a way that would make Ranvar look like the aggressor. In all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be that hard to achieve.

It would have been easy to simply float around, observing for no other reason than to take everything in. He could see so much and he had no idea what to do with all this information. He started to get hungry and his thoughts turned to Fanny, wondering if raiding his pantry would be a step too far. He was instantly taken to the classroom where Fanny was seated. Nic had been thinking about where Fanny kept his stash hidden, apparently it was on his person.

As he hovered over the class, Nic thought about how good Fanny was at concealing things. Maybe he also knew a thing or two about revealing them. How did he produce items out of thin air? It wasn’t magic. It was a simple understanding of where people’s attentions lay. The more he thought about it, the more impressed he was with how someone like Fanny was able to achieve so much with no magical ability.

His focus made Fanny glow strongly. He was the sole person in the classroom being lit up by Nic’s ability and he was getting brighter. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone else noticed, Nic thought, but he was in a herbology lesson with no one like Simole or the Librarian there to notice.

Only, some of the other students did start to notice. They pointed at Fanny with confused looks.

Nic could have removed the effect but instead he pushed it more. Soon, everyone in the class could see the glow around Fanny, including Fanny. There was mild panic in the classroom.

Nic ended it and backed off. They would probably put it down to some malfunctioning device. Herbologists used devices that were powered by small amounts of Arcanum.

Nic returned his thoughts to the small cabals of Gweurvians. He isolated them as before so that they were highlighted. Then he focused on them so they glowed brighter; bright enough for others to see them. It would be difficult to carry out their actions in secret if they were lit up like a flock of lighthouses.

It wasn’t quite what he’d envisioned, but it would slow them down. He could use the same technique on other groups, make it impossible for anyone to move in stealth. And since he wasn’t using Arcanum, there was no way for them to counter it.

People in hiding around the country began to glow, much to their surprise.

“Why do you look so pleased with yourself?” said a voice.

Nic opened his eyes to see Simole sitting on the other end of his bed.

“Something very odd happened to Fanny,” she said, “and I think you had something to do with it. Why are you sitting here naked?”

“I’m not naked,” said Nic, pulling his bathrobe closed. “I’m a little busy, actually.”

Simole stared at him grimly. Nic pulled his robe closed even tighter.

“What are you up to?”

“Where’s Dizzy?” asked Nic, sensing that if Simole suspected him, then Dizzy would have reached the same conclusion. 

Simole’s mouth fell open. She was looking across the room. Nic followed her gaze.

Through the wall, a crouched figure could be clearly seen, glowing.

Dizzy stood up, her brightly lit face appearing at the window. “What have you done?” she said.

He had worked out how to achieve his goal. Now he had to work out how to stop.

Book 2 – 15: Pocket Change

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

Figaro Ollo Spaceport.

 

Point–Two hadn’t expected Fig’s homeworld to be so backward. Female–only fighting competitions showed a distinct lack of regard for equality of the sexes. Suggesting zero–G battles were better suited for women made no sense at all. He was stuck on this leaden, outmoded planet for the time being and forced to follow their archaic concepts of gender roles, but he wasn’t happy about it.

“Keep your head angled down,” said Ubik. “They’ll have face recognition software, probably. They might have started looking for us. We don’t want people trying to claim the bounty on our heads.”

“You might want to not shout about it, either,” said Point–Two.

“It’s fine,” said Ubik, as they zipped in between frustrated, complaining people staring up at the screens. “None of these plebs are listening to us. They’ve all got rage–deafness. Over here, this way.”

He was being unnecessarily careless, but he was right. It was obvious no one had any interest in them or their conversation. Point–Two picked up bits of chatter as he followed Ubik, doing his best to keep him in his sights.

“What kind of technologically advanced society can’t even cope with a small meteor shower?” complained a large man dressed in a high–quality but very worn flight suit.

Very few of the people looked like tourists. They were dressed for work, standing in small groups, ignoring the brightly lit shops and restaurants along the concourses that vainly flashed adverts for gifts and meal in an attempt to attract business. Everything was priced in standard currency and very expensive, as you would expect in a spaceport.

“Latest reports say it should be over soon,” said a short, bald man operating a tronic device in each hand, their screens showing different news reports. “They think a delivery barge exploded in orbit.”

The shops were all automated, their items displayed in clear cases. Enaya seemed to specialise in small tronics and gadgets. An oversized holover hand thrust a cylindrical object at him as he ran past.

“Clean your teeth, shave your face and polish your shoes with one handy device.”

Point–Two burst through it and hurried to catch Ubik.

“I thought you said they’d open the asteroid to independents,” said a gruff woman with very short hair. “Have they said what the discovery is?”

There was a lot of chatter, a general impatience with being stuck here, no flights allowed in or out, and curiosity about what was happening up on the Tethari asteroid. A lot of the people appeared to have arrived recently, hoping to investigate the asteroid.

Opportunistic to say the least. It was a privately–owned site and any source of organics would be jealously guarded. But like any sort of gold rush, prospectors always turned up to chance their luck.

“They’re mostly delvers,” said Point–Two. “They want in on the wormhole station.” He had caught up to Ubik under a large screen that showed a map of the building layout.

“Yep,” said Ubik. “They’ll probably try to sneak up there once the flight ban’s been lifted.”

“How? It’s only a tiny asteroid, isn’t it?”

Ubik shrugged. “This way.” He headed to the right.

Point–Two looked up the screen. The only thing in that direction were the public bathrooms. At least he’d get a chance to relieve himself.

Ubik rushed past the toilets and Point–Two reluctantly followed. He would probably need to use the facilities once he found out what Ubik was up to.

Ubik’s target, it turned out, was an alcove set back from the main hallway, where six different vending machines were lined up looking forlorn and forgotten. Point–Two was quick to notice the VendX logos on their sides. This was apparently the VendX account from which Ubik intended to make a withdrawal.

Ubik looked around and then up. There was a small glass dome in the ceiling, a camera of some sort inside.

“Probably no one watching, but better safe than sorry.” Ubik licked the palm of his hand and then ran up to the wall. He kicked off it, sailing past the dome, wiping his hand across its surface, and then landing lightly. The dome now had a smear across it. Not exactly the most sophisticated way to avoid identification.

“Won’t someone notice?” asked Point–Two.

Ubik scrunched up his nose. “A dirty lens? I doubt they’ll send over an emergency cleaning crew to make sure the snack machines are safe.” He sized up the machines, big blocks of black metal with shiny buttons and screens.

There was plenty of dust and grime on them, suggesting Ubik was right about the lack of care.

“VendX started out making these, it’s how they made their fortune. Everywhere in the galaxy wanted cheap food that they could trust. Don’t see them much anymore, but every spaceport, near the bathrooms, without fail.” Ubik pointed at the machine in the middle. “Stand here and make it look like you’re deciding what to buy. Let me know if anyone’s coming.” He slid in between two machines, the gap looking far too thin to accommodate a whole person, and yet he slithered out of sight.

Point–Two did as asked, leaning forward to look at the selection of snacks on offer. None of which looked particularly appetising, but all of which made him hungry.

“What’s the plan? Steal all the Curried Bean Paste Rolls and Crispy Honey Choco Bars and sell them on the black market?”

“We’d make a loss,” said Ubik’s voice from somewhere behind the machines. “Stuff’s disgusting. Never goes off, never rots, sits in your stomach with the same half–life as uxanium.” There was some grunting and the sound of metal grinding on metal. “But they accept cash. They accept standard currency, too, but that gets transferred digitally. The coins get collected once they get to a certain amount, which they rarely do. Should be enough for our purposes.”

The screens showed the prices for the items in local and standard currencies. They also offered credit.

“It says it’ll give me a pre–approved loan if I want,” said Point–Two.

“Yeah, in exchange for your biometrics and DNA profile. And then five years later you’re in the outer rim fighting an animal–human hybrid with your face.”

“Why would I be fighting hybrids in the outer rim?”

“Because that’s where they make them,” said Ubik. “Hybrid heaven. Jackpot.”

Coins started tumbling out of the machine in front of Point–Two. He scooped them up in his hands, looking around to check no one was coming.

Ubik came back out and checked the haul. He took one coin and held it up. It was copper with a gold edge, and white circuitry on one side.

“Wow,” said Ubik. “This is Ramon Ollo’s work, no doubt about it. The detail’s amazing.”

“It’s a coin,” said Point–Two.

“No, no. It’s much more than that. It’s part of a huge network. All these coins are.” He took the coins from Point–Two, counting them as he stuffed them into his pockets, examining each with reverence before tucking them away. “Should be enough. Nice; thought we’d have to crack open a few more of these old monsters.” He gave the vending machine a friendly thump on the side.

It made a rattling sound, then something slid around inside, rolling down until a can fell into the basket at the bottom.

Point–Two was pleasantly surprised that something fortunate had happened for once. He picked up the can, which was labelled as Fortnoy’s Spicy Percolade.

“No, don’t…” said Ubik.

The screen on the machine flashed. “Please return unpaid item to the collection tray.”

“Run,” said Ubik.

“What? Why?” But Ubik was already gone.

Point–Two dropped the can and chased after him, and caught up almost immediately. He was leaning against the wall, looking at a screen that was showing times of departure, all with ‘DELAYED’ next to them.

He glanced over at Point–Two and indicated him to do the same next to him. Point–Two put his hand on the wall and one on his hip as a stream of small drones flew past, over the heads of the still–waiting crowds who threw out questions as the squadron buzzed them.

“Hey, when can we…”

There were six of them, in formation and too busy to provide flight information.

“You can’t just take stuff from a VendX mobile dispensary like that,” said Ubik.

“You just robbed it,” said Point–Two.

“That’s different. I accessed the engineering panel, like a professional. Your amateur shenanigans will get us locked up for petty theft. Petty theft! I’ll never live down the embarrassment.”

Ubik reached into his jacket and took out a half–eaten bean paste roll and ate the rest of it in two bites.

“Do you have any more of those?” asked Point–Two. It smelled pretty good.

Ubik let out a long breath and then took out a small candy. “Here, suck on that.”

Point–Two unwrapped the sweet and put it in his mouth. It tasted bitter and furry, but it was better than nothing.

“Now what?”

“We’ll have to get out of here,” said Ubik. “They’ll check their cameras and ID us.”

“Oh, your spit on the lens approach not going to protect us, then?”

“That was a short–term measure,” said Ubik. “What we really need is a bit of a distraction.”

Point–Two stiffened at the prospect of Ubik trying to cause a distraction. He hoped the building was up to code and had plenty of fire exits.

Ubik was about to say something when an announcement over the public address system silenced the whole building.

“Travel Update. Please be aware that the restrictions to departures and arrivals have now been lifted.” There was a sigh of relief that rose into the air. “Normal services will resume tomorrow morning at—”

Pandemonium broke out.

“Perfect,” said Ubik, as though he had planned the whole thing. “Head for the exit over there.”

They made it out past the security drones stationed on the doors, along with a crowd of angry people looking for the nearest pitchfork emporium. There weren’t any, but there were capsule hotels that offered overnight accommodation, and an entertainment complex that offered other ways to pass the time. And a shuttle terminal that provided a free service to and from the city.

The shuttle was a series of carriages floating over a rail. Each car could seat about fifty people but there were far more than that as Ubik and Point–Two got on board.

“See?” said Ubik. “Easy. From the city we go to the Ollo museum, and from there, we find Grandma.”

Point–Two held the grab–handle over his head as the shuttle smoothly exited the station and hovered through the picturesque countryside. Their destination, Elect City, according to the screens on the walls, could be seen in the distance, a crown of towers.

“There’s no way it’ll be that easy,” said Point–Two.

“No,” said Ubik, his hands folded across his chest, his boots firmly rooting him to the floor. “But difficulty is nothing to be worried about. I mean, look at it.” He pointed out the window at the city skyline they were approaching in a wide curve. “Obviously, it’s a bed of corruption and depravity. That’s city life for you.”

“Excuse me,” said a man sitting near them, dressed in overalls with the spaceport’s logo on the breast. “I happen to live there and it’s actually quite nice. Very clean and safe.”

It was noisy in the car but he had been close enough to hear them talking and have his civic pride a little dented.

“Yeah,” said Ubik. “That’s how they keep you docile. See that tower, the one with the fan–shaped thing on top?”

“That’s the Ollo Communication Array,” said the man proudly. “Covers the whole city, makes all messaging free.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no need for an array that size for messaging, not even for the whole planet. What that is is a surveillance tower. Keeps an eye on all of you while you message each other.”

“Ha,” the man scoffed. “I don’t know what planet you’re from, son, but we don’t allow that sort of thing here.” He pointed at the wall behind him where the screen said:

Welcome to Elect City. Powered by the People.

“You got a communication device on you?” asked Ubik.

“Of course,” said the man, holding up his right hand. The bracelet on his wrist glittered with lights, and a small holover–screen popped up.

“Okay, great,” said Ubik. He grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled the top of the screen so it enlarged. Then he pulled on the side of the bracelet and pulled out a holover–keyboard that took up most of the man’s arm.

“Hey, hold on… What are y—”

Ubik’s fingers tapped quickly along the forearm and the screen, which had some buttons and folders on it, turned into a stream of code moving incredibly fast, and then a picture appeared.

It was a picture of a group of people crowded into a shuttle car. A closer examination revealed it to be the car they were in.

“How… That’s me.”

“Yep,” said Ubik. “They’re watching you all the time.”

The car had grown quiet as everyone’s attention had been drawn to Ubik’s actions. They could all see the screen, which Ubik had helpfully enlarged for them. Point–Two tried to distance himself from the show but everyone else was pushing the other way.

“That’s just transport security,” said someone.

“Yeah, for safety, in case there’s a problem. That’s all.” There were murmurs of agreement.

Ubik, still holding the man’s wrist, tapped a few more virtual keys.

The picture of everyone staring at themselves changed. Their bodies were suddenly transparent, showing their underclothes, the contents of their pockets, their bags. Tags appeared next to them, showing names, addresses, vital statistics.

Pandemonium broke out. Again.

Point–Two kept back but wondered what Ubik was up to. He was drawing a lot of attention to himself, which wasn’t the best way to avoid the authorities. He had noticed that the tag above his own image on the screen had no name, just ‘Searching…’ blinking. At least that meant they hadn’t been tagged yet.

“Who are you?” said the man, confused and bewildered, his wrist still in Ubik’s hand.

“Me?” said Ubik. “I work for Ramon Ollo. He asked me to check the city’s security systems. Seems like someone’s been abusing their power. I can’t say any more than that.”

“Who? Who is it?” demanded someone

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said someone else.

A series of names were thrown out, dismissed, backed up and argued about. Everyone seemed to have a candidate for the role of power–abuser, each different.

“City life,” said Ubik, grinning at Point–Two.

Ubik tapped the man’s forearm again and the screen flashed. He let go and the screen disappeared, but not before Point–Two had seen that all of the names next to people had switched, including his own. He now had a new identity, it seemed. He was Janeane Ingwe.

Point–Two looked at his reflection in the glass window. He clearly did not look like a Janeane, but he had the feeling Ubik had picked the name for him on purpose. It wasn’t a good feeling.

Chapter 459

The men storming the open doorway were in full riot gear, plus attachments and weapons. Helmets, stab–proof vests, reinforced kneecaps and extra straps all over the place like a bad Rob Liefeld drawing (so any Rob Liefeld drawing).

They had come prepared for battle. They had not come prepared for Biadet.

She was dressed in short skirt with leggings (possibly tights, I’m not really sure of the difference — and no, I won’t be doing any research to find out) and a white shirt with tartan waistcoat. She had apparently come prepared for afternoon lessons at the nearest girls’ school. The Taser in her hand was clicking but nothing more. Out of juice.

The men charged in through the doorway, their fallen leader crushed underfoot in their desire to apprehend a helpless target they outnumbered greatly.

The narrow doorway funnelled them nicely for her. I imagined she would be able to pick them off a couple at a time, but no. Biadet dropped the gun and backed up a bit, but not to get away from danger. She was letting them in, which they mistakenly took as a good sign, eagerly piling in. Their thought process was all wrong. It was getting out again they needed to worry about.

The first one to attempt a grab found himself holding onto air. The others followed his lead and got the same results.

What had they been told? If you’re going to send in an assault team, you have to give them an idea of what to expect. But then you’d have to know what to expect yourself, first.

Whatever the briefing had been, they had decided, it seemed to me, to go for quick and aggressive. Strike before anyone has time to react, and then get the hell out. Nothing too violent. Get hold of the target. Restrain her with cuffs, maybe. Pin her to the floor, if necessary. She could be a biter or have sharp nails. They thought they were confronting a little girl with a temper. One from another universe, but still, small hands, tiny feet. Just put your hand on her head and stay out of reach.

Biadet was able to dodge every blow, every grab. She didn’t do it in a Matrix, balletic slow–motion kung fu kind of way. She just moved a little left or right and the black gloves lunged past her.

It wasn’t just one person trying to get hold of her. More and more were joining the game, coming at her from all different angles.

Biadet wasn’t retaliating. She had her back to me, but from the way she had her head tilted, I could tell she was unimpressed. I could tell because that’s how her head was tilted whenever she spoke to me. I am, if nothing else, a man who learns from experience. And I don’t fucking recommend it.

I think the League of Unextraordinary Gentlemen were finding it hard to accept they were quite this bad at playing tag. They tried harder. Biadet didn’t, but still managed to evade them. Only now, because they were all in, their misses started finding each other, causing surprise injuries and hurt looks of betrayal.

Biadet turned around to face me, so now she was dodging them without even looking. I wouldn’t say it was a power move to assert dominance, because how do you assert more than total? It was just a side–effect of having absolutely no respect for your opponent.

“You know, you haven’t offered me anything since I arrived. Nothing to eat or drink. Not even a chair to sit down in case I was tired after my long journey.” She said this while stepping this way and that, lifting an elbow, tucking in a knee. Grunting and panting surrounded her as effort turned into regret. Some of the men had body cams on them. They wouldn’t want the footage made public.

“Why should I offer you anything?” I said. “This isn’t my place. I’m a guest here, too. If you want to accuse anyone of poor hospitality, talk to the hosts.” I pointed at Mandy and Cheng behind me at the top of the cellar stairs. I’m all for taking responsibility for my mistakes (and by responsibility I mean leaving immediately and never speaking to anyone else involved) but you have to draw the line somewhere.

“He’s a monster and she’s…” Biadet looked at Mandy and frowned. “I don’t know what she is but I don’t think she can cook.”

“Yes, I can,” said Mandy. “I’m a very good cook, aren’t I?” She shifted the baby and looked up at Cheng.

He hesitated and then said. “Of course.”

The hesitation was noticed by everyone. Even some of the ineffective assault team winced.

“Don’t you like my cooking?” said Mandy.

I stepped in to prevent any bloodshed. Poor Cheng was still new to the whole dealing with women’s insecurities thing. I, on the other hand, was a master at this shit.

“No one likes your cooking, Mandy,” I said. “He eats it because he loves you. Which means he loves you a lot. Count your blessings, you talentless bint.”

Mandy snarled at me. Lip curled, growling, claws extending like Wolverine (I might have imagined the last bit). You might think I didn’t handle that very well, but a moment ago Mandy was focused on what people thought of her, now she was thinking about what she would like to do to me. The thing about insecure people and women (a Venn diagram of which looks like a fried egg) is that you fix them by making them look outside instead of inside. You don’t tell them they’re wrong, because they aren’t — every shit thing they believe about themselves is objectively true — you just show them something even worse to focus on. Hello, my name’s Colin.

“I don’t expect anything from them,” said Biadet, still eluding capture, “but you, after all we’ve been through together...”

“What do you mean, ‘we’ve’ been through, you malevolent imp? I’ve been through much worse than you. And don’t give me any of that terrible childhood bollocks. My childhood was also shit.”

“Yes,” said Biadet, “but you survived yours.”

It’s not often survivor’s guilt is used as weapon against you by the non–survivors.

“Enough,” said Cheng. He was making his move, mainly to avoid Mandy restarting her complaints and grievances. “Why are you here? We had an agreement.”

The men had more or less given up, a number of them bent over trying to catch their breath. But Cheng wasn’t speaking to them, he was directing his question to the door where a woman stood in a stylish black coat and large sunglasses.

“Lillian?” I said, recognising my psychic frenemy. “You work for the British government? What are you, some sort of secret agent?”

Everyone got to be cooler than me. Archdemon, midget assassin, stuck up tart, they all had their characters locked and ready to go. I was the only one who never seemed to have a proper role.

“I’m sorry,” said Lillian, strolling into the hall, which Mandy insisted was the foyer (because she understood how to play an archetype), “but this is too important a development to—”

“Are you their leader?” said Biadet.

“I am the senior representative here and as such I am authorised to offer you—”

She was cut short by the slap in the face. She might have been psychic, but she hadn’t seen that coming. Can’t say I blamed her, though. It had been a blur, and I was expecting it. Not that I had any special ability to see the future, I just recognised the look on Biadet’s face. Amusement — there was only one thing the minx found funny.

Lillian’s sunglasses went flying and she hit the floor arse–first.

“As their leader, you should train them better,” said Biadet, in a friendly, helpful manner. “They are weak and ill–prepared. Having met you, I can see why.”

Lillian was trying to get to her feet. Biadet hadn’t hit her very hard, more of a playful tap, but Lillian was finding it hard to keep her balance and kept slumping to the floor.

“In addition, improve your manners. I was talking to Colin first. Wait your turn.”

“I don’t think she’s here for me,” I said.

“You’re very naive,” said Biadet. Always fun to be told that by a child.

“She’s here for you,” I said. “You’re the magical being from another world. You better get used to it, you’re going to be in big demand here. You’re going to love being the popular girl. You’ll get a makeover and a shopping montage and fall in love with two billionaires who’ll fight over you even though they’re obviously secretly in love with each other.”

“Did I accidentally hit you in the head?” asked Biadet.

“No,” I said, “but thank you for your concern.”

“I wasn’t concerned,” said Biadet.

Lillian had managed to get to her feet but was still a bit wobbly. “Please don’t do that again.” It wasn’t said in a pleading manner, more a threatening one.

“Or what will you do?” asked Biadet.

Lillian sighed. “We have been expecting your kind for some time. We know what you’re capable of. We have no interest in confrontation, but we are prepared to defend ourselves.”

“Like them?” asked Biadet, indicating the exhausted men.

“No, not them.” Lillian pulled her lapel closer to her mouth. “Send in Gaston.”

“Now you’re in trouble, Biadet. She’s calling in the French. Prepare to be looked down on.”

“That’s his codename,” said Lillian.

“What’s my codename?” I asked.

“Colin,” said Lillian.

“Ugh. You people refuse to let me have anything. And I’m cooler than all of you.” I’m not a big believer in conspiracies, but it was pretty clear this entire universe was against me, just like the other one.

A figure appeared in the doorway. He was wearing full riot gear and helmet but he immediately began taking it off.

“A French stripogram,” I said. “Tasteful. Does he sing, too?”

Gaston was a short, shaven–headed man with tan skin and a trim goatee beard. The rest of him was all muscles. Little bumps on top of big bumps. He discarded everything until he was in vest and shorts. No weapons.

So far, I wasn’t very impressed. Yes, he would look great oiled up on the cover of a magazine (I’m speaking aesthetically, not everything’s about sex just because it’s muscled and oily), but what was he going to do against Biadet? Flex her into a swoon?

Gaston began dancing. Okay, it wasn’t actually dancing, more gyrations and gesticulating. Some sort of Tai Chi? His arms moved faster and faster until there were after images. I began to think he might have some kind of special power.

He began to reach for her, his actual position not at all clear. Blinking didn’t help and made it look like I was flirting.

Biadet stepped forward and gave him a backhanded slap that sent him flying through the window next to the front door.

It had been quite a big swing, all the way across her body and then way up over her head. He should have seen it, she wasn’t even that fast, but it cut right through his dance of the many hands and sent him soaring across the foyer.

“My window!” said Mandy. “You better pay for that. The glass was imported from Venice.”

Lillian stood there not saying anything. There was a quiet crackling which was probably someone speaking into her earpiece. She reached up and yanked it out, and stuffed into her coat pocket.

“Look, Biadet, is it? Tell me what you want. I’m sure I can get it, whatever it is. We want to be your friend. Help me, help you.”

“You have nothing I want. Only he does.” She turned to look at me. “I don’t have much time left. There are still things I want to try before it’s too late. That’s why I came to you.”

“Um, Biadet, I’m flattered, but…”

“Only you can heal me.”

“Oh, you want me to heal you.”

“Of course. What did you think I meant?”

“Um, nothing, healing, sure, I have that ability so that’s obviously what you meant.”

Biadet shook her head slowly. “So, it really is like that. Poor Jenny.”

“Hey, not poor Jenny. Enriched Jenny. Ask her, she’ll tell you the same. The rest of you, do me a favour and fuck off, will you? We’re about to have dinner and I haven’t even ordered yet. Biadet’s never eaten our fast food. Wait till you eat a bucket of chicken, Biadet. That’s right, a whole bucket full of chicken.”

“If you don’t deal with us now,” said Lillian, “it will be the Americans next, or the Russians or the Chinese. They’re out there, and they’ll be using guns and much worse.”

“Great,” I said, “we’ll be sure to get some snacks in. Will they be bringing their own strippers?”

“Go and ask them. They’re parked outside,” said Lillian. “They let us come in first to see how you would react.”

Smart. Let the idiots take the first hit, use it to gauge what they were going up against.

“Well, you’re the psychic,” I said. “What happens next?”

“You invite me to stay for dinner,” said Lillian, wiping a little blood from the corner of her lips. “And try to get information out of me.”

“Oh, really? You trying to wangle yourself some free chicken wings?”

“No chicken wings.” Lillian pointed at Mandy. “She’s going to cook.”

“Yes!” said Mandy. “Great idea. I’ll show you what a proper dinner tastes like.”

“You didn’t see that with clairvoyance,” I said, “you just knew she’d take the bait.”

“Just because you make the future,” said Lillian, “doesn’t mean you can’t predict it.”

“Would you like me to expose her thoughts?” asked Biadet.

“Do you mean that figuratively or literally?” I could imagine Biadet prising open the top of Lillian’s head with a spatula.

“She has a simple mind,” said Biadet. “It won’t be hard to find out what she knows.”

Getting some actual real bona fide information out of Lillian was certainly tempting.

“And in exchange,” said Biadet, “you can help stop me falling apart.”

“Exchange?” I said. “You don’t have to exchange anything for that.”

“But it will cost you. I’m willing to offer you my services.”

“I know what it will cost, I’ve healed you before. Don’t worry, years off my life aren’t worth very much on the open market. Might as well use them now.”

Biadet stared at me with an odd expression. “I’m glad I came here. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I can’t go back and this world is very strange. But now I see it was the right choice I will help you make these people understand their place and who you are. They will bow at your feet, if you wish. And you will make me feel good.”

“With my healing, you mean?”

“Yes,” said Biadet, after hesitating.

Book 2 – 14: Windfall

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

Figaro Ollo Spaceport.

 

It took an hour of walking before they saw the spaceport and, in the distance, the outline of a city. Point–Two had used the time to get acclimatised to the new gravity. He figured it was a little over standard, maybe 1.1 Gs. If this was where Fig had been born and raised, it would make him a little tougher, a little more solid, than the regular person.

A little more than standard had its advantages; a lot over made it much more difficult to adapt to new environments. People from planets with a gravity of 1.5 Gs or more rarely travelled off-world, and their ships were configured to maintain a heavy grav count at all times, which was expensive. Most heavy–G worlds were rich with ores and minerals, so they could afford it, but heavy-landers didn’t like to leave their comfortable, clingy homes. He had seen a man from one of the Ingot Belt planets get caught in a G-out, suddenly floating inside a mining ship, in no danger whatsoever, completely lose control of his senses, screaming and soiling himself as though he’d fallen off the side of a mountain and was plummeting to his death. A person’s reaction depended on what they were used to.

Only after Point–Two had spent an hour or so jumping and skipping and going through his well-honed routines, did he begin to feel like he would be able to handle himself in this new environment if (more likely when) problems arose. He had ignored the looks Ubik had given him. He had also ignored the mocking imitation Ubik had performed next to him, the two of them skipping side by side through the open fields.

They spotted the spaceport as they reached the top of a gentle rise, the many ships lined up, the adjacent parking lot full of vehicles. Usually, a medium–sized port like this one, handling hundreds of flights a day, would be a finely–choreographed dance of ships taking-off and landing, but there were no departures or arrivals as the two of them watched from the hill. Parts of the Nirvana were still falling from above, although not so many as before, so the spaceport was probably closed until the all-clear.

“I can’t believe he has a spaceport named after him,” said Ubik. The large sign over the main building was brightly lit and constructed to be read from any angle. Figaro Ollo Spaceport. “He didn’t seem the type.”

“I expect he wasn’t consulted,” said Point–Two. Proud, rich parents enjoying their pride and their richness, nothing too unusual about that.

“Okay,” said Ubik, as he set off down the hill towards civilisation, “here’s the plan. We get inside the spaceport and walk out like tourists here for the wide, open vistas and sizzling hot chicks, or possibly, the wide, open chicks and the sizzling hot vistas. Couple of nobodies passing through, spaceport’s full of them, nobody will give us a second look. Then, the first thing we need to sort out is food and water. Then money. We may need money first, in order to obtain food and water. Play it by ear, yeah? Then we need to find out where the Ollo residence is. If they’ve named every building after themselves, it might be a bit tricky to work out which one Fig’s in. Luckily, we can track him down through Grandma, assuming she’s still close to him. Then—”

“How do we get past the fence?” asked Point–Two. It was all very well planning for the future, but they had the rather more immediate problem of the endless fence that stretched around the spaceport. It wasn’t particularly high, and most likely they could go all the way around to an entrance, but there would be security and questions and quite possibly a bulletin from VendX containing pictures with details of the sizeable reward.

“Climb over it,” said Ubik, like it wasn’t even worth worrying about.

“Won’t they have cameras and drones and sensor arrays?” asked Point–Two.

“Oh, sure,” said Ubik. “All of the above. But look at this place. I mean, it’s okay, Grade 2 security, I’d guess, maybe Grade 3, but it’s a basic civilian facility. They’re not expecting any trouble, nothing major. These fences are just here to let the groundskeeper know how far he needs to cut the grass.”

Point–Two wasn’t convinced. The fence looked clean and well–maintained. In his experience, spaceports had their own security teams who were bored enough to respond to even the smallest chance that something untoward was happening on their watch. If they triggered any kind of alarm, they could expect an investigatory drone or two at the very least.

“Don’t worry,” said Ubik, as they approached the fence, “I do this sort of thing all the time — restricted areas are my jam. The trick is to figure out the pattern they use, and then slip through the cracks.”

“And how long do you need to figure out the pattern?”

“Already have,” said Ubik. He started running. “Quick, we’ve only got a couple of seconds.” He scrambled up the wall.

Point–Two ran after him.

“Wait,” said Ubik, sitting on top of the wall, hand out. “Okay, now.” He dropped down on the other side.

Point–Two scrambled up. It was an easy enough climb, but he had no idea where the cameras were. When he reached the top, Ubik was crouched in the medium–length grass which looked like it needed cutting. “Okay, jump.”

Point–Two did as he was instructed and landed next to Ubik. He had no idea how Ubik knew when and where to go in order to avoid being spotted, or even if there was any security. It wouldn’t be beyond Ubik to pretend they were evading a non–existent alarm system just to amuse himself.

In any case, there was no one rushing to apprehend them, so whatever it was Ubik had done, it had worked.

“Okay, now the secret to not getting rumbled,” said Ubik, “is to act like you belong and you’re too busy to be interfered with.” He stood up and walked across the open area towards the main building like he was late for an important meeting.

Point–Two jumped up and fell in behind him, checking an imaginary watch on his wrist.

They made it to the main building without being stopped. A drone had hurried past them on some errand or other without sparing them a glance, and there were people working around the ships sitting on their pads, appearing just as busy as Ubik and him. Maybe they were pretending, too.

They walked through sliding doors that opened and welcomed them into the reception building. The climate–controlled interior at once reminded Point–Two of home, the clean, sterile air not full of scents and odours like the open world. He much preferred it when his senses weren’t being bombarded from all directions.

“Right,” said Ubik. “Where is it?”

There were a lot more people here, although none of them paid any attention to the newest arrivals. There was an air of general agitation and discontent. Point–Two could sense the frustration coming off these people in waves. They were stuck here, unable to head off to wherever it was they wished to go, or waiting interminably for late arrivals that still weren’t up on the board.

Signs and screens were everywhere, all offering apologies and vague promises of fixes coming soon. It was nothing new for a spaceport to have delays and logistical problems. There were always logistical problems, but usually there was some obvious reason for it. Random objects falling out of the sky wasn’t normal.

“There,” said Ubik, rushing off towards a kiosk with an information symbol hovering over it.

It was a spaceport, so information kiosks were to be expected. People rarely used them, though. Either people already knew what they needed to know, or they had employed better methods. Tourists arriving for their first visit would have downloaded everything they needed into their ocular implants.

But the kiosk had a terminal. What Ubik could extract from their database was bound to be more than the average traveller’s hotel inquiries.

Point–Two hurried to catch up, eager to see what method Ubik would use to bring the spaceport under his personal control.

Ubik was flashing through page after page of promotional material on the horizontal screen. Where to go, what to see, how much fun you could have renting a boat or a hot air balloon. He seemed to be looking for something specific.

After about ten minutes, Point–Two felt compelled to ask what.

“Not sure, not sure,” mumbled Ubik. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Another couple of minutes elapsed.

“Can’t you use this terminal to access the spaceport’s mainframe?”

Ubik gave him a withering glance. “Not unless I build a network system connecting the two. This is just an information kiosk.” He pointed at the symbol hanging over them.

“Then what’s the point?” asked Point–Two, a little annoyed at being treated like he was the one wasting Ubik’s time.

“We need to find a way to make money, and quick.”

“Why?” said Point–Two. He understood the need for food and water, but it seemed like there was more to it than that.

“Because whatever Fig’s got himself mixed up in, we won’t be able to go to the people in authority and ask them for the details, obviously.”

“Obviously,” agreed Point–Two.

“But that’s fine. There are other ways, and I happen to know quite a lot about them. Any planet you go to, it’s the same, the people are the same. There’s the ones at the top, who have everything and do everything they can to keep it, and then there’s the ones at the bottom, who know the rules are bent out of shape and put there to keep them in their place. So they work out ways to bend them a bit more so they can get round them too, just like the people at the top.”

“What has that got to do with checking out the local tourist hot spots?”

“Nothing. But the people who are going to help us find out what we need to know aren’t going to help us for free. And they aren’t going to want to be paid in traceable standard currency, either. Which is lucky because we haven’t got any. But they will take local currency, which every planet has because every planet wants to be able to move money around without the people at the top skimming their cut off of it. Hard currency, coins. Can’t just yoink it out of a computer, you have to dig it out of their pockets while they punch you in the face. People like that, the ones I’m talking about. They like the idea they have a chance to hold onto what’s theirs as long as they can beat you to death first. They like the idea that rich guys who want to take it get nervous when they have to rob you face to face. Seems like a much better option than hiring a tax lawyer.”

Point–Two felt a bit lost. He understood that people wanted money, and they wanted to keep control of it after they got it, but what had that to do with anything? How was Ubik going to make money with an information kiosk?

“Here, here, this will do. Look.” Ubik turned the screen so it was angled towards Point–Two. There was an advertisement for some kind of show with muscled men wearing skimpy clothing.

Ubik slid his finger across the screen and the volume went up.

“...fighting for their lives in the arena,” said an over–excited voice. “The victor wins a million Kachwa and the world championship crown for—”

“This is some kind of wrestling contest,” said Point–Two. “What do you want to do? Bet on it? It’s probably all staged.”

“No, not bet on it. Participate. A million Kachwa!”

“You want to fight?”

“Not me,” said Ubik. “I’ve seen you fight. You’ve got moves.”

“No.”

“I’ll help.”

“I refuse.”

“We’ll cheat. You just have to do what I tell you.”

“Offer rejected.”

“But look…” Ubik angled the screen again.

“...augmented warriors without limits…” Now the screen showed men with robotic limbs punching through walls.

“I could make you a brilliant prosthetic. We don’t have any money but I’m sure I could slap something together out of a couple of drones.” He looked at cleaning drone that scurried past them, scooping up litter.

“I don’t want a robot arm, thanks. I like mine, both of them.”

“Not a replacement, an augmentation,” said Ubik. “Look, you don’t even have to win. The people running this thing, I bet they know all sorts of underworld figures. Exactly who we need to speak to. We enter you in a couple of minor bouts, get their attention, we’re in the door.”

“Do you not recall what happened last time you tried to outsmart a crime boss? Terrific JonJo, ring any bells. Guy who’s going to kill you on sight.”

“Not if he can’t find me,” said Ubik.

“No,” said Point–Two. “I can’t fight like this.” Two men were slicing at each other with electric saw attachments on their robot arms. “It’s not even real. They’re actors, it’s a show.”

“One million Kachwa!” boomed the announcer. “But the mayhem doesn’t end there. Introducing the anti–grav battledome.”

The picture switched to two women inside a glass cage, floating, acrobatically charging each other.

Point–Two stopped to stare. “On the other hand...”

Ubik snatched the screen back to face him. “Ah, no, that won’t work.”

“Why not? I think I could—”

“It’s a women–only contest.”

“What? How is that fair?”

“Although,” said Ubik, “cutting bits off is a lot cheaper than adding them on.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be a woman.”

“Pretend?” said Ubik.

“Forget it.”

“Look, we have to get money and a lot of it. How else are we going to find… oh.”

“What now?”

Ubik turned the screen back.

“The White Palace, home to the Ollo Dynasty. The Grand Exhibition Hall where you can see the greatest inventions of Ramon Ollo, with Ramon Ollo himself as your personal guide.”

A ghostly hologram of Ramon Ollo appeared, jumping out of the screen. “Welcome and please join me as we journey through the wonders of the modern age.”

“Open to the public every day. Entry fee, sixty Kachwa.”

“Sixty Kachwa,” said Ubik. “That should be doable. Follow me. Time to make a small withdrawal from my VendX account.”

Chapter 458

The room was shaking, bottles and tubes fell off shelves and smashed on the floor, which was trembling under my feet (or possibly I was trembling on top of my feet).

Cheng looked annoyed but didn’t try to save any of his equipment. He looked up at the ceiling of the basement, more concerned that the whole house was about to collapse. He didn’t rush off to save his wife and child, though, so I assumed we weren’t going to get flattened.

The crystal ball in my hand was throbbing, which isn’t what you expect of solid glass, or what you want when you’re holding a ball. Well, it’s not what I look for in my ball–holding. Your mileage may vary.

“I thought you said this thing didn’t work,” I shouted over the shifting of tectonic plates.

“It doesn’t,” Cheng said. “That was you.” He had one hand against the wall, possibly stopping it from collapsing.

The lights faded in and out. Dust continuously fell from the ceiling. Mandy screamed, “What are you two doing down there? The baby’s trying to sleep.” Of the three, the last was the most unnerving.

“Sorry,” Cheng shouted back. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

I would have made the whipped sound with my mouth but my teeth were shaking too much and I had my jaw clenched.

The wall opposite me had changed. It was the same but different. Darker. It was like the portals into the void I had encountered. A way back to Flatland?

Before I could decide what to do about the new doorway, Biadet stepped out of it, and then it disappeared. The room stopped shaking.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” said Biadet. She sounded unimpressed; even more than usual.

“Biadet, how did you get here? And what the hell happened to your hair?”

Last time I saw her, she had glossy black hair cut into a severe bob that neatly bordered her face in a way that turned every sour expression into a framed picture that would haunt your memories. But now she had a thin fuzz that didn’t even cover her entire scalp.

She raised her hand and ran it over her head. Bits of fluff came off. She looked at her palm and blew on it. Hairs flew into the air.

“I’m dying,” she said. “I thought I’d get out and travel a bit, see what I’ll be missing.” She took a deep breath, in through her tiny nose. “Something stinks in this world.” She turned her head to look at Cheng. “What is that thing doing here?” She said it very flatly with no emotion, which somehow made it more insulting.

“Friend of yours?” said Cheng, equally emotionless.

“I… I’m not sure.” I turned back to Biadet. “Why are you here, Biadet? Did Peter send you? Are you going to make things more difficult for me? Because, to be frank, things are difficult enough.”

“I just told you I’m dying, a girl not even into her womanhood, and you immediately start talking about your own problems. You do not change, Colin. No improvements at all.”

“We’re all dying, Biadet,” I said. “You won’t be missing much by leaving early.”

Biadet smiled, just a little. “It is you. I’m glad. You are the only person I’ve ever met without the slightest trace of a soul.”

She looked at me, right at me in the way only she could. I don’t think anyone made feel as exposed as she did, made me want to rush out and buy a burka from the nearest Asian shop so I could hide my shame (I’m not entirely sure what burkas are for, but that has to be one of the uses, right?). There was one near where I lived where you could buy all sorts of exotic garments, as well as large sacks of potatoes, freshly killed chicken and plastic garden furniture for a pound.

Biadet nodded like she’d seen something. “So, it’s like that. I always thought it would be.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she was referring to, but I never was with her.

The important thing, though, was that she was here. She had managed to traverse the infinite divide between universes more or less intact, which meant she could take me back.

“I can’t take you back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked, a little disconcerted by how easily she could read me.

“I told you, I’m dying. I couldn’t have come here, otherwise. The journey would kill me, but since that point is moot, I decided to make this my last trip. I hope to see some interesting things and do some good, for a change. I think that would be a fitting last act.”

“Great,” I said, walking past her. “Here, hold this for a moment.” I shoved the crystal ball into her hands and inspected the wall she had just emerged out of. No that I was implying she was a big fat liar. She was too short and skinny for that.

“Are we trapped here?” said Biadet. “Is this cave the home of this creature?”

“It’s not a cave,” said Cheng. “It’s my… den.”

“Den, cave, same thing,” said Biadet.

I felt around on the wall but there was no sign of an interdimensional rift through time and space. Just a little damp that probably needed treating. “Are you sure you can’t open the doorway again?”

“Not without an operational spire,” said Biadet.

There was a wailing sound and the sound of high heels on the cellar steps. “Look what you’ve done,” said Mandy, the baby in her arms with a red face and tears in his eyes, making a noise in his throat like a car alarm in the distance. I think he’d just realised his mother was a massive whore and he’d never be able to have a stable relationship with a woman because of it. I could see why he’d be upset. “Who’s this?”

She looked at Biadet the way women look at other women near their men. Vaginal envy is a thing.

“You’re holding a monster,” said Biadet.

The baby stopped crying and stared at Biadet, who scowled. The baby lunged for her but Mandy held onto him and pulled him into her bosom, little arms still flailing to get a punch in.

I wasn’t sure what the instinct driving the kid was, but he seemed determined to slay his natural predator.

“You two haven’t met?” I said. There was always the chance their paths had crossed back in Flatland.

Mandy shook her head. “I’m sure I’d remember.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” said Biadet.

I could sense a catfight incoming. Who would I put money on? Obviously, Biadet had special skills that would give her an edge, even if she was in a weakened state. Mandy, on the other hand, had probably slapped the shit out of her best friend after a hen night while wearing an inflatable penis on her head. So I’d put it at about even.

“This is Biadet. She’s from back over there.” I gave Mandy a look to indicate I meant she wasn’t one of us. “Don’t start anything, she has special powers.”

“I don’t have special powers,” said Biadet.

“You don’t?” I said, a little surprised, a little disappointed. I had been counting on her abilities to god–mode my way to victory. “Did you lose them when you got ill?”

“I never had special powers,” said Biadet. “I’m just a good mover. You should see me dance.”

“You definitely had powers,” I said. “Peter gave them to you. He saved your life and made you into something not quite human, and made you his little puppet. You can’t lie to me, Biadet. Wassername in Dargot might have taken you off him, but she was still treating you like her property. You’ve always done things your own way, but only in the service of someone else. You have powers, you’re cursed with them.”

She stared at me for a long, uncomfortable minute. “And what service do you require of me?”

I sighed and shook my head. “I was hoping you’d let me go back, but of course you can’t. There’s a lot of crazy shit going on here I don’t really want to get involved with. I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it.”

“What kind of crazy?” said Biadet. “I have a lot of experience with that sort of thing.”

I didn’t doubt it.

“Well, it’s like, there’s a mad king who thinks he can make people do whatever he tells them because, you know, he’s the king and they’re not. So he’s making life horrible for the peasants, and encouraging anyone who’s dumb enough to follow him to a better world he’s going to create, only he isn’t because he’s just a fat orange twat.”

Biadet nodded sagely. “A mad king. I understand. The solution is simple. Kill him. The empire will crumble without him.”

“Yes, thanks for that amazing insight. I don’t think so.”

“Why not. I’ve seen you kill people before. You don’t have any moral objection, clearly. It’s the easiest solution.”

“We don’t do things that way here,” said Mandy.

“Actually, we do,” I said. “All the time. Heads of state killing other heads of state who aren’t being cooperative is kind of human history 101. But it would only rile up his supporters. I don’t think all–out war would be much fun.”

“They are powerful wizards?” said Biadet.

“Well, no. They don’t have magic here.”

“I see. So they have many elite warriors in their ranks.”

“Um, not really. Mostly, they’re unfit slobs with pigshit for brains.”

“But they operate in the shadows?”

“No, they tend to be as loud as possible and wear red hats for easy identification.”

“Then I don’t see the problem,” said Biadet. “Kill all of them. Hunt them down and display their heads on spikes as a warning to others.”

I took the crystal ball back from her before she tried to use it to brain someone. “They don’t deserve to die just because they’re stupid.”

Biadet tilted her head to one side and looked at me like I’d just given the perfect reason to kill someone.

In her defence, she was from a different world. One where you could do all sorts of crazy shit and then fly off on a dragon. It wasn’t surprising her moral compass wasn’t pointing true north here.

“I think,” she said, “that the problem isn’t this world.”

“No?” I said. “Then what is it?”

“You,” said Biadet. “You are lazy. You refuse to put in the necessary effort.”

“We can agree on that,” said Mandy. “Doesn’t like responsibility, either.”

“Yes,” said Biadet. “Avoids commitment of any kind.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” I could see this getting out of hand if I let it go on. “I just choose my battles carefully.”

Biadet tilted her head the other way. “Have you committed your future to Jenny.”

“I don’t see what business that is of yours,” I said. “But obviously she’s the girl for me.”

“But have you told her that?” said Biadet.

“Of course he hasn’t,” said Mandy. Suddenly, they were playing bad cop, worse cop. Any minute now they’d take me home, sit me on my own sofa and then shoot me in the head, in the traditional manner.

“Alright, calm down Me–Too Generation, we’re trying to fix this fucked up world, not my ability to be emotionally honest with the people around me.”

“What’s the difference?” said Biadet.

“Ha! Good one,” said Mandy. The kid gurgled in agreement.

“No, not a good one. That doesn’t even make any sense.” I turned towards Cheng for support. He was pretending to be busy tidying up his table. “Forget it. Look, Biadet, you’re here now, so why don’t I show you around and you can see for yourself what kind of place this is. I’d actually be interested to get your take on it. You’re the first person not from this world to come here — actually, you most likely aren’t, but the others probably got sliced up in Area 51 the moment they said ‘We come in peace’ so I can’t ask them.”

Biadet had reverted to her classic ‘This boy’s an idiot’ stare, which was less threatening than what she’d been putting out until now. But pity is a fine line to manage — you don’t want to overdo it and send people into ‘Better put the poor thing out of its misery’ mode.

“Yes,” she said. “I think I would like that.”

“And you can fill me in on what’s been going on over there.”

She gave me a noncommittal eyebrow–raise. That was alright. As long as she was here, she gave me hope for the future. Not this world’s future — that was pretty borked — but a future where I wasn’t just a delusional muppet who thought he was slowly going mad. If Biadet existed, then everything was true.

I was also quite keen to see her interact with some of the people I’d met recently. Even a substantial reduction in power levels still left her as one of the most unpredictable entities I’d come across (and that’s coming from someone with a girlfriend). There was no way she didn’t come with a few surprises still intact. No fucking way.

“Oh,” said Biadet, looking up. “Someone’s here.”

Just as she finished speaking, an alarm went off. Nothing very startling, just an insistent beep and a red light flashing in the corner.

Cheng turned around and turned on a screen. A picture appeared showing the front gate now open and men in black clothes streaming in.

“I thought you said there was no magic here,” said Biadet, staring with wonder at the monitor.

“There isn’t. This is just…” But was it any different to magic? “Who are they?”

Cheng sighed. “They are representatives of your British government.”

“You’ve dealt with them before?” Cheng nodded. “Then why would they risk breaking in like this?”

Cheng looked past me at where Biadet had been a moment ago.

“She went upstairs,” said Mandy.

“Oh, no. Hey,” I shouted as I ran after her. “Don’t open the door.”

When I got to the hallway, the front door was open and large men were squeezed into the doorway, blocked from entering by a small girl. They made her look even smaller than usual.

“You’ll have to come with us, miss,” said the guy at the front. They seemed overjoyed things were turning out so easy. Here was the very thing they’d been sent to get, waiting to be collected by the door for convenience.

“Be careful,” I shouted.

“We aren’t going to hurt her,” said the man in a controlled, calm, well–trained voice.

“I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to you.”

“What’s this?” asked Biadet, holding up a Taser.

“Wait… Wh…” The man patted his side where there was an empty holster.

“Is it a wand?” She stuck it in his belly and pulled the trigger. He jumped back but was prevented from falling by his comrades. He shook violently. Biadet kept firing off charges, which I wasn’t even sure was possible. But then, this was Biadet.

“No magic.” She looked over her shoulder at me and shook her head like I’d almost fooled her.

“Grab her,” shouted someone in the huddle. They came charging in, over the top of their not–quite–fallen colleague.

I put my hand over my eyes and peeked through my fingers. This was going to be awful, and I didn’t want to miss any of it.

458: Fight Off the Valkyrie

The room was shaking, bottles and tubes fell off shelves and smashed on the floor, which was trembling under my feet (or possibly I was trembling on top of my feet).

Cheng looked annoyed but didn’t try to save any of his equipment. He looked up at the ceiling of the basement, more concerned that the whole house was about to collapse. He didn’t rush off to save his wife and child, though, so I assumed we weren’t going to get flattened.

The crystal ball in my hand was throbbing, which isn’t what you expect of solid glass, or what you want when you’re holding a ball. Well, it’s not what I look for in my ball–holding. Your mileage may vary.

“I thought you said this thing didn’t work,” I shouted over the shifting of tectonic plates.

“It doesn’t,” Cheng said. “That was you.” He had one hand against the wall, possibly stopping it from collapsing.

The lights faded in and out. Dust continuously fell from the ceiling. Mandy screamed, “What are you two doing down there? The baby’s trying to sleep.” Of the three, the last was the most unnerving.

“Sorry,” Cheng shouted back. “We’ll try to keep it down.”

I would have made the whipped sound with my mouth but my teeth were shaking too much and I had my jaw clenched.

The wall opposite me had changed. It was the same but different. Darker. It was like the portals into the void I had encountered. A way back to Flatland?

Before I could decide what to do about the new doorway, Biadet stepped out of it, and then it disappeared. The room stopped shaking.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” said Biadet. She sounded unimpressed; even more than usual.

“Biadet, how did you get here? And what the hell happened to your hair?”

Last time I saw her, she had glossy black hair cut into a severe bob that neatly bordered her face in a way that turned every sour expression into a framed picture that would haunt your memories. But now she had a thin fuzz that didn’t even cover her entire scalp.

She raised her hand and ran it over her head. Bits of fluff came off. She looked at her palm and blew on it. Hairs flew into the air.

“I’m dying,” she said. “I thought I’d get out and travel a bit, see what I’ll be missing.” She took a deep breath, in through her tiny nose. “Something stinks in this world.” She turned her head to look at Cheng. “What is that thing doing here?” She said it very flatly with no emotion, which somehow made it more insulting.

“Friend of yours?” said Cheng, equally emotionless.

“I… I’m not sure.” I turned back to Biadet. “Why are you here, Biadet? Did Peter send you? Are you going to make things more difficult for me? Because, to be frank, things are difficult enough.”

“I just told you I’m dying, a girl not even into her womanhood, and you immediately start talking about your own problems. You do not change, Colin. No improvements at all.”

“We’re all dying, Biadet,” I said. “You won’t be missing much by leaving early.”

Biadet smiled, just a little. “It is you. I’m glad. You are the only person I’ve ever met without the slightest trace of a soul.”

She looked at me, right at me in the way only she could. I don’t think anyone made feel as exposed as she did, made me want to rush out and buy a burka from the nearest Asian shop so I could hide my shame (I’m not entirely sure what burkas are for, but that has to be one of the uses, right?). There was one near where I lived where you could buy all sorts of exotic garments, as well as large sacks of potatoes, freshly killed chicken and plastic garden furniture for a pound.

Biadet nodded like she’d seen something. “So, it’s like that. I always thought it would be.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what she was referring to, but I never was with her.

The important thing, though, was that she was here. She had managed to traverse the infinite divide between universes more or less intact, which meant she could take me back.

“I can’t take you back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she said.

“Why not?” I asked, a little disconcerted by how easily she could read me.

“I told you, I’m dying. I couldn’t have come here, otherwise. The journey would kill me, but since that point is moot, I decided to make this my last trip. I hope to see some interesting things and do some good, for a change. I think that would be a fitting last act.”

“Great,” I said, walking past her. “Here, hold this for a moment.” I shoved the crystal ball into her hands and inspected the wall she had just emerged out of. No that I was implying she was a big fat liar. She was too short and skinny for that.

“Are we trapped here?” said Biadet. “Is this cave the home of this creature?”

“It’s not a cave,” said Cheng. “It’s my… den.”

“Den, cave, same thing,” said Biadet.

I felt around on the wall but there was no sign of an interdimensional rift through time and space. Just a little damp that probably needed treating. “Are you sure you can’t open the doorway again?”

“Not without an operational spire,” said Biadet.

There was a wailing sound and the sound of high heels on the cellar steps. “Look what you’ve done,” said Mandy, the baby in her arms with a red face and tears in his eyes, making a noise in his throat like a car alarm in the distance. I think he’d just realised his mother was a massive whore and he’d never be able to have a stable relationship with a woman because of it. I could see why he’d be upset. “Who’s this?”

She looked at Biadet the way women look at other women near their men. Vaginal envy is a thing.

“You’re holding a monster,” said Biadet.

The baby stopped crying and stared at Biadet, who scowled. The baby lunged for her but Mandy held onto him and pulled him into her bosom, little arms still flailing to get a punch in.

I wasn’t sure what the instinct driving the kid was, but he seemed determined to slay his natural predator.

“You two haven’t met?” I said. There was always the chance their paths had crossed back in Flatland.

Mandy shook her head. “I’m sure I’d remember.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” said Biadet.

I could sense a catfight incoming. Who would I put money on? Obviously, Biadet had special skills that would give her an edge, even if she was in a weakened state. Mandy, on the other hand, had probably slapped the shit out of her best friend after a hen night while wearing an inflatable penis on her head. So I’d put it at about even.

“This is Biadet. She’s from back over there.” I gave Mandy a look to indicate I meant she wasn’t one of us. “Don’t start anything, she has special powers.”

“I don’t have special powers,” said Biadet.

“You don’t?” I said, a little surprised, a little disappointed. I had been counting on her abilities to god–mode my way to victory. “Did you lose them when you got ill?”

“I never had special powers,” said Biadet. “I’m just a good mover. You should see me dance.”

“You definitely had powers,” I said. “Peter gave them to you. He saved your life and made you into something not quite human, and made you his little puppet. You can’t lie to me, Biadet. Wassername in Dargot might have taken you off him, but she was still treating you like her property. You’ve always done things your own way, but only in the service of someone else. You have powers, you’re cursed with them.”

She stared at me for a long, uncomfortable minute. “And what service do you require of me?”

I sighed and shook my head. “I was hoping you’d let me go back, but of course you can’t. There’s a lot of crazy shit going on here I don’t really want to get involved with. I don’t think there’s anything you can do about it.”

“What kind of crazy?” said Biadet. “I have a lot of experience with that sort of thing.”

I didn’t doubt it.

“Well, it’s like, there’s a mad king who thinks he can make people do whatever he tells them because, you know, he’s the king and they’re not. So he’s making life horrible for the peasants, and encouraging anyone who’s dumb enough to follow him to a better world he’s going to create, only he isn’t because he’s just a fat orange twat.”

Biadet nodded sagely. “A mad king. I understand. The solution is simple. Kill him. The empire will crumble without him.”

“Yes, thanks for that amazing insight. I don’t think so.”

“Why not. I’ve seen you kill people before. You don’t have any moral objection, clearly. It’s the easiest solution.”

“We don’t do things that way here,” said Mandy.

“Actually, we do,” I said. “All the time. Heads of state killing other heads of state who aren’t being cooperative is kind of human history 101. But it would only rile up his supporters. I don’t think all–out war would be much fun.”

“They are powerful wizards?” said Biadet.

“Well, no. They don’t have magic here.”

“I see. So they have many elite warriors in their ranks.”

“Um, not really. Mostly, they’re unfit slobs with pigshit for brains.”

“But they operate in the shadows?”

“No, they tend to be as loud as possible and wear red hats for easy identification.”

“Then I don’t see the problem,” said Biadet. “Kill all of them. Hunt them down and display their heads on spikes as a warning to others.”

I took the crystal ball back from her before she tried to use it to brain someone. “They don’t deserve to die just because they’re stupid.”

Biadet tilted her head to one side and looked at me like I’d just given the perfect reason to kill someone.

In her defence, she was from a different world. One where you could do all sorts of crazy shit and then fly off on a dragon. It wasn’t surprising her moral compass wasn’t pointing true north here.

“I think,” she said, “that the problem isn’t this world.”

“No?” I said. “Then what is it?”

“You,” said Biadet. “You are lazy. You refuse to put in the necessary effort.”

“We can agree on that,” said Mandy. “Doesn’t like responsibility, either.”

“Yes,” said Biadet. “Avoids commitment of any kind.”

“Hey, that’s not true.” I could see this getting out of hand if I let it go on. “I just choose my battles carefully.”

Biadet tilted her head the other way. “Have you committed your future to Jenny.”

“I don’t see what business that is of yours,” I said. “But obviously she’s the girl for me.”

“But have you told her that?” said Biadet.

“Of course he hasn’t,” said Mandy. Suddenly, they were playing bad cop, worse cop. Any minute now they’d take me home, sit me on my own sofa and then shoot me in the head, in the traditional manner.

“Alright, calm down Me–Too Generation, we’re trying to fix this fucked up world, not my ability to be emotionally honest with the people around me.”

“What’s the difference?” said Biadet.

“Ha! Good one,” said Mandy. The kid gurgled in agreement.

“No, not a good one. That doesn’t even make any sense.” I turned towards Cheng for support. He was pretending to be busy tidying up his table. “Forget it. Look, Biadet, you’re here now, so why don’t I show you around and you can see for yourself what kind of place this is. I’d actually be interested to get your take on it. You’re the first person not from this world to come here — actually, you most likely aren’t, but the others probably got sliced up in Area 51 the moment they said ‘We come in peace’ so I can’t ask them.”

Biadet had reverted to her classic ‘This boy’s an idiot’ stare, which was less threatening than what she’d been putting out until now. But pity is a fine line to manage — you don’t want to overdo it and send people into ‘Better put the poor thing out of its misery’ mode.

“Yes,” she said. “I think I would like that.”

“And you can fill me in on what’s been going on over there.”

She gave me a noncommittal eyebrow–raise. That was alright. As long as she was here, she gave me hope for the future. Not this world’s future — that was pretty borked — but a future where I wasn’t just a delusional muppet who thought he was slowly going mad. If Biadet existed, then everything was true.

I was also quite keen to see her interact with some of the people I’d met recently. Even a substantial reduction in power levels still left her as one of the most unpredictable entities I’d come across (and that’s coming from someone with a girlfriend). There was no way she didn’t come with a few surprises still intact. No fucking way.

“Oh,” said Biadet, looking up. “Someone’s here.”

Just as she finished speaking, an alarm went off. Nothing very startling, just an insistent beep and a red light flashing in the corner.

Cheng turned around and turned on a screen. A picture appeared showing the front gate now open and men in black clothes streaming in.

“I thought you said there was no magic here,” said Biadet, staring with wonder at the monitor.

“There isn’t. This is just…” But was it any different to magic? “Who are they?”

Cheng sighed. “They are representatives of your British government.”

“You’ve dealt with them before?” Cheng nodded. “Then why would they risk breaking in like this?”

Cheng looked past me at where Biadet had been a moment ago.

“She went upstairs,” said Mandy.

“Oh, no. Hey,” I shouted as I ran after her. “Don’t open the door.”

When I got to the hallway, the front door was open and large men were squeezed into the doorway, blocked from entering by a small girl. They made her look even smaller than usual.

“You’ll have to come with us, miss,” said the guy at the front. They seemed overjoyed things were turning out so easy. Here was the very thing they’d been sent to get, waiting to be collected by the door for convenience.

“Be careful,” I shouted.

“We aren’t going to hurt her,” said the man in a controlled, calm, well–trained voice.

“I wasn’t talking to her, I was talking to you.”

“What’s this?” asked Biadet, holding up a Taser.

“Wait… Wh…” The man patted his side where there was an empty holster.

“Is it a wand?” She stuck it in his belly and pulled the trigger. He jumped back but was prevented from falling by his comrades. He shook violently. Biadet kept firing off charges, which I wasn’t even sure was possible. But then, this was Biadet.

“No magic.” She looked over her shoulder at me and shook her head like I’d almost fooled her.

“Grab her,” shouted someone in the huddle. They came charging in, over the top of their not–quite–fallen colleague.

I put my hand over my eyes and peeked through my fingers. This was going to be awful, and I didn’t want to miss any of it.

Book 2 – 13: Abide

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

The White Palace.

 

The pain woke Figaro. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious and maybe he would have woken at this moment anyway, but the pain helped bring him out a little more sharply.

His right arm, from wrist to shoulder, was on fire. Figaro gritted his teeth and inhaled/exhaled through his nose in short bursts. He had been taught how to manage pain by his father. The method had involved hooking up his nervous system to an unpleasant machine that delivered agony to order, and building up a tolerance. He hadn’t enjoyed the learning process.

But now it came in useful, just as his father had said it would, over young Figaro’s screams.

He opened his eyes and looked up at a featureless white ceiling. He was lying on a bed, not a particularly comfortable one.

“You’re awake. Good.”

Figaro turned his head to the side and the pain shot across his shoulder to his neck, and them down his spine, making his back spasm. Figaro expelled air and forced his shoulders and hips back down.

“Are you prisoner or jailer?” he asked Ganesh, who was sitting on the other side of the room.

“You really have to ask?” said Ganesh. “I thought I trained you better than that.”

Figaro swallowed and then slowly shifted and turned to sit up. Lightning struck him in the elbow, in the wrist, in the small of his back. He ignored the sharp crack of pain that accompanied each movement and swung his bare feet onto the ground.

“I thought I would have seen it in Mackus’ eyes, but I saw nothing,” said Figaro.

Ganesh had trained him to read people. From their posture, from their faces, from the change in their eyeline. It was how you could fight someone and always be one step ahead. He had always been good at it, able to see what was coming. But with Mackus…

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Ganesh. “Mackus isn’t easy to read. I trained him too, until he became better than me. You only ever knew him as the efficient administrator, he was much more than that, once.”

He pushed aside the haze in his mind and looked at Ganesh, at his bruised face and bloody knuckles. “He isn’t that much better than you, is he? Did he drug you?”

Ganesh followed Figaro’s eyes down to his hands. “No, this was my own fault. Self-medicating at the wrong time.”

Figaro didn’t pry any further. He knew all his father’s employees left over from the old days suffered various ailments and coped with them to different degrees of success.

He looked around, sipping air as he turned his neck. “Where are we? Is this… the safe room?” He recognised it but it was greatly changed. All the consoles and equipment that should have been here to enable access to the outside world and provide control over the house’s internal and external security systems had been removed.

“Yes, the safe room. They’re hoping to keep themselves safe from us. From you, mostly.”

Figaro nodded and winced. He looked down at the bracelet on his right wrist. The skin around it was flaming red. Dr Yune had insisted Figaro use this updated version, and now he knew why. Another betrayal.

He closed his fist and turned it, turning up the pain like he was turning a dial.

“I don’t understand why…” Exhale. “Why he would do this.”

“I think you do,” said Ganesh, the teacher in all circumstances.

He was right, it was obvious. If his father was dead, the person set to inherit control of everything was Figaro. A child. A waste. Far better to put it in the hands of someone who knew how to make full use of the Ollo legacy. And the Ollo technology.

It was ruthless but pragmatic, which was Mackus to a tee. There were still obstacles to overcome — he couldn’t simply make Figaro disappear and not expect anyone to ask questions, demand answers — but his actions so far suggested he had prepared responses that he felt would be adequate. He was a very efficient administrator, after all.

“Why aren’t we both dead?” asked Figaro.

“You’re taking this too personally,” said Ganesh.

“You don’t think I should? He tried to kill me?”

“I don’t think you should take anything personally, when it comes to fighting. Emotions will only get in the way. Mackus knows that. He would only kill you if there was something to gain from your death.”

“He would only keep me alive if there was something to gain from my life,” said Figaro.

“Exactly,” said Ganesh, smiling. His partially healed split lip began to bleed. He dabbed it with his tongue.

Figaro considered what he might be worth to Mackus alive. If he wished to take his father’s place, to reclaim the position Ramon Ollo used to have in this world he would need more than the backing of a few of the more easily-cowed politicians.

What he would need, thought Figaro, was the backing of someone who could terrify an entire planet into thinking it was fortunate to have a man like Mackus Karn protecting them from Armageddon.

It would be a delicate balance to get his mother just angry enough to put the locals in just the right level of susceptibility. How would he do it? Not kill Figaro, but maybe save him? Rescue him from an assassination plot? A kidnapping? Present himself as the saviour to both sides. Returned the son only slightly harmed, prevented the destruction of the indigenous population by offering totalitarian rule as an alternative. Sounded plausible. But how to stop Figaro from revealing the truth? If not dead, maybe mindwiped? Did Dr Yune have a method to leave Figaro well enough to placate his mother, but with key memories removed?

Anything too drastic would be grounds for annihilation, anything impermanent would eventually end up incriminating them, and his mother had no statute of limitations.

A delicate, delicate balance.

Figaro forced himself to his feet and shuffled across the room.

“They’ve removed everything,” said Ganesh. “I checked.”

This room was meant to be the last stand in case things went catastrophically wrong. Unbreachable and undetectable. Food stores and water to last years.

“Not everything,” said Figaro. “They’ll have installed observational devices to keep an eye on us. Signals don’t go only one way.”

He went to where the main console used to be. There was no evidence of anything other than flat, featureless walls and clean, dust-free floors. He checked the whole room, anyway. Every step was horribly painful.

“You should move less,” said Ganesh. “Yune did a real number on you. They know how dangerous that thing is, they don’t intend to take any chances.”

“I think you’re wrong,” said Figaro, continuing to shuffle along the wall, inspecting every centimetre. “They clearly intend to take a lot of chances, they just think they will work in their favour based on skill, experience and strategy. However, I have learned a few new tricks while I’ve been away.”

“You have?” said Ganesh, always eager for news of novel methods and original techniques.

“Yes. I learned that sometimes the best way to overcome a stronger opponent, a more informed and better-prepared opponent is not to challenge them but to challenge yourself.”

“I don’t follow,” said Ganesh.

Figaro paused by the opening to the bathroom, the door missing. What use could he make of a toilet bowl?

“If, instead of putting your strength up against theirs,” continued Figaro, “you bring down the walls on everyone, then the challenge becomes one of survival rather than domination, a wholly different set of rules comes into play.”

“I suppose so,” said Ganesh, not sounding convinced.

“I have always been more reactive than proactive,” said Figaro. “It’s been one of my greatest weaknesses, as you’ve often pointed out.”

“True,” said Ganesh. “You’ve never been very keen to instigate a fight. You have to know what you want, first.”

Figaro smiled ruefully, his arm limp at his side, still looking, searching every nook he could find. “But you throw a punch at me and I know exactly what I don’t want. I don’t want to get hit. I’m good at that.”

“One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“So bringing the walls down around me is playing to my strengths.”

“But how will you do anything of that sort from in here?” said Ganesh. “That’s why they put you in here, so we can’t cause any trouble, for them or for yourself.”

Figaro lifted up his throbbing arm with some difficulty. “You know the story of Aurelias Ollo and the death of the First Quadrant?”

“Of course,” said Ganesh. “Not that I think it’s very accurate.”

“No, probably not. But if he did cause it, that would suggest his organic was more powerful than any organic discovered since. The same organic that now resides in me.”

“Yes,” said Ganesh. “That’s why Yune went to the trouble of putting that thing on you.”

“But Dr Yune has an incomplete understanding of how this organic works. I mean how it doesn’t work. It takes more than a bracelet. It certainly helps, but it needs me to actively suppress it. Something I have practised and worked on my whole life. I desperately wanted to be able to master it the way he did, but I am still a long way from reaching that goal. Releasing it, however, is easy. I just let go.”

Exhale.

He felt the power surge up inside him. The discipline, the constant containment, it was easy to relinquish. It was almost a relief.

The pain in his arm increased but now it was the same as the pain everywhere else, so what difference did it make.

Light filled him up, burst out of him. He had never released his control to this extent, he felt like he was going to explode like a dying star. Is this how Aurelias Ollo had killed an entire star system?

He was barely able to sense the arm around his throat. Ganesh had cut off his air passages, expertly blocking his access to oxygen, exactly the right amount of pressure. Exactly.

Organics couldn’t exist alone, they needed a body to function, a conscious one. Not on his best day could Figaro break one of Ganesh’s holds, and this was not one of his best.

The surge faded and he felt himself lowered to the floor.

“You left it a little late, old man,” said Mackus over the speaker hidden behind the wall.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Ganesh.

“You need assistance?”

“No, he’ll be fine.”

“You know what will happen if you don’t keep him under control.”

“There’s no need to remind me,” said Ganesh. “Just hurry up and get it over with.”

Figaro lay very still, regulating his breathing so whatever sensors there were would read him as unconscious. Ganesh was a master, he wouldn’t accidentally allow Figaro to remain awake if he hadn’t wanted. Clearly, he was working with Mackus but under duress. What had Mackus used against him? His family?

It didn’t matter, at least there was still some defiance there, if a little forlorn and desperate. Figaro would need to find the right time to put it to good use. He’d have to be patient, though. The room was not as empty as they believed. His father was not one to only put in one or two levels of redundancy. He still had to find his father but he had to wait for the right time, the right distraction. Not reveal his advantage.

They thought he was alone, but he wasn’t. There was Grandma. And where there was Grandma, the dutiful grandson would follow. And then Mackus would find how useful a good, well-thought-out plan really was.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty Seven (part one)

Rutga flashed past, outstretched hand missing Nic, then turning his torso, trying again to grab at Nic’s hair, clothing, waist, one after the other; missing each as Nic skipped backwards, his feet barely touching the floor. 

It was like he was gliding. Not exactly like when he’d been a guest in the body of his powerful ancestor Nicodene Tutt — then he hadn’t even registered his movements, they had been as effortless as breathing — but this was very definitely new for the current Nic Tutt.

Rutga took two heavy steps to stop his forward trajectory and swivelled on one foot so he was facing Nic. They were in the bare white room where the creature had shown Nic the map of the stars. Now there were only the two of them and nothing very celestial about the encounter. 

The room was small and plain. There was one exit, an archway, with Rutga blocking access. The look in Rutga’s eyes was a mixture of surprise and dogged–focus. There was an intensity there Nic had not seen before. Not when he’d kidnapped Nic from the school, not when he’d fought the Gweurvians, and certainly not when they sat upstairs in the Librarium. 

He had seemed like an old pro then, an expert past his prime. Still quite capable of taking care of a neophyte like Nic, but not the coiled beast in front of him now.

“You use that body well,” said Rutga. Nic wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean. It didn’t sound like a compliment, more of a sneer.

“Why are  you attacking me?” asked Nic. As far as he knew, he wasn’t that much of  a threat. If Rutga had wished to dispatch him he could have done it earlier, so what had changed? Assuming this was the same Rutga, of course. He looked the same as before, but then so did the Rutga he had met a thousand years ago. Maybe there was a never–ending supply of Rutgas, all identical.

“It would be best if you stop trying to fight me,” said Rutga, “whoever you are.”

“I’m me,” said Nic.

“Of course you are. You think I can’t smell the foul stink of magic on you. There were cows on our farm that gave birth to monsters. They smelled just like you do.”

Nic had never heard of monstrous cow–births, and he had no idea what that had to do with him. “Arcanum doesn’t—” 

Rutga lunged, arms aiming low, trying to circle Nic’s waist.

Nic saw it coming as soon as Rutga moved. He no longer had Nicodene’s size advantage, but he could still read a body in motion. This Rutga moved much better than the one the creature had inhabited (although that might have had more to do with the pilot than the ship) but that only made it easier to predict what he was trying to do.

This Rutga’s movements were precise and controlled and carefully chosen to do a specific task, in a manner Nic understood. He hadn’t until recently, but now it was clear as the clearly indexed appendices at the back of a book, explaining and clarifying every tiny detail. 

Nic jumped to one side and spun around behind Rutga. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do from there, but attempting to escape from Rutga’s clutches wasn’t going to be necessary if he never got caught.

Rutga was bigger and stronger than him, and if they got into a clinch chances were Rutga would overpower him. Skill and ability helped up to a point, but raw power tended to make up the difference once you were in close–quarter combat.

“Can we talk?” said Nic, backing away. He was breathing a little heavily, but not as bad as he normally would. Managing his effort was also a lot easier now.

Rutga was couched, eyes fixed on Nic’s, which he found uncomfortable. But he knew he couldn’t look away or he’d be flattened in an instant.

“That body doesn’t belong to you.”

Nic realised why Rutga was so keen on taking him down. He believed Nic had returned under the control of some other entity. Which meant he was aware of the creature’s intentions. 

Did that mean he was on Nic’s side? Maybe it just meant he was working against the creature. 

Then again, Nic wasn’t sure why the creature had been so eager to switch him with the younger Winnum Roke. Wouldn’t she be hard to control if she’d been brought back in Nic’s place? There was no reason to think she would go along with whatever the creature or the older Winnum Roke had planned for her.

Rutga came running in low, his body compact and ready to pounce in whichever direction Nic attempted to evade.

It might even be the case that Rutga was working with the creature and capturing Winnum from the past while she was inside Nic’s body was what he was the goal, before she could gain proper control of his body. It stood to reason that a teenage boy’s body was not something she was particularly familiar with. 

“Stop, please, I’m not who you think I am,” said Nic, backing away in hops and skips.

“I know,” said Rutga, bobbing from side to side as he closed in.

“No, I mean I’m me, the real me. I’m Nic.”

Rutga hesitated, straightening to get a better look at Nic, or so Nic thought. The moment Nic relaxed a little, Rutga surged forward as though he’d been waiting for this slight shift in posture, barrelling forward, almost tumbling as he aimed for Nic’s legs.

Nic tried to leap over the incoming attack and knew immediately it was the wrong move. He was panicked by the sudden loss of awareness caused by the surprise attack. He had gone from being one step ahead to one behind, and the idea of having to rely on his old senses was not an inspiring one.

Rutga went from down low to straight up, hitting Nic in the chest with his head, knocking him into a spin that turned him over in mid–air.

Nic frantically stuck out his hand, his body upside down and the top of his opponent’s head below him. As Rutga’s headbutt tossed him into a somersault, he grabbed Rutga under the chin and pulled him over as Nic came down.

He wasn’t sure if this was a move he’d taken from Nicodene’s repertoire, or one born of sheer desperation, but Rutga went flying over the top of him and the momentum carried him across the room, slamming into the wall.

“Enough,” said a familiar voice. Rutga obligingly slid to the floor and remained there. 

Nic was a little concerned he had done the man more harm than he’d intended — he hadn’t intended harm or anything else, his actions had been entirely instinctive — but on closer inspection it became apparent that Rutga’s stillness was being unnaturally enforced. He was like a statue, one in a very unflattering pose. He wasn’t moving or breathing, but somehow Nic could tell he wasn’t dead. He was too fixed in place, like an insect pinned to a board.

Nic slowly released the tension holding his body like a spring and stood up straight. He let out a breath and looked around. The room was empty apart from the two combatants.

“High–Father?”

“You made it back,” said the voice, now behind him. Nic turned to find the High–Father standing there like he’d been there the whole time, which he might have been. “How did your meeting with the Archmage go? Well? Did she mention me?”

The High–Father was shorter than Rutga, and less powerfully built, and he wasn’t charging Nic with killing intent in his eyes, but Nic felt far more under threat in his presence.

“It wasn’t quite as I expected. It wasn’t the Winnum Roke I expected.”

“Yes, you met with one of the creature’s documented versions. She was no less Winnum Roke, though. Her answers would have been just as accurate. You wanted answers, did you not?”

“Yes…” said Nic. “I suppose so.”

“She didn’t provide you with the answers you sought?”

“It wasn’t that. I don’t think she was the same person. I mean, I understand she is an accurate representation of the Winnum of her time, but the Winnum now isn’t the one from then. She’s changed. And that Winnum couldn’t tell me how this one came to the decision she did. They aren’t the same person. None of us are, compared to our older selves.”

The High–Father pursed his lips and stroked his white beard. “No, I suppose not. I find it fascinating how you change over time. It seems to be an essential part of the process, but so prone to flaws.”

Nic wasn’t sure what the High–Father was referring to. He pointed at Rutga’s slumped from. “Is he working for you?”

“In a manner of speaking. He performs the occasional task for me.”

“Like attacking me?”

“Ah, yes, that was more of a test to see how you had changed, and who you may have changed into.”

“So you knew what the creature intended to do to me?” said Nic.

“Intention, yes. Outcome… that is what matters, and not something I control, by prior arrangement. I hadn’t thought you would come out unscathed, though. You surprise me again.” There was a glint in the old man’s eyes and  smile played across his lips. He wasn’t as much pleased that Nic had returned intact as he was amused by it.

“And if I had come back changed, what would you do then?” asked Nic.

“Nothing. I just like to know. I have agreed to not intervene and I shan’t.”

“You know what they are trying to do and you let it happen anyway?” said Nic, feeling frustrated by how casually the High–Father accepted all of this. “Does it really matter what happens then? Whatever they do, they won’t be able to defeat you, will they? That’s never been possible. You only want them to learn how to reach further than they think they can. A little growth, a little closer to your goal.”

“That is one way to look at it,” said the High–Father. “But for all my prescience, I can still be surprised, like with you. And you did come back changed. Weren’t you concerned that you weren’t worthy of the role of champion? Just a boy in over his head? But look how you have gained the ability to defeat a man far superior to you in skill and experience. Such growth in such little time. Is it not astonishing?”

Nic felt a cold thought crawl up his spine. “Is that why you let me go with the creature? Did you make the creature take me because you knew this was a possibility?”

“No, no. Like I said, I have agreed not to intervene. But naturally I notice when things develop. Already, we are in a new place that has never occurred before. That alone is a cause for optimism. I do have a question for you, though, if I may. You are yourself, untainted, which is impressive, but where is the creature? It does not appear to have returned with you.” The High–Father gave him a curious look.

“You didn’t see what happened?”

“No. I kept my word and looked the other way. Whatever you concocted with the creature, I have no knowledge of it, currently.”

“It stayed behind,” said Nic. “I don’t know for how long. I asked Winnum to hold it there, as a favour.”

The High–Father’s curious expression changed to one of surprise. “You asked her for a favour? I was not aware such a thing was possible. Interesting. Very interesting.”

The High–Father was pleased, Nic could tell. He was like a teacher when the class understood the lesson and no one asked any stupid questions. Not just pleased but excited.

Nic wasn’t sure if that bode well for him or for the rest of Ranvar. He had begun to understand what it was the High–Father wanted, even if he had no idea why. With so much power and the ability to change reality at will, the desire to create beings he had no control over made little sense. 

The demons, he had created to be like children, and he treated them as such. He wanted them to grow and become independent, but constructing them as fully–formed beings with free will was apparently not possible. 

Allowing them to find their own path, with no interference from him — with limited interference might be more accurate — appeared to be the current plan, but it was slow and there was no certainty the results would be any different from previous attempts. But if that was the path the High–Father had chosen, Nic was hardly in a position to say otherwise. 

What he still didn't grasp was what made him a key part in all this. Even if he was able to surprise the High–Father by not being dead yet, it was hardly going to aid in the evolution of demonkind.

“I do feel a little more capable,” said Nic, wary of not claiming too much and then being asked to prove it in some way, “but I’m still unable to use Arcanum.”

“Yes,” said the High–Father. “I have tried to raise the most talented of your kind to their full potential, or so I thought, by giving them the power they craved. And they readily and greedily complied, no matter how painful and excruciating the process. Many did not survive but there has never been a shortage of volunteers. But with you, it’s the opposite. Your lack of magical power seems to force you to rise to your potential far more effectively. While the ones I entrusted with challenging me have relied on emulating me, which I can’t see being very effective — I have a great deal more experience at being me than they do — you have never approached any task the way I would have. It may be the thing I have been missing.”

Listening to him speak, seeing how thrilled he was about this latest development in this process he had been conducting for so many millennia, what struck Nic was how little any of the people he had used along the way meant to him. 

They were a means to an end. It wasn’t malicious, it was far colder than that. If there was a way to give the High–Father what he wanted without sacrificing whole worlds, he would accept it. And if there wasn’t, that was fine also. 

“I think there’s a better way,” said Nic. “I don’t think Arcanum is it.”

“I agree,” said the High–Father. “It seems I’ve been wasting my efforts in that direction. Teaching Arcanum created an interesting dynamic but little in the way of substantive change. And the offspring of mages, although a much more efficient method, had unfortunate side–effects. But now I see there was another way all along. And you are the one who can bring it to light.”

“But I need time,” said Nic. “Can you stop this war so I can begin to study the problem more closely? I think I might be able to figure it out if I don’t have the constant distraction of being surrounded by death and destruction, especially my own.”

“Ah, I cannot do that, I’m afraid,” said the High–Father, shaking his head sadly. “My promise to not intervene still holds. But I am not the only one with the ability to halt these proceedings.”

“Who else?” asked Nic.

“Why, you of course. Let’s not lower our optimism so soon. You are the bright hope we have been waiting for.” He smiled.

Nic was about to refute the claim, but he stopped himself. He might not be a mage but he was no longer merely a schoolboy. If he wanted to prevent a war between nations, there might actually be a way to do it, one that wouldn’t require any bloodshed.

“Then can you give me him?” Nic pointed at Rutga. “I need someone to keep the rest of your chosen few from interfering, and I think they will try their hardest to do that once they realise I am trying to stop them from doing what they want.”

The High–Father chuckled. “If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about those with free will, it’s how much they resent others who also have it and wish to use it. Very well. You may have the use of our friend for the time being, but beyond that, you will be on your own. I will observe with interest.”

Nic nodded. Maybe his idea would work, maybe not. But first he had to stop a war. “Actually, could I ask one more thing? It’s very small.”

“Go on.”

“Could you send me back to the school? It’s quite a long way and I don’t—”

“Just this once,” said the High–Father. “As a favour.”

The room vanished and was replaced by Nic’s bedroom. Fanny was standing in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. “How did you do that? And who’s he?” He pointed at Rutga who was lying on Nic’s bed, asleep.

“Ah,” said Nic. “I can explain.” And then he realised he couldn’t.

Book 2 – 12: Planetfall

Third Quadrant.

Planet Enaya.

Central Authority Vessel Nirvana.

 

“Start the self-destruct timer,” said Ubik. “And make sure everyone knows about it.”

“You want to blow us up before they do?” said PT.

“No, I just need to buy some time. Janks?”

There was a pause. “Putting the ship at risk—”

“Don’t actually activate the self–destruct,” said Ubik, “just put up a counter they can all see. And use one of those emotionless, sexy end–of–the–world voices.”

“Oh,” said Janks, followed by a pause. “We are going to misrepresent the facts.”

“Yes, Janks,” said Ubik. “Make it a five–minute counter and give them the exact distance they need to be to avoid getting caught in the blast.”

“Countdown has begun.”

“Central Authority Vessel Nirvana, this is the Regional Manager Carl Yulang of the roaming network support carrier Three Bars,” said the crisp male voice common to most senior management–types. “Halt the self–destruct timer immediately or we will open fire.”

“Open a channel, Janks.”

“I don’t think—”

“They’re about to open fire, Janks.”

“Channel open.”

“Manager Yung, this is Guardian Tezla of the Central Authority,” said Ubik, making his voice sound extra-serious. “If you fire on this ship it will detonate the self–destruct ahead of schedule and destroy your vessel, you fat idiot. Close the channel.”

“Why did you insult him?” said PT, a bewildered look on his face.

“I just said what I thought Tezla would say. Do you think my voice was deep enough? She’s got that growly thing going on but it kind of hurts my throat.”

“Impersonating a Central Authority office is an—”

“Not now, Janks. We don’t have time to worry about CA bye–laws. Send a message to the nearest CA point of contact and inform them that you were attacked by a VendX weapon that disabled your primary systems and put the guardian in stasis.”

“Technically, that is not a verifiable accusation at this juncture,” said Janks. “Misrepresenting ourselves to these ships is one thing, but it is against Central Authority—”

“The message isn’t for the Central Authority, it’s for everyone else,” said Ubik. “The more details we can reveal about what VendX is after, the less chance they’ll have of getting what they want. Also, inform Central Authority that we have information on the changes in Antecessor sites and that VendX are trying to kill us for it.”

“Won’t that just make the rest of them just as desperate to get hold of what we know?” said PT.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “Now will you please stop trying to parse every tiny thing I say and get on with it. Thank you.”

Lights started flashing around the room. Ubik winced. He was doing his best to stay positive in what was clearly not a promising situation, but the lights were making it hard. They were making him quite tetchy. Angry, even. He was especially angry at himself for not seeing this outcome from the outset. Where was his head at?

Of course there would be other corporations waiting here for them. Of course they would know this Central Authority ship was under new management. Of course that would give them the perfect excuse to open fire on a CA vessel with impunity.

The first thing Chukka would have done once she realised she couldn’t stop them entering the wormhole was send out an all–quadrants bulletin informing the rest of the galaxy that some reprehensible delinquents had somehow managed to slip through prenatal screening and were now threatening the safety of the entire galaxy with the Central Authority’s own peacekeeping machinery. The outrage would be enough to bring these intransigent adversaries into a temporary alliance with one objective — save the galaxy.

Informing their competitors about the CA ship would make it much harder for VendX to keep their real goal a secret, but that was secondary to not letting it get out that they had been the ones who had attacked the CAV Nirvana in the first place.

Making it public that the CA vessel had been compromised would lend credence to their own cover story — that they had only tried to wrest back control of the hijacked ship — and they still had a good chance of keeping the details of the Origin simulation under wraps.

The company would want recovery of the simulation machine and any adjoining matters to be Chukka’s first priority, but Chukka would want to make sure she wasn’t executed for high sedition. She would be under a very lucrative profit–sharing contract, but you could only share profit if you were alive to claim it.

Chukka was following a very obvious line, straight out of the VendX playbook (which Ubik had downloaded from the official VendX website and was very familiar with). It was a high–risk strategy, but that was how all the big corporations acted. When you operated in a highly–competitive market, you aimed for the largest return on investment possible, and then relied on your highly–augmented operatives to defy the odds.

Ubik should have been able to foresee all of this the moment they gave VendX the slip, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly. He hadn’t been thinking clearly ever since he’d stared into the pretty lights.

What kind of a communication system turned its communicators into drooling halfwits? It was ridiculous. Had the Antecessors been obsessed with shiny objects and sparkly lighting? Their ships were uniformly drab and monotonous in design but perhaps when the Antecessors were alive, their ships were wildly colourful interstellar nightclubs zipping around to a funky soundtrack.

“How much is the bounty?” asked Ubik, rubbing his temples.

“What bounty?” said PT.

“Chukka will have put up a generous reward for our capture,” said Ubik “as a way to show VendX’s support for the Central Authority, payment dependent on handing us over to them. The big companies won’t be interested but independent contractors might get interested. Janks, how much is it?”

There was a long pause, lights rushing around the walls, before Janks said, “Twenty-five VendX tokens.”

Ubik let out a whistle. “What’s that in standard currency? About 1.3 million?”

“We’ve called for help,” said PT, “and the ships have backed off. We’re okay for now, right?”

“No,” said Ubik. “These lights, they’re scanning the ships and the planet and the asteroid. Also the wormhole, which is shut–tight, thankfully. Don’t want someone sneaking up behind us and ramming us right in the—”

“Ubik, you’re rambling.”

“Sorry, what was I saying? Oh yeah, the ships are backing off so they can avoid the blast when we explode but not so far we’re out of firing range. We’re stuck here for a bit. Janks, can you do something about these lights?” Ubik was getting a pain in his temples again.

“Modulation is not poss–poss–possible for—”

“Blast it, Janks, do I have to rip out…” Ubik squeezed his eyes shut to stop the pain. Lights flashed across the insides of his eyelids. He couldn’t even get away from the irritating glare with his eyes closed.

Only, the pain was gone now. He could see the lights as streaks of pulsing flashes in the darkness, but they no longer drilled into his head. It was a lot easier to read them this way, too. Information flooded his senses, washed over them, flowed away, leaving behind only what he wanted to keep.

Ubik opened his eyes. “Janks, why didn’t you tell me I could…”

Janks made a strange grinding noise.

“Oh,” said Ubik.

“Oh, what?” said PT.

“Ships are backing awayyyy,” said Janks in a slowed-down voice. “Perimeterrrrr.”

“How did you remove the infection in the system, Janks?” said Ubik. There was no response. “You absorbed it into yourself so you could provide us with limited access, didn’t you?” The anger and irritation he had felt a moment ago were gone now. “How long before you have to shut down?”

“Fourteen minuuuuuuu.” Janks’ voice sounded like two metal disks spinning against each other. “Central… notifiiiiii… assistance is on the…”

“What’s wrong with him?” said PT.

“Too late for youuuuu…”

“He redirected everything he couldn’t eliminate into his own systems and isolated it.”

“Are you alright?” said PT. “You don’t look alright.”

“I’m fine. No more mood swings,” said Ubik.

“Then why are you so upset?” said PT. “You’re the one who stamped him to death.”

The broken pieces of the drone’s body were floating around the room, the evidence of Ubik’s heartlessness.

“Breaking a drone’s casing doesn’t kill it. But allowing a virulent algorithm into its processors will. Tear his coding apart. Explains why he was having difficulty remembering things, and why he let us tell him what to do. He knew he couldn’t make decisions anymore. And I’m not upset, I’m annoyed. VendX…” He shook his head. He should have seen this coming. “I’m sorry, Janks. If I hadn’t been so out of it, I’d have come up with a way to fix you.”

“Escape… pod. Reeee… ”

“I know,” said Ubik. “I saw it.”

“There’s an escape pod?”

“Yes. I figured out how to read the ships internal messaging without losing my mind. The ship can separate into an infinite number of parts, to a quantum level, and then reform itself. Not that we’d survive. But we can make enough decoys to give ourselves a chance of getting away.”

“And you know how to do this?” said PT.

“No, but Janks does.”

“Self-destruct in thirtyyyyyyy…”

“Janks, before you log out, send out an all-channel info–blast. Reveal all details of what happened on Fountain. All details of Antecessor anomalies in the simulation of the Origin. Make it public, Janks.”

“Sendinggggg…”

“What good will that do?” said PT.

“If there’s one thing big business hates, it’s open competition,” said Ubik. “The more they fight with each other, the easier it’ll be for us to get ready.”

“Get ready for what?”

“Oh, I have some ideas,” said Ubik. “Some big ideas. But first, we have to get out of here. Better brace yourself, might get a bit rough.” Ubik closed his eyes and looked into the lights one last time. He saw Janks’ final message.

PT didn’t have a chance to voice his concerns about the plan before the ship exploded. It fragmented into numerous pieces, all different sizes, that went flying in all directions.

The ships that had been blocking their path had moved far enough away not to get caught in the blast but still temporarily lost their sensors as parts of the Nirvana hit the atmosphere over Enaya.

Meteors rained down in streaks, filling the Enayan sky with firey plumes of smoke for several minutes. An event that didn’t go unnoticed by the locals.

One of the sections landed in a barley field, the crops charred and vapourised by the impact. A panel in the side of the dodecahedron opened and two figures scrambled out of the crater.

“Look, mud,” said Ubik. “Lovely, squelchy mud. Land and sky and gravity. I missed you all, I missed you all so much.”

“Where are we?” said PT.

“No idea,” said Ubik. “But we’re alive. And somewhere, Fig is in a lot of trouble.”

“How do you know that?”

“Grandma told me.”

“She’s here? Or did she speak to you in a dream?”

“Kind of. She’s been broadcasting since she got here. I saw the message on the Nirvana, once I managed to close my eyes. Seems things aren’t so rosy down here, either.”

“What about Tezla?” said PT.

“Safer than us. They’ll come pick her up and crack her open like an egg.”

PT looked up at the debris still falling from the sky, and then at the wide-open fields surrounding them. “No dinner waiting for us at the Ollo residence, then?”

“No,” said Ubik. “Do you have any money, by the way?” He peeled the skin off his arm. “I did have some but I don’t think it’s working anymore. Smells a bit off, too.” He sniffed the strip of fake skin and made a face. It had lasted surprisingly long, for one of Drimbo’s hack jobs. He threw it away.

“If I hand you in for the reward,” said PT, “I’ll be a millionaire.”

“They’ll pay you in VendX tokens, and then ban you from their shops,” said Ubik. “But I like the way you’re thinking. This way.”

“How do you know it’s that way?” said PT.

“We’re on the ground now, space boy. Just follow my lead and you won’t go wrong.”

PT shook his head and grimaced. And then he followed.