V. Moody's Blog, page 3

432: Action Reaction

The police weren’t very happy to see me go. They pleaded and begged for me to stay a little longer, like a guy who thinks he’s close to scoring with a drunk girl but then her mates come take her away.

Cherry was that mate. She was the perfect counter to their leery charms. She was an unimpressed woman with a sharp tongue.

Of course, most guys think they can out-argue anyone they consider to be beneath them. Women certainly fall into that category. But Cherry was armed with facts and legislation. Which most men would ignore, but this was the police and they were kind of obliged to pretend to give a shit about the law.

DS Seymour had quickly lost his smile and his swagger as he tried to cite various rules and regulations that meant I had to cooperate with their inquiries, but Cherry had just as many that limited those requirements. In fact, she knew the exact amount of time I needed to spend helping the police to prevent them accusing me of being obstructive.

She even put a timer on her phone and left it on the table.

No woman can ever truly get to the top — even those who seemingly do are only there with the permission of our true overlords — but that doesn’t mean they can’t wreck shit in the middle.

Sure, the fastest man is always going to beat the fastest woman, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be faster than you.

By the time the timer ran down, poor old Len had no valid reason to keep me there, and no invalid ones he could get away with Cherry seated next to me.

The buzzer on her phone went off and we were out on the street with papers signed and copies of the interview acquired.

“Here,” said Cherry, handing me her business card. “Just in case they follow you home. Don’t worry, you won’t have to pay my ridiculously inflated fees — Mr Larwood’s compliments.”

I took the card. “You’re just letting me go? Archie didn’t want you to bring me back?”

Cherry lit up a fag and waited until she’d inhaled half of it before answering. “He didn’t say anything to me. But you might want to have a word with him.” She pointed down the steps at a familiar van and driver.

“Don’t worry, he’s just here to see you back to your flat,” said Cherry.

I was inclined to believe her. So far, Archie had not used force on me, which meant either he was a good person who respected other people’s boundaries, or he couldn’t get hold of what he wanted by ripping it out of my body and so had to wait for the right opportunity to trick me into giving it up.

Either way, it gave me a little bit of breathing space, which was all I wanted right now. My goal was to find a way to activate my magic powers and after that I would be golden.

“If you want some free advice,” said Cherry, “you should seriously consider taking up Mr Larwood’s offer. I don’t know what it is he wants from you, but if he wants it, so will others. And they won’t be as pleasant to deal with.”

Her advice was pretty solid. It wasn’t so much about not making a deal with the devil but more about which devil to make a deal with to protect you from all the others.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “But no matter who I get in bed with, eventually they’re going to try to fuck me.”

Cherry choked on her cigarette smoke and started wheezing. Perhaps I’d hit a nerve. Or maybe smoking is just really bad for you.

I thanked her and walked down the steps towards my waiting limo. I could have tried to give him the slip again but I was too knackered and I believed what Cherry had said. As long as they knew where I was, they could afford to wait.

They were counting on their offer to become more attractive as things got worse for me but what they didn’t realise was that things getting worse was my default setting. Sure, you can always try to stay one step ahead of your enemy, but the smart move is to be three steps behind the fuckers.

The driver opened the sliding door for me with a click of the key in his hand and nodded.

“Nice to see you again,” he said, which was the most talkative he’d been since we met.

In fact, his whole attitude towards me had changed. You might even call it respectful.

“Can you give me a lift home?” I asked him.

“Certainly.”

I got in. There was still a chance I would be taken to an abandoned warehouse and have my ear cut off, but maybe he would just drop me off back in Tottenham. Which would be crueler? Hard to say.

As I made myself comfortable in the back and helped myself to some nuts, the TV screen that acted as a divider between the front and rear of the van slid down to reveal the back of the driver’s head.

“That was quite the runaround you gave me,” he said as we drove off, his eyes flicking to look at me in the rearview mirror. “Really thought you were gonna get away. I woulda been in real trouble if you had.” He didn’t seem upset. Quite the opposite. He sounded delighted to have encountered a bit of a challenge.

“Pretty dull for you, is it?” I said. “This job, I mean.”

“It’s not usually the most exciting, I have to admit. But it pays well. And every now and again things take a turn for the unexpected. It’s not bad. So you, you’ve done some time in the armed forces, have you?”

Here I was hoping to get a little time to collect my thoughts, and suddenly Chatty Cathy here starts in with the small talk. He seemed to have been unduly impressed by my attempt to give him the slip earlier.

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, you know, those moves, don’t think I’ve seen more than two or three people who could juke like that. Someone must have trained you, no?”

“I wasn’t in the military but I’ve had some training,” I said. “I was never a very good student, though. I know people who could squash me flat in a second.”

The driver laughed. “Sure, sure. That’s always the way, innit? Always someone better out there.”

“You were in the army, were you?”

“Yeah, but not our army. Foreign Legion. Joined when I was seventeen. Wanted to see the world, not guard some shed in Stockport.”

“And did you? See the world, I mean.”

“Yeah, went all over. Middle East, Far East, Africa. Got to see what it’s really like in those places. It’s not like on the news, that’s for sure. What about you? You look like you’ve seen some interesting things.”

Now there was an understatement.

“Yes. It’s why your boss is so interested in me. I’ve seen things no one else has, and he wants me to help him see them, too.”

“Not interested?”

“It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s just that after I give him what he wants, he’ll probably tell you to get rid of me. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

The eyes locked onto me in the mirror for a second.

“It won’t come to that, will it?” There was a slight edge to his voice.

“I hope not,” I said. “I don’t really enjoy it. Usually end up crying afterwards. I still remember those bloody mice.”

His eyes looked momentarily confused and with that our amicable chat came to a close. The divider went back up.

He was clearly quite a dangerous person. The type who didn’t make a big show and dance of their psychopathic tendencies, they just quietly snapped your neck and buried you in a lime pit.

I was all talk, of course. Without my magical abilities, I was just some chump who could surprise a few people by running away quicker than expected. But as long as he thought I might be some dark horse with hidden strengths, I was happy to let him think I was someone not to fuck with.

We reached my flat without further incident.

“I suppose Mr Larwood is going to be keeping an eye on me,” I said as I got out. “You?”

“Not me,” said the driver, not denying that someone would. “But no one will bother you. Mr Larwood isn’t the type to bully others.”

Sure, I thought, he’ll just have you do it.

What dastardly tricks would they have taught him in the French Foreign Legion? How to poison people with a variety of foul-tasting cheeses? The evil bastards.

But these were things to worry about later. What I needed to do was get myself sorted vis a vis supernatural powers that would give me an unfair advantage in the world of men.

Cheat mode? Yes, please.

I mean, it wasn’t as though other people didn’t have powers here, it was just that theirs involve game-breaking immunities and cash shop items.

“Let me give me my number,” said the driver, “in case you need to go somewhere.” He took out a business card. I was building up quite a collection of the damn things.

He put out his hand and I ducked.

It wasn’t a conscious thing, I just fell down, hitting the pavement with my backside.

There was a ‘ping’ as a dart hit the window of the van and bounced off, leaving a faint crack in the glass.

The driver looked shocked. He pulled out what looked like a phone although he didn’t press anything on it, he just put it up to his mouth.

“I need eyes in the sky. Got a shooter. Probably a drone, look for a heat signature.”

I had no idea who he was speaking to but he seemed to have the situation in hand, whatever the situation might be.

The dart on the ground had little green feathers on it.

“Don’t touch that. It isn’t that dangerous but it’s gonna have a marker on it, radioactive. Looks like someone wanted to make sure they knew where you’re going to be for the next week or so.”

“Do you know who?” I had the feeling he hadn’t been surprised by the dart, almost expecting it. It was even possible that I had been used as bait to draw them out.

“No, could be any one of a number of interested parties. But we’ll follow up and let you know what we find out. Damn, that was a smooth move, my man. Never seen anyone dodge a bullet like that. Even if it was dart fired by compressed air, that shit don’t make hardly any noise.” He was becoming more familiar with me the more impressed he was with my ability to stay alive.

I got off my arse and stood up. “Just lucky. I have a small head. Sniper’s hate me.”

It wasn’t luck, it was something else. But I wasn’t sure what. I’d always had good reflexes when it came to avoiding being sucker-punched or attacked from behind, but this was something different. I hadn’t been aware of it at all until I was sitting on the floor.

It wasn’t like I was suddenly Neo in the Matrix, I just seemed to be more sensitive to things here than previously, which wouldn’t require much since I’d been completely numb most of my life.

“You should go in.”

“What if they’re waiting for me in there?”

“Nah. We’ve been watching your place. That’s why they tried to get you out here.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced but it wasn’t like they were trying to kill me, whoever they were. Just mark me like an endangered species so they could track my mating habits. Boy, were they in for a dull time.

I left the driver to coordinate the hunt for the sniper drone and went up to my flat. As I approached my door, I noticed my neighbour’s door was slightly ajar and a beady eye was looking out at me.

“Colin. You made it back okay.”

“Hey, Tone. Yeah, of course. You okay?”

The one eye I could see looked a little wild.

It had already occurred to me that the person watching me on behalf of Archie was Tony. When I first arrived, Archie’s call was pretty quick, and the only person who knew I was back was Tony.

But he didn’t seem the most reliable guy for that sort of thing, so I wasn’t convinced.

Now, though, there was definitely something going on with him. He looked shocked to see me back for a start.

“Okay, well take care.” I put the key in my lock.

Tony made a strange choking sound and the glint of a blade appeared across his neck.

“Colin,” said a thin, whispery voice from behind Tony, “we’d like a word if you don’t mind.”

“Mmm. No, thanks.” I turned the key.

“I’m afraid I must insist.” The blade pressed against Tony’s skin and released a little trickle of blood. Tony’s eye got wilder.

“Insist all you like,” I said. “See you later, Tony. Good luck, have fun.”

I opened my door and went inside, shutting the door behind me. Fucking amateurs.

Book 4 - 7: Like Tears

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

The Dungeon — Fifth Level

 

The walls opened for Figaro without him having to do anything. He just had to approach and a hole would melt into the indestructible walls.

He stepped through into another empty room with four walls.

“Are you doing this?” he asked.

“No, you’re doing it,” said Ubik.

“Sorry, I wasn’t asking you,” said Figaro.

“Right, right, you’re talking to your imaginary friend,” said Ubik.

“He isn’t imaginary,” said Figaro, mildly confused. “You’ve spoken to him. He exists.”

“Oh, I know he exists,” said Ubik. “That isn’t the imaginary part. Over here now.” Ubik walked towards the wall on the left, but stopped when he realised Figaro wasn’t keeping up. “Problem?”

“If you don’t think he’s on our side, shouldn’t we do something about it?” asked Figaro. He was more than willing to accept that his organic had its own agenda, but so far they had allowed it the freedom to act as it pleased, more or less. And it had been helpful. More or less.

“He must think it’s useful,” said PT, looking around the room even though it was exactly the same as the previous room. “For now.”

“It is natural for them to be suspicious of me,” said the voice in Figaro’s head. “Just as it is for you. We both know you should be cautious.”

Even the organic agreed.

But Figaro had grown up being manipulated just as much by those on his side as those against him. Maybe more so. You could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Although, a more concentrated acid generally worked quicker than both.

Ubik was playing by his own rules, which he kept to himself, and the organic was doing its best to come across as an ally, which could come to an end at any moment. The only one he really trusted was PT, and that was because they were both looking to come out of this in one piece and nothing else. He didn’t want anything from Figaro. At least, not yet.

The wall opened as Figaro walked towards it.

“You’re making this happen?”

“No,” said the organic. “Not consciously. I know as much about this place as you do, in terms of detailed information. But I can feel we are accepted here. This place was built to receive us.”

The truth was, Figaro could feel it, too. There was something here different to any other Antecessor site he had encountered. The way the walls parted for him, it was almost like they were welcoming him in.

They entered another room. Ubik was already heading towards the opposite wall. Then another and another. Each room was identical and completely featureless. Ubik seemed to know exactly which direction to take next.

“And this is the right way?” said Figaro.

“It… feels like it,” said the organic.

“Then how does he know where to go?” said Figaro.

There was no response.

“Did your dad teach you to be this paranoid?” asked Ubik. “Assume the worst at all times, just in case?”

“Yes,” said Figaro.

“He would have killed those two back there, I suppose, and not even thought twice about it, huh?”

Figaro stopped to think. “No, he would have got some useful information out of them first. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have come in the way we did.”

Wondering what his father would do used to be the first thing that would come to mind in any given situation, but that was becoming less and less the case. There never seemed the time. It was only when he was faced with deciding the most expedient way to deal with their two extraneous team members his training had kicked in.

You didn’t leave a potential problem behind just because it posed no immediate threat.

Not unless you were Ubik.

“This way,” said Ubik.

“Why is there nothing stopping us?” asked PT. “Where are the droids and the traps?” There was a casualness to his voice that made it sound like he was just making conversation out of boredom and didn't really expect an answer.

“It’s easy, isn’t it,” said Ubik. “Not surprising, though. This place was specifically built to hold the treasure until its master came for it.” He looked towards Figaro. “All that stuff above us, that’s for the staff and employees. Down here, this is the vault. You put the guards outside the vault, right? Not inside. Once you prove you belong here, they let you do what you want. We don’t have anything to worry about. No one else can come here. Not droids, not even Antecessors. No one but the special one.”

“Then how do you know which way to go?” asked Figaro since Ubik seemed happy to explain for once.

“Flow,” said Ubik. “I don’t know what it is or what it does here, but there is a movement… no, not a movement, just a flow. You know, like how you can tell there’s water nearby even though you can’t see or hear it.”

“No, Ubik, I don’t know how to do that,” said PT. “Do you?”

“Find water?” said Figaro. “No, but there are organics who can do that sort of thing. Maybe he has access to something similar.”

“But he doesn’t have an organic, or anything like it,” said PT. “Do you think the universe just gave him special powers so he can do impossible things? Are you saying you believe in magic?”

Figaro shrugged. “My organic talks to me, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask.”

Figaro walked through the wall Ubik indicated but this room was suddenly different.

It was still black walls with a dim pink glow, but it was much bigger. And there was a pillar on the far side, emitting a brighter pink light.

It was thin and not very tall, but there was something on top of it. Something large and black with several appendages, a little like a spider.

“Here we are,” said Ubik. “Told you it would be easy.”

Neither Figaro nor PT took a step forward.

“What’s that?” asked PT. “It looks familiar.”

It was far enough to be hard to make out clearly, and the lighting didn’t help. Figaro used the visor on his suit to get a closer look.

“It looks similar to the bone,” said Figaro. “Same material, but… I think it’s a hand.”

He couldn’t be sure, but the appendages did look like fingers. Four of them. And the shape was roughly that of a claw or a hand.

“Do you think it goes with this?” PT took out the bone which he carried around and used as a weapon. He had found manipulating it was less stressful on his body than any other material he had used. “We don’t have to go around collecting bits of a skeleton and put it together, do we? That would take forever.”

“No, of course not,” said Ubik. “This is the map that will point the way. Literally.”

“That’s our map?” said PT. “A hand.”

“Can we just take it?” asked Figaro. He was very aware that Ubik hadn’t walked across the room to get it.

“This is where it gets dangerous, doesn’t it?” said PT. “The Antecessors can’t come here, so they sent us down to fetch what they need. Once we get it, they won’t need us anymore. Not all of us, anyway.” He was looking at Ubik, trying to spot some sign that he had hit on the truth.

Ubik didn’t reveal anything other than a grin. “Have you been taking paranoia lessons from him?”

“Nope, you’re definitely up to something,” said PT.

Figaro wasn’t sure if PT had finally found a chink in Ubik’s armour, or if he was bluffing.

“There is no danger for you here,” said the voice in Figaro’s head. The ball of light in the corner of his vision bounced around excitedly.

Figaro looked down. “It’s the floor, isn’t it? There’s something strange about it.”

The floor was made of elfidium, but it was broken up into square tiles, each about the size of the rooms they had passed through to get here.

He could feel a pull towards some of them and push away from others.

“Only you can cross here,” said the organic. “Only your—”

Ubik went running across the room, going left and right as he zig-zagged towards the pillar.

The tiles lit up as he stepped on them but did nothing else. It took him about thirty seconds to get across.

“How did he do that?” said the organic. “I… No, that can’t…”

“I found the flow,” Ubik shouted across the room. “Follow the same path, you should be alright. Probably.”

Figaro looked at PT. “My organic is in shock.”

“Now he’s one of us,” said PT. Then he stepped onto the first tile.

“Try to think light, fluffy thoughts,” shouted Ubik. “A pair of Delgados would also help.”

“Thanks,” said PT, his eyes on the ground, ready for it to fall out from under him.

Figaro set out after him. He could feel an attraction to the path laid out by Ubik. He didn’t know if it was the ‘flow’ but it was clearly the correct way.

“You need to be wary of him,” said the organic.

“I am,” said Figaro.

“More wary. He can take away what is ours.”

“He can have it,” said Figaro, and felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest.

They both made it across to where Ubik was waiting. He hadn’t approached the pillar or the hand.

Now that they were closer, the hand was easier to see. It was more than a metre in length and its surface twinkled, just like the bone. It seemed to be balanced on a narrow beam of pink light that was different to the elfidium around them, but still gave off the same type of light.

“Go ahead,” said Ubik. “It should be perfectly safe for you.” He took a long step backwards.

“Is it dangerous?” asked PT.

“Nope.” Ubik took another step backwards.

Figaro approached the pink pillar of light. The hand was resting on top of it, perfectly still.

“Wait,” said PT. “I want to try something.”

PT took out the bone, which was currently a sword handle. It popped in his hand and was suddenly a bone again, back to its full size when they first found it. PT was just about to hold it up. “Does it match?”

He moved to the side to see them both together.

“Yes,” said Figaro. They did look like they came from the same creature.

“Okay, hold on.” PT moved closer, pointing one end of the bone at the back of the hand. “I can feel a pull. I think this is right.”

“No,” said the organic. “You must not allow this.”

A surge of power rushed up Figaro’s body from his chest. He was losing control. The organic was forcing him to release a huge amount of energy.

He immediately pushed it down, using his organic-negating powers on himself.

It was difficult, but the organic didn’t seem to be resisting him, it was trying to direct everything at PT.

Perhaps it had a good reason for that, but Figaro knew who he would prefer to put his faith in. He focused hard, using his organic suppression and also every part of his training to quell the rising surge.

PT touched the bone to the hand and they connected, the hand sliding off its stand, the weight tipping the bone downwards. At the same time, PT shrank them both down to a more manageable size.

The room started shaking and the floor behind them started to crack.

“What’s going on?” said PT, waving the bone around. The hand had one extended finger, which continuously pointed in the same direction.

“Did you suppress your organic?” shouted Ubik, who was even further away now.

“Yes,” said Figaro through clenched teeth. “Is that why—”

“Great, well done.” Ubik came running back towards them. He grabbed the bone out of PT’s hand, who let it go.

“Why do you want that?”

“I don’t.” Ubik shoved the bone at Figaro, who held onto it. “Quick, the pillar. Change it.” He grabbed PT by the wrist and pulled him towards the pink pillar of light which was flickering.

“Change it to what?” said PT.

“Doesn’t matter. Elfidium. It exists or it doesn’t.” He pressed PT’s hand against the pillar.

It shattered, just like the wall in the magistrate’s room had, leaving a cloud of dust, and a pink stone that fell on the floor.

Ubik picked it up. “Got it.” He looked very pleased with himself.

Around them, everything was collapsing.

“This is what we came here for?” shouted PT over the noise.

“Yep.”

“How do we get out?” asked Figaro.

“Hmm? Oh…” Ubik looked around like he had just realised what was happening. “Um, give me a sec. I’ll think of something.”

Book 4 - 6: Enter the Pit

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

The Dungeon — Fourth Level

 

There was a moment of silence as everyone assessed the situation. Which, Point-Two took to mean this group of four had decided to act without consulting the others, including the man they worked for.

Boss Glosso looked calm and in control on the surface, but Point-Two was good at reading people. The calmness was a decision, a deliberate clamping down of emotion. He was going to wait and see how Ubik reacted to this challenge, an excellent way to get more information on what he was dealing with here.

A shrewd and calculating choice. A reasonable move.

The four mercenaries, who stood there waiting for a response, had also made a choice — one that was about as dumb as it was possible to make.

The moment of hesitation as the four challengers stated their claim on whatever lay beyond the passageway Fig had opened up was enough time for Point-Two to make his own decision. And he had no intention of giving anyone the opportunity to debate it with him.

Everyone was waiting to see what Ubik would do. The four mercs looking for a confrontation, the other six who bristled as they looked for an opening of their own, Boss Glosso wanting to get an inkling of any hidden strength Ubik might be holding in reserve, and even the men up in the cabin of the drilling machine, hoping to see an entertaining dust-up.

Despite his natural gift for reading people, Point-Two had no idea what Ubik was going to do for the same reason it was hard to tell what a random amateur was going to do when confronted — they had no idea themselves.

Both he and Fig had come to understand they couldn’t predict Ubik’s moves the way they could with most people.

Ubik chose not to make any preparations because he liked to react to what others did. He was an improviser to a ridiculous degree. Point-Two suspected Ubik deliberately went out of his way to let people get an advantage over him, just so he would have less room to manoeuvre, forcing himself to come up with solutions on the fly.

There was no way to prove that was the case, and no experienced professional would believe someone would be so foolhardy, but Point-Two had witnessed the madness first-hand, and there was really no other explanation.

However, even if they couldn’t predict Ubik’s next move, they had spent enough time around him to be able to tell when he was about to make that move, whatever it might be.

Right now, for example.

The moment the tall man had stepped forward, Ubik had shifted position. Not from relaxed to tense or defensive to offensive. Nothing so obvious. Just a rise in his attention levels. He was unmoved but he was interested.

This was the best time to step in.

You couldn’t stop things from happening, Ubik wouldn’t allow that. But you could change the direction they were going in. Because Ubik liked to improvise. He had no ego when it came to how things went — it wasn’t about doing things his way. He was very willing to let things go way out of his control, just so he could then shape the chaos into something he found pleasing.

“I think you’re misunderstanding the situation,” said Point-Two, take up position in front of Ubik. “We’ve already agreed this with Boss Glosso.”

The tall man half-turned towards Boss Glosso. “They’ve opened the way. Why do we need them?”

“Yes, I can open the way,” said Figaro, drawing everyone’s attention back in his direction, “but can you keep it open?” He stepped away from the wall and the tunnel collapsed, leaving behind a smooth surface. “And do you really think this is the only elfidium we’ll encounter? I can open this and any other obstruction. You can’t.”

“Fair enough,” said the tall man, giving Fig a conciliatory nod. “What about the other two? What do we need them for?”

Just as it was harder to read an amateur, by the same logic, it was much easier to read a pro. Someone who had been well trained and drilled couldn’t help but give themselves away because it rarely mattered.

Those at the top of their game already knew the best attack and defence options, and moves were made with the expectation of the appropriate counter-move being made in response, or sudden and complete victory would ensue. The fight was just an exercise in waiting for an opening once fatigue set in.

Only if they were facing someone they feared, or at least respected, would they bother to disguise their tactics or attempt to surprise their opponent.

Obviously, Point-Two wasn’t someone they would consider worthy of anything other than contempt.

Point-Two stepped forward and threw a punch at the tall man.

A look of surprise in his eyes was quickly replaced by burning red and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips as he prepared to respond with overwhelming force, but what wasn’t within his expectation was for his organic to suddenly shut down.

He was taller than Point-Two, and probably stronger. He was also very experienced and an elite member of his company’s security forces, but the confusion at the loss of his power was enough time for Point-Two to land his punch, hitting the breastplate of the very well-constructed suit worn by his distracted opponent.

He did try to block, but Point-Two easily read the move and avoided it.

The tall man was smashed into the ground. Bones were heard to crack. The suit was ripped open, and then immediately went into lockdown as it preserved the life of its occupant, the helmet closing over his face and the torso going rigid to prevent any movement.

The flash of gold light in Point-Two’s eyes had been very quick and he had made sure to turn his head so it wasn’t obvious. He had used his organic for just a brief moment.

The change had been made to three segments on the front of his glove, transmuting them from the lightweight flexible material that gave his guild suit basic protection from radiation, cold and heat, to lederite-9, the heaviest metal known (mainly used as shielding in spaceship hulls).

It was timing more than anything. He had practised it a lot with Fig on board the Antecessor ship, the rapid change of a tiny area from one material to another and back again.

When the punch landed, the sudden increase in mass already riding his momentum, hit like an asteroid making landfall. He changed it back before his hand was crushed by the impact. It was a move he had perfected playing zero-G tag.

There was stunned silence. Point-Two didn’t let it go to waste.

“You’re right that there may be better people than us to escort him into the next level, but you aren’t one of them and you won’t be needed for this.”

He looked up at the others.

“The reason we know what to do here is because we found a similar site with a similar layout somewhere very far from here. Unfortunately, the key areas had been destroyed, so we weren’t able to collect the artefacts that were being stored there. We hope that isn’t the case here, but first we would like to confirm this is an identical structure. In order to do that, we need two of you who have speed and stealth capabilities, not people who think they can brute force their way through anything and claim whatever they find for themselves. As Boss Glosso said, this is a preliminary sortie to scout the level. Once we have an idea of what’s down there, we can better gear our efforts for a clean and efficient run.”

No one had interrupted him, which was a good sign. He looked across the gathered mercenaries.

“I have stealth capabilities,” said a slender man as he stepped forward. He was wearing an unusual suit made of thin, glossy material. His eyes glowed blue. He flickered and disappeared. And then he reappeared.

“Ooh, you’ve adapted an environmental suit to work with your organic,” said Ubik, coming forward. “Your organic works with electricity at the sub-electron level? You can shift electromagnetic waves?”

The man looked surprised but nodded.

“Let me have a look at this,” said Ubik, pulling out the man’s arm and flipping open a panel. “Yeah, this is a bit busy for my liking.” He pulled out wires and threw them away, pressed down with his thumbs making the man wince, then snapped the panel shut. “Now try.”

The man was lost for words but his anger wasn’t hard to see as it rose to the surface.

“Just try,” said Ubik, impatiently.

The man stepped back and disappeared. There was no flicker this time. He reappeared.

“How… How did you do that?”

“He’s good,” said Ubik. “We’ll take him. What’s your name?”

“Wo Chufan. Roperu Clan.” His anger at being interfered with was completely gone.

Point-Two turned back to the crowd. “Who else?”

A couple of others stepped forward, but neither offered what they were looking for. They were quickly rejected. Then Boss Glosso finally interjected.

“Greer, you go.”

One of the guards came forward.

“Why him?” asked Point-Two.

“Tell him.”

“Surveillance,” said the guard. “I can map out an area about half a kilometre in every direction.”

“Perfect,” said Ubik. “But you won’t need this. Or this.” He began pulling bits off the guard’s suit. “You don’t want to be weighed down, we got to move fast. Won’t need these, either. Some kind of weapon is it? Grenade, no. Cameras? Really? Think you can send a signal out of there? Here, keep one, okay. Have a nice movie you can show your friends.”

By the time Ubik had finished turning the guard this way and that, he had been stripped down to a very basic outfit.

“Right. Ready.” Ubik headed for the solid wall.

Fig looked over at Point-Two and then quickly walked ahead of Ubik. The wall opened up once more.

The two additions followed with Point-Two bringing up the rear.

“We shouldn’t be long,” said Ubik.

Point-Two made sure to shepherd everyone into the tunnel before anyone could think of a new wrinkle. He caught sight of Boss Glosso, still calm, confident he had this under control.

The tunnel closed behind them as they went forward, the two new members of the team a little wary and hesitant, but forced to keep moving by Point-Two.

They came out in a small room and the tunnel sealed itself behind them. Black walls with a pinkish glow. No doors visible.

Point-Two and Fig immediately turned to take care of the two new guys.

The real reason he has asked for stealth and speed was because it would be easier to deal with than strength and defence organics.

They had no need for scouting out the area since they knew exactly where they needed to go and had Antecessor help to get there. The only reason to accept these two was to placate the others.

But before Point-Two and Fig could take action, both of the newcomers’ suits locked up and trapped them as though they were in need of serious medical attention. They barely had a chance to gasp before they were encased inside their own suits. They dropped to the floor, rigid and entombed.

Ubik had got to them first. In fact, he had got to them back when they first volunteered.

“Right, we should go this way,” said Ubik, pointing at a wall.

“Um, are we sure about this?” Fig was looking down at the two prostrate bodies sealed inside their suits.

“You worried about leaving them here?” said Point-Two.

“Not exactly. I mean, it’s fine, they won’t be a problem here, but afterwards…” Fig was clearly struggling with something. “I’m saying, shouldn’t we just kill them, to be safe?”

Point-Two hadn’t expected Fig to say something like that. “Why? Safe from what?”

“It’s just that, you know they won’t be grateful we didn’t kill them. Probably the opposite. They’re going to be mad and angry and want some kind of revenge. I’m not saying they’ll get it, but the best we can hope is that we never see them again. But the worst is that they find a way to get back at us. Maybe here, maybe in the future. Maybe even just giving someone information about us. There’s just no good that will come from leaving them alive, and quite a few advantages from killing them now.”

Point-Two had to take a moment to think about it. In purely pragmatic terms, Fig was right. They would be preventing quite a few possible issues by removing these two here and now. He was well aware of how an act of mercy could come back to bite you in the ass.

“He’s got a point,” said Ubik. “What do you think?”

Point-Two sighed. There was too much at stake to leave loose ends lying around. “You do that one. I’ll take care of this one.” If they were going to do it, he would take responsibility.

Fig moved to deal with the one nearest him.

Ubik laughed. “What are you two like? Stone-cold killers. Honestly, you both give me the chills. Of course we aren’t going to kill them.”

“Why not?” said Point-Two.

“Because he’s wrong. The only options aren’t we never see them again or they do something negative to us. There’s the possibility of a positive outcome.”

“Such as?” asked Fig.

“I have no idea,” said Ubik. “But are you really that arrogant to think that if you can’t think of one it can’t exist? We’re already up against most of the galaxy, a few wildcards are going to be necessary at some point. It might be them. And even if it isn’t, even if they spend the rest of their lives trying to hunt us down, so what? If we can lose to them, what chance do we have against the Antecessors and all the others who want us dead? Come on, let’s go.”

Ubik turned and walked at the wall.

Figaro got there ahead of him and an opening appeared.

Point-Two looked down at the two men lying there and couldn’t help but think they would meet them again and it wouldn’t be a positive experience. And he also had the sneaking feeling that that was exactly what Ubik wanted.

431: Free Man

I was sitting on a grey plastic chair on one side of a square table, the back of my head touching the wall if I leaned back. Opposite me was an empty chair where my recently-acquired solicitor would have been sitting if she hadn’t been standing on the table.

They were attractive legs, slim and shapely. And an extremely short skirt. I kept my gaze averted.

I had accepted Cherry Hinton as my legal representative even though I’d never met, never spoken to her and definitely never asked for her. But she had appeared in my time of need and who was I to reject a helping hand.

“Archie sent you, didn’t he?”

“That’s right,” Cherry Hinton said, her stockinged feet slip-sliding around on the tabletop. “Mr Larwood expected you to get yourself into trouble, and he’d rather you didn’t attract the kind of attention that might get you thrown into an unmarked van and driven to the nearest private airfield.”

Was she trying to frighten me?

“Why would anyone want to kidnap me?”

Cherry clambered down from the table with two AA batteries and the plastic cover of the smoke alarm in her hands. She heaved her misshapen leather shoulder bag off the floor and clawed out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The small room we were in had been reluctantly handed over to us for a confidential client-lawyer meeting as was required of the police by law. The law being something they enthusiastically used as a blunt instrument on others but very begrudgingly applied to themselves.

It was small, narrow and had lots of no smoking signs plastered across the walls. I could also hear the sound of someone crying in an adjacent room. Probably one of the coppers who’d been told he could no longer post his views on immigrants on his social media accounts.

“I have no idea,” said Cherry. “I don’t ask unnecessary questions. Mr Larwood wants you out, so I’m going to get you out.”

The first drag on her cigarette deposited an inch of ash into the smoke alarm cover-cum-ashtray. A look of satisfaction passed over her face. She was around forty. No make-up, unsympathetic grey eyes, curly hair.

Unlike the women I had known so far — all of who were around my age and who had the look of someone who knew what to expect and planned to fight for what they deserved — Cherry had the look of someone who had seen it all and didn’t really give a shit anymore.

“What I do know,” said Cherry, taking a last drag and grinding out the butt, “is that four years ago twenty people disappeared, all at the same time. It created quite the kerfuffle. Vanished into thin air. One of them was Mr Larwood’s daughter.”

“Yes,” I said.

“People have more or less forgotten about it, as people do, but once it becomes common knowledge that you have somehow reappeared, there will be interest.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Not just from the public, but from various government agencies. Those two you were having a chat with, did they look like normal detectives to you?”

“I’m not sure what normal detectives look like.”

“They don’t look ripped with good skin and expensive haircuts, I can assure you.”

“If they aren’t police then who are they?”

“Oh, they’re ‘police’, just not the kind who work in a place like this. I told you, government agencies will be interested. This is just the start. And in the future, it won’t just be our government.”

She was being quite vague and yet somehow very clearly getting across the idea that I was in a lot of trouble.

“Other governments? Why would they care?”

“Who knows,” said Cherry. “This is the brief I’ve been given. Keep you out of the limelight as long as possible. Mr Larwood would like you to consider coming to work for him, but he won’t force you. He thinks once you realise the situation you’re in, you’ll come to him of your own volition. I don’t know. Most people who end up like you don’t realise the truth until it’s already too late. Here’s the number you can contact him on.”

She slid a business card towards me across the table.

I picked up the white card which had Archie’s name and phone number on it in black print. Nothing else.

“I still don’t see why—”

“Earthquakes,” said Cherry.

“Sorry?”

“Each of the locations the twenty went missing from were connected by tremors. That’s how they were identified. All of them were in England and they happened at the exact same time.”

I sat there trying to understand what that meant. Our exit from this world had been noticed and connections had been made. Judging from Archie’s reaction, the unnatural nature of that exit had caused some interest.

Quite possibly, they had more information from previous events of a similar nature. They might even know exactly what had happened to us and what had caused it. I could see why they would see me as someone they wanted to talk to.

But Archie hadn’t thrown me in a van with a hood over my head and taken me to an undisclosed location for a chat. Did that mean he was a good guy?

No.

It meant he was up to something and I was still within his reach so he didn’t have to play rough. Not yet.

Which was good.

If there was more than one interested party, I would have the upper hand in negotiations.

“Luckily for you,” said Cherry, “they chose to approach you within a familiar framework. Police making inquiries. Authority figures you will feel intimidated by. We can use that against them.”

I didn’t trust Cherry at all. I don’t consider myself an expert at telling good people from bad people because that requires no skill. Everyone’s a villain in my eyes. The trick is to be able to tell where on the spectrum of evil they are.

Cherry was a professional. She reeked of it. That and fags. If she was going to use her powers to defend me, I had no doubt she would do so with maximum effort. Later, when I was her target, she would be just as conscientious at bringing me down.

Perfectly reasonable.

But the first thing was to get out of here.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m in your hands. Tell me what I need to do.”

 

***

 

“Okay, nice to see you again,” said Detective Sergeant Len Seymour. “I hope you had a productive talk with your solicitor.” He smiled at Cherry who was sitting beside me, chewing nicotine gum.

We were back in the big room, with the padded chairs.

“Yes, thanks,” I said. Cherry had told me to answer whatever I was asked and she would have me out of here in half an hour. I was looking forward to seeing how she was going to do it.

From what she had said, I was an object of great interest and they would not let me go willingly.

I turned to look at her. Currently, she was filing her nails.

“Good, good,” said Len. “So, back to the matter we’re here to investigate, your sudden disappearance four years ago.”

“I told you, I don’t remember.”

Len looked at his partner, who looked up from his computer screen and shook his head.

“Colin, please, we both know that isn’t true.”

Cherry shifted in her seat. “I hope that laptop doesn’t have one of those electromagnetic lie-detecting sensors built into it. I’ve heard that you people are testing them on political prisoners on that island nobody knows about because it doesn’t exist, officially. That would be both illegal, since my client has not given his consent, and also inadmissible, if you were thinking of entering it into evidence.”

Len smiled. He had very good teeth. A policeman shouldn’t have Hollywood movie star teeth.

“I don’t know what island you’re referring to, and I’m sure there are no political prisoners being held by the British government anywhere for any reason. We don’t even torture the terrorists we imprison.”

It’s never a good idea to deny using torture when no one’s mentioned it. I was starting to see what Cherry meant when she said these weren’t normal police officers.

“But let me assure you,” continued Len, “any data collected here today will be kept completely anonymous and only used for training purposes.”

“So, you are collecting data?” said Cherry. “To use as evidence.”

“Why would we be looking to collect evidence?” said DS Seymour. “There hasn’t been a crime committed, has there?”

“Whether a crime has been committed or not is irrelevant as far as my client’s rights are concerned.”

“Of course,” said Len. “But, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear.”

“Since you mention it,” Cherry said, “allow me to tell you what someone with nothing to hide has to fear from the police. Incompetence, that’s the big one, but also corruption. Then there’s prejudice, we all know how deep that runs, and, of course, personal vendettas. Also, mistaken identity, also, leaking false information to the press, and let’s not forget lack of accountability, lack of common sense and just general idiocy.”

“Okay, but—”

“I don’t know if you’re a history buff, Detective Sergeant, but there’s a reason you aren’t allowed to barge into people’s homes without due cause, and the reason is that you have a habit of abusing any power you’re given, either through malicious stupidity or petty ignorance. So, why don’t you do your part to re-establish public confidence in your profession by actually doing the work in the prescribed manner, without shortcuts and fanciful stabs in the dark?”

DS Seymour’s lips parted the merest hint, but nowhere near quick enough.

“Let’s be upfront about this,” Cherry continued unabated, “the only reason you’re looking into this is because of curiosity. And that isn’t a legitimate reason for bothering a private citizen, is it?”

“But nineteen other people disappeared,” said Len, finally getting a word in. “Do you want us to forget about them?”

“Do you have reason to believe my client was responsible for their disappearances?”

“He must know something.”

“Do you have reason to believe he was involved in their disappearances?” said Cherry. “And if so, what is that reason?”

“This investigation—”

“Isn’t going to go any further,” said Cherry. “You asked, we answered. He doesn’t remember. Whatever weird, crazy thing happened four years ago, no one’s been able to make sense of it, and neither can my client. He didn’t know any of the other nineteen, he certainly couldn’t have visited them all on that night, not unless he had access to Father Christmas’ sleigh. What exactly do you think his involvement is?”

Poor old Len looked like he was punch drunk.

“If you want to arrest him, please do. If you have any more specific questions, feel free to ask. General philosophical queries will not be entertained today.”

Cherry looked at her watch and then raised an eyebrow in Len’s direction.

A few minutes later, I was a free man.

Book 4 - 5: Backstage Pass

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

Daring City — The Dungeon

There was a sudden surge in heat as they exited the elevator. Not only had the temperature risen greatly, it was far more humid.

Figaro’s suit auto-adjusted and cooled his body. He checked the control panel on his arm and tried to get a reading on the surroundings. Other than telling him it was very hot in every direction, he was getting nothing.

The elevator had deposited them into a long corridor lit by a very soft pink that was coming from the walls.

Boss Glosso, as his men called him, had taken them straight to the third level, bypassing all the obstacles a team would normally have to face.

He was short in stature and didn’t appear to have an organic, but everywhere he went, he was treated with the kind of respect that bordered on fear. His men never looked at him, always staring straight ahead, afraid to screw up.

They had picked up an entourage of six more along the way, these in full battle gear, covered from head to toe with only the lower part of their faces showing. Beads of sweat could be seen around their lips.

Two at the front, two at the rear and two on each side. There was nothing else in the corridor but Figaro felt as if danger was close by.

Boss Glosso struck Figaro as one of those short men who made up for their lack of size with a lack of mercy. A man of intense focus. He more or less ignored Figaro and PT, his attention on Ubik.

One megalomaniac keeping an eye on another.

He was an astute man, though. Very measured. A shrewd operator, his father would have called him. Not someone to be underestimated.

Ubik, on the other hand, didn’t waste time with that kind of careful analysis. Rather than avoid detection, they were going in with the person they intended to rob. You had to hand it to Ubik, this was a much quicker way to their objective.

Figaro checked the control panel on his arm and tried to understand where the heat was coming from.

“Things are starting to get sweaty,” said PT.

“Hmm,” said Figaro. “Looks like the environmental controls are working flat out to keep it at this level.” He could see the energy output of the various climate adjusting vents in the walls.

“Sure,” said PT. “The heat, too.” He was looking at Ubik walking alongside Boss Glosso, chatting casually about something or other. “Does that mean the deeper we go the hotter it’s going to get?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Figaro.

The passage they were in was straight and narrow, with very flat walls. Completely smooth. Figaro put his hand on the wall and slid it along. There was no friction. Smooth as polished marble.

“This is what you call elfidium,” said a voice in his head. There was a ball of light in the corner of his vision, flitting about excitedly.

“This is the pink stuff?” It didn’t look like the elfidium up on the surface. It looked black.

“It is much denser here. The lower you go, the closer you get to the source, the more dense it will become. That is its nature.”

“What’s on the other side of this wall?” Ubik was pointing at the black wall to his right. “I think I can hear something.”

Figaro couldn’t hear anything. He looked at PT, who shook his head.

“The third level of the Dungeon,” said Boss Glosso. “This passage runs along one side, to allow staff and service personnel to enter without disturbing the combatants. You’re perfectly safe here. The elfidium walls are impenetrable.”

Since they were here to penetrate the impenetrable walls, his emphasis took on a challenging tone.

The procession halted as Ubik turned towards the wall and pressed his face against it, hands cupping his goggles. He seemed to be trying to look through the wall.

“What’s he doing?” said PT.

The mayor and his men looked just as confused as PT.

“Is it possible to see through the elfidium at this density?” Figaro posed the question as though musing to himself.

“Yes,” said the voice in his head. “If you have the visual faculty for it.”

Figaro had no idea what that faculty might be but he wasn’t surprised that Ubik had found a way to modify his standard-issue goggles so they had that faculty.

“There’s a fight going on,” said Ubik. “Team of five… no, six. They’re up against a large droid that’s spitting some sort of liquid at them.”

“An acid discharge droid,” said the Boss Glosso, one slightly raised eyebrow the only indication of his surprise. “That will be the team from the Horrowitz Guild. A very experienced team. If they’re here already, they should be on course for a top-five finish.”

Figaro had heard of the Horrowitz Guild. One of the top delving teams when it came to raiding Antecessor sites, and one of the richest.

“They’re not doing very well,” said Ubik. He suddenly snapped his head back from the wall, hissing. “Ooh, not a top-five performance, if you ask me. Two of them just got dissolved from the waist up.”

“The Dungeon is never an easy place to conquer,” said the mayor, “even for an experienced team.”

They set off again. Twenty minutes later, they reached the end of the corridor. A blank wall blocked their path.

Boss Glosso passed a hand over his wrist and the wall shifted to reveal an opening, similar to the hidden doorways in other Antecessor sites Figaro had seen, but without the physical locking and unlocking like a puzzle. Here, they just slid aside like a curtain being parted, as though the wall was made of liquid.

The opening revealed a shaft with a pink platform.

The guards quickly moved to take up position at the corners and along the sides. Ubik and Boss Glosso moved to the middle, leaving Figaro and PT to awkwardly stand in front of them. Everyone seemed to have an assigned position except for the two of them.

They began descending. Boss Glosso was controlling the platform but it wasn’t clear how the device on his wrist worked. Not that it mattered. Ubik was standing next to him, no doubt watching and learning.

It took around thirty seconds for them to reach their destination, the temperature going up as they went down. The platform stopped moving and an opening appeared in the wall of the shaft. D

A high-pitched whine, so loud it made Figaro’s teeth vibrate, filled the air.

The guards filed out and stood on each side as Boss Glosso led them off the platform into a huge open area. There were very powerful lights on towers pointing away from them at an immense black wall that rose beyond the limits of the lighting rig.

The wall was smooth and polished, with a subtle pinkish tint. It was a solid mass taking up the entirety of one side of the chamber.

There were no droids here, not Antecessor constructs. Just the wall and a huge machine with a nose like a giant drill that was attempting to cut into it. From the looks of things, it wasn’t making much of an impact.

The drill stopped and the people surrounding it turned to look at them.

There were ten people standing here, all dressed in battlesuits, but judging from the different styles and insignias, they were all from different guilds and mercenary groups. There were even some from major corporations.

Figaro doubted very much that these groups were all cooperating with Boss Glosso. It was far more likely that they were outstanding individuals who had performed well in the Dungeon, and had made some kind of deal with Boss Glosso to investigate the fifth level.

However, first they needed access to the fifth level.

“Who are they?” asked a tall man wearing the gold and blue of Merchant Corporation, a very big player in finance and real estate. They bought and sold planets. Antecessor sites weren’t really their area of expertise, but they still employed expert security personnel.

This man looked like a bodyguard for one of their executives. His outfit was of high quality, but intentionally branded to indicate who he worked for. His tone was dismissive and arrogant.

“They’re new,” said Boss Glosso, his tone completely neutral. “They say they can break through the elfidium.”

There were doubting looks all around.

Figaro took the opportunity to size them up. All ten looked very strong and powerful. Their postures suggested they were bored and irritated. He couldn’t help but look over at Ubik, wondering how much more irritated he was going to make them.

“They’re the top ten rankers from the leaderboard, aren’t they?” said PT.

“I think so.” Figaro had come to the same conclusion.

This was the real prize for doing well in the Dungeon. You got to enter the virgin level and a chance to claim whatever treasures lay inside. Once they managed to open it.

“If they can get us in, I say let them through,” said a man in Valhalla Guild black. Valhalla Guild were famous for never returning empty-handed. They either completed their objective or died trying.

“We won’t just be opening the way,” said Ubik. “We’ll be leading the team that enters. A team of five, so only two of you can come with us.”

The reaction wasn’t good. Figaro estimated the irritation levels had doubled.

“Who the hell are these kids?”

“Nobody’s taking my spot.”

“We had a deal.”

The guards stood on either side of Boss Glosso looking nervous. Their boss didn’t seem at all concerned.

“You all know how this works,” he snapped. “We do this my way. If you don’t like it, you know the terms of the contract.”

There was a pensive quiet.

“First, we’ll see if they can do what they say. If they can, then they’ll have already proven themselves more useful than anyone here.”

Nothing was said in response. All eyes turned to the three of them.

“Okay, everyone back off,” said Ubik, clapping his hands. “We need some space to work our magic. No questions, please. We can’t reveal any trade secrets and all that.”

They slowly moved out of the way, all watching closely.

Ubik looked at PT. “Go ahead.”

PT didn’t look very happy but he moved through the crowd to the wall. Figaro followed him. If he was going to use his organic to break through this wall, he would probably need Figaro’s help to not end up frying his brain in the process.

The wall loomed over them. The last time PT had come in contact with elfidium, it had shattered into dust with just a touch. If that happened here, the entire wall would disappear. And the whole chamber could collapse.

“How do you want to do this?” asked Figaro.

PT looked at him and then past him at Ubik.

Ubik gave them a thumbs up. No intention of offering guidance.

“What about your friend?” said PT. “He got any ideas.”

“How do we get through here?” said Figaro. “How do we stop the elfidium from exploding?”

“This isn’t like the thin, weak elfidium you encountered above,” said the organic.

“So he can use his organic to transform it?”

“No. That won’t work. Elfidium either exists or it doesn’t. And he doesn’t possess the power to destroy it at this density.”

“Then how do we get past it?” said Figaro.

“I will open the way,” said the organic.

“You will? You can do that?”

“We can do that. Step forward.”

Figaro looked at PT, who had only heard one side of the conversation but seemed to understand. He moved aside.

Figaro walked forward. The wall rippled and then a tunnel appeared. Circular, no end in sight. The sides continuing to ripple.

There were gasps from behind him.

“He’s a metamorph,” someone exclaimed.

Figaro was not a metamorph, someone who could change the shape and consistency of things. PT wasn’t one either, although his ability more closely resembled it.

“We did our part,” said Ubik, like things had turned out just as he had expected. “Which two do you want to send with us? I don’t mind refereeing any fights.”

Four of them immediately stepped forward, but they didn’t look like they were going to fight each other.

“You opened the way,” said the tall man from Merchant Corp. “Now get out of the way.”

430: Unwarranted Attention

On the positive side (and, as we all know, I’m all about the silver lining) I was not the Colin of four years ago. Physically, mentally, emotionally… well, okay, emotionally I was still a disaster, but I had gained a lot of impressive qualities during my time away.

I was confident that I could get out of this situation. I’m not saying I would, I’m just saying the confidence was there.

The cops and the crowd that had stopped to rubberneck were all looking confused. Several of them had caught some of what had just happened on their phones and were checking the footage. I was tempted to go over and have a look myself.

I had definitely performed magic. I didn’t know how I did it, and I felt no different when it happened, but it did happen. The homeless guy’s face was proof of that.

Which was great. Who wouldn’t want to be able to do real magic in a world as drab and mundane as this one?

The only problem was that I had no idea how to do it again. And in the meantime, people were looking at me funny and whispering to each other. Torches and pitchforks would appear any moment now.

Strangely, I didn’t feel awkward or embarrassed. Instead, I saw them as ready-made accomplices who were going to help me get out of here.

“Thank you, very much. Thank you, thank you.” I took a bow. “And a big hand for my assistant.” I put my arm around the befuddled homeless guy. “Please visit my website, blackmagicmuckery.com, where you’ll find more videos with amazing demonstrations of impossible feats.”

The crowd looked disappointed. They lowered their phones. When I was some rando doing inexplicable things, I was worthy of space on their SD card. But a self-promoting twat looking to get Youtube-famous, that was just taking advantage of their curiosity and good-natured desire to leech off of someone else’s ability to be interesting.

“Are you some kind of street performer?” asked the slightly less chubby cop.

“That’s right. I’m street magician Zane Xenon. You’re being filmed, right now.” I pointed in various random directions.

The crowd’s interest dissipated like morning fog in the sunshine as the words ‘street magician’ spread through the air. Is there anything less attractive than a man who does non-consensual card tricks in public?

“Do you have a performer’s licence?” asked the other cop.

“Sure, talk to my manager.” I pointed at where the driver had been standing a moment ago, but he was gone. At least that was one problem less I had to deal with.

“Mah face. Wha’ happened to mah face.” The homeless man was still in shock. A moment ago, he’d been struck by a rock. Now, he had the looks of a mid-70s Rod Stewart. I mean, it wasn’t pretty, but it was definitely a step up from Kirkpatrick Kiltshitter.

“It’s okay, show’s over,” I said to my reluctant assistant. “You get back and I’ll see you later.” I slipped a handful of coins into his sporran (at least I hope that’s what it was) and sent him on his way.

“You’ll have to show us your licence or I’ll have to give you a ticket.”

I was fine with getting a ticket. Worth it if I could get away from Archie’s goon.

“Hold on,” said the other cop, who had his phone out now. “I got a hit.”

“Someone in the crowd?” asked his partner.

Suddenly, the crowd looked shifty, moving out of the eye-line of the phone.

“No. This one. He’s a missing person. Went missing four years ago.”

“Is that some kind of facial recognition?” I asked, fascinated by how much things had changed. “Isn’t it illegal?”

“You can opt out,” said the phone-wielding policeman. “Have you opted out?”

Obviously, I hadn’t. “No. Can I do it now?”

“Noob,” said someone in the crowd.

I can’t say it didn’t hurt. Used to be, you had to be crap at a game to be called a noob. Now, apparently, you had to be good at life, too. Kind of hard for those of us who hadn’t even passed the tutorial.

“I got a flag on it. Look.” The two policemen peered at the phone screen.

“What does it mean?”

“Dunno, never seen one that colour.”

“Tap it. Maybe there’s a hint.”

I decided this was the perfect time to make myself disappear — a trick far too few street magicians perform — and casually turned around.

There was an ugly yellow and blue police car parked right behind me.

“Ooh, I know what the flag’s for. Special attention.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means we’ll take it from here,” said the driver of the police car as he exited and opened up the passenger door. “You’ll have to come with us, sir.” He smiled mechanically and nodded towards the car.

I looked around. The homeless Scot was staring at his reflection in a shop window, crying. Further along the street, the driver was watching from behind some scaffolding.

I got in the car. It smelled clean, but not in a good way. Like a recently disinfected public toilet. I slipped around on the plastic seat cover, still damp from its most recent wipe down. On the back of the driver’s headrest, a small screen informed me of my rights in a sloping white font set against a montage of idyllic autumnal scenes.

It may harm your defence … a carpet of red leaves in Hyde Park … if you do not mention when questioned … Victorian lamp posts viewed through golden branches … something you later rely on in court …

Soothing classical music played as we drove.

I didn’t bother asking where we were going or why, I was just glad to have a moment to myself.

Magic. It was really possible. I sat there as we slowly drove through Central London, my eyes closed, trying to find my way back to the state of mind that would allow me to access it again.

The first time I managed it, back in Flatland, it took a long time to create the right mindset, a mixture of hopelessness and not giving a shit, to trigger the power. A small flame on my finger.

After that, it had got easier and easier.

Here, I had tried all of my old methods but nothing had worked. Not until I accidentally lamped a tramp. Then it happened without me even being involved, on pure instinct. Would I have to get into another violent altercation to force it out again? Was it the cry of pain or the sign of blood that was the catalyst?

Going around attacking people for personal gain wasn’t ethical or moral, and it was also very hard to stab someone without them getting the hump. But at least I had something to go on. It was very energising. Well, relatively. For someone with my levels of enthusiasm, a strong mint was an emotional experience.

But if I could get my magic working in this world, then I could finally live the life I always wanted. A life where everyone else could fuck right off. It wasn’t much of a dream, but it was my dream.

I was immersed in my thoughts as I searched for any hint of my old powers, that I didn’t notice we had pulled into what could have easily passed for a supermarket car park. It was only when I was let out that I saw the rotating steel sign in blue and silver proclaiming: New Scotland Yard.

There was no booking in, no filling out any forms or handing over my belt and shoelaces. I’d only seen the inside of a police station in movies and TV shows, so I had no idea what the reality was like.

Noob for life.

The two policemen escorted me from the car into the building. Neither of them had said anything to me other than purely functional statements.

“This way, sir.”

“Mind your head, there.”

“Through this door, sir.”

“Just on the right, sir.”

Before I knew it, I was sitting in a small room with a table and four chairs. No big mirror for people to secretly watch me through, not blinds on the windows to let in sexy lined shadows.

I had put off thinking about how I was going to handle this. Missing guy reappears after four years — there were bound to be questions. But what could they do if I said nothing?

Two men entered a moment later.

“Hello, there,” said a man in a shiny grey suit like he had dressed up for the occasion.

He was blond and weirdly muscular on the top half of his body, so his suit looked abnormally wide.

“Sorry about the delay. Busy day. Let me get the introductions out of the way. I’m Detective Sergeant Len Seymour, and my colleague here is Detective Constable Esposito.” He indicated the dark-haired man to his left.

Esposito gave me a curt wave as he sat down opposite me and opened a small laptop.

“DC Esposito will be recording our conversation on this computer, and you’re welcome to a copy at the end of this interview. We can put it onto a memory stick if you’ve got one with you or we can provide you with one for a nominal charge. Or we can just email it to you.” DS Seymour drummed the table with his fingers. “Whatever’s best for you.”

“I don’t remember,” I said.

“Sorry?” said DS Seymour.

“I’ve been performing street magic to survive for the last four years. I have no recollection of what happened before that.”

“Poor bastard,” muttered Esposito. I wasn’t sure if he was sympathising with my amnesia or my line of work.

This was what I had come up with, the Oliver North defence. Memory gone. No idea who I was or what I’d done.

“I see,” said DS Seymour. “Then, why don’t we find out together?”

“Can I have a lawyer?” This was my second line of defence.

“Uh, you aren’t under arrest, you know that, right? We just want to help you find out what happened four years ago.”

“I have the right to have a lawyer present, don’t I?”

“Yeees.” He didn’t seem overly enthusiastic.

“Do you do some sort of martial arts?” I asked him.

He looked confused. “Sorry, what?”

“The way you move, it suggests you’ve had training. Martial arts, I would guess. Possibly dancing.”

His confusion flickered to admiration for a moment.

It wasn’t really that impressive. I’d been around enough fighters to recognise the tells. The idiotic swagger, the awkward posture due to overdeveloped muscles, the teeth pushing into the lower lip as they imagined dominating the guy in front of them so they could prove their dad wrong. He was textbook.

“Actually, yeah. I do a little Brazilian jiu-jitsu.”

Of course he did. The martial arts for every man who needs to be hugged but can’t bring himself to ask a friend.

If I could get this guy to attack me, perhaps that would help my latent power emerge once more. Just had to provoke him into losing his temper. How hard could that be?

“If we could just get back to the matter in hand, Colin — alright if I call you Colin? Is there any particular reason you feel you need legal representation, Colin?”

“Yes, I have a strong dislike of policemen. I think one might have done things to me as a child. Like I said, my memory’s very hazy.”

“Well, okay, I’m sorry to hear that, but do you have a solicitor you can call. It might take some time for us to find a—”

There was a knock on the door. Sharp and insistent.

DS Seymour got up and opened it. There was a woman standing there, looking pissed off.

“And you are?” said DS Seymour.

“Cherry Hinton. I’m his lawyer.”

Which was news to me.

Book 4 - 4: Win Win

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

Daring City — Guest Hub

 

Point-Two rapidly backed up as one of the guards came charging towards him, the pink baton in his hand looking surprisingly menacing.

The man had a helmet covering most of his face and a short sleeve shirt that suggested he worked in a hot environment with few threats. Not someone who needed to fight a lot.

Point-Two managed to keep out of range of the elf stick. If it was a rod of hard light, like a laser that could be limited in length, it could probably cut through flesh far easier than a blade.

His hand instinctively went to his waist to take out a weapon of his own but he stopped himself and glanced over at Ubik as he did so.

Ubik had already stated that he didn’t want the man in charge of this place to know how they had broken the pink wall. This appeared to be a big deal. Possibly big enough of a deal to make the man willing to let them jump the queue and go straight to the fifth level.

Yes, he was going to test them first, maybe threaten them and so on, but if he really wanted them removed he would have taken a more effective approach. Two men with elf sticks wasn’t a serious attempt at kicking them out.

So, it would be best not to reveal too much.

But then how were they supposed to resolve this matter?

The guards weren’t using their guns but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t.

Ubik was watching like an attentive member of the audience. There was no indication from his face that he considered these events to be problematic. And if he didn’t suggest a particular course of action, that usually meant he was relying on the participants to make their own choices.

So be it. Point-Two decided to act in accordance with his instincts, which Ubik no doubt had already predicted. He looked over at Fig, who had his own opponent to deal with, and in the moment their eyes met, they came to a mutual understanding of what to do.

They both stepped back and to the side, leaving a clear path to Ubik.

The two guards hesitated for a moment, bewildered at the sudden appearance of an opening — as guards themselves, they probably expected their counterparts to protect their leader with their lives — but they quickly took the opportunity presented to them and rushed forward.

Ubik at this point decided to look horrified and threw somewhat accusatory looks at Point-Two and Fig, making Point-Two think that perhaps this wasn’t what Ubik had expected.

But then he decided Ubik was more than likely putting on a terrified act for some reason or another. Maybe to give the other side a sense of superiority which Ubik would then use against them. That seemed a very Ubik thing to do.

“What the hell?” shouted Ubik, running at the guards, both of whom were targeting him.

He ran between them, the room being too narrow to go anywhere else, ducking down to avoid the swinging pink batons coming at him from both sides, landing on his side and then jumping back up.

It wasn’t elegant, and you could be forgiven for thinking Ubik was relying on luck and manic bravado rather than any kind of skill, but he managed to slide past them.

The very short man in charge was in front of him, unprotected.

Take out the boss? Was this the plan?

The boss didn’t look very concerned. There was a high chance he had some kind of personal protection on him.

But Ubik didn’t go towards him. Instead, he threw himself at the plinth which housed the magistrate sphere. He put his arms around the square column like it was a close personal friend.

The guards had turned around and took a moment to gauge if the other two needed to be factored in.

Point-Two had his arms folded to give a very clear intention of long-term non-involvement. Fig was equally withdrawn from all matters combative.

The guards made a direct line for Ubik, batons raised.

As they brought them down on Ubik, who was making no effort to protect himself, the two pink sticks bounced off a force field that appeared to be protecting both Ubik and the plinth he was embracing.

The guards fell back, their arms shaking from the clash.

A sphere once more rose out of the top of the plinth. “Cease all attacks. This is an official Mason & Muss product. You are being recorded. All violent behaviour in this vicinity will be reported as a criminal act. Please enter your official registration code to activate full controls. Congratulations on your purchase.”

The two guards stopped, genuine concern on the visible part of their faces, and looked to their boss, who was staring at Ubik with his lips stretching and twisting.

“What did you do? How did you reset my magistrate?”

“Probably just a glitch,” said Ubik, now with his back to the plinth. “Just put the code in again. You have an official code from when you bought it, right?”

The force field around him reflected the light just enough to be visible like glass. Point-Two was familiar with this technology. An anti-theft shield. Once activated it couldn’t be deactivated until the correct code was entered. It could be destroyed with some effort, but that would destroy the product. Was the boss willing to lose one of his expensive magistrates?

“Of course I have the code,” snapped the boss. “But I don’t have it with me. You’ll have to stay in there until I remember where I put it.” His darkened features seemed to lighten. “Yes. Looks like you’re stuck there.” He even began to smile.

Point-Two didn’t see anything to smile about. Ubik had reset the magistrate with only a few words. Not even that, just some numbers. He wasn’t stuck in there, he was using the anti-theft shield as a negotiation tool.

“That’s alright,” said Ubik. “I’m fine in here. Are you willing to discuss terms now?”

“Terms? Why should I discuss anything with you? You can stay in there until you tell me what I want to know.” The boss looked from side to side. “Your two friends can also provide me with information.”

The guards took the cue from their boss’s tone of voice and repositioned themselves to deal with Point-Two and Fig.

“What do you expect us to do?” Point-Two asked, his eyes on the guards but the question aimed at Ubik.

“Don’t hurt them,” said Ubik. “Just disarm them.” There was a slight lilt to his voice that somehow conveyed very specific instructions. Don’t use your organics.

Point-Two decided to get this over with as quickly as possible. He approached his would-be opponent and slapped his wrist. The pink rod fell to the floor.

It was a simple move that only required the slightest of contacts but it was very effective at breaking a one-handed grip. Short-sleeves helped.

The guard looked shocked and stared down at the ground where his elf stick rolled around.

“Was that the nerve slap you showed me?” said Fig. “Like this?” He made the same move but the guard opposite him yanked his hand away.

Fig followed up with a kick that he seemed to have lined up in advance and kicked the guard in the head. The helmet protected him but he still fell to the floor.

Their boss didn’t look very impressed. He had his eyes closed and a disappointed frown on his lips.

“You know, we could both benefit from this,” said Ubik. “We just need to come to an agreement about how much you’re willing to part with.”

“You expect me to believe you came here for money?” The boss didn’t sound convinced.

Money was not the reason they were here, but Point-Two wouldn’t have been surprised if Ubik was planning on making a little profit on the side.

The boss opened his eyes. “Who sent you?”

“Can’t tell you that,” said Ubik. “But we know about the key, the same as you. We found the same records, only our site had been destroyed, so we couldn’t get hold of our copy.”

“There are more keys?” The boss looked shocked.

“They come in sets of three.” Ubik was, of course, talking complete rubbish. There was no other site and no other records.

“Three keys.” The boss was far more engaged in the conversation.

From what was being said — and this was all news to Point-Two — the site here on C-3998 had led to the discovery of records that revealed the existence of a key on the lower levels.

This was what they had been trying to get hold of on the fifth level.

Ubik was dangling the possibility of success in front of him as a way to give them access. What he was planning after that was anyone’s guess.

“Here’s what I propose,” said Ubik. “There should be three keys. We get one, you keep the other two.”

There was a glint in the boss’s eyes. Point-Two recognised the look — greed. The man was practically salivating.

“Why should I share anything with you? How do I know you don’t plan to take it all?”

“You don’t,” said Ubik. “And we don’t know if you’ll stick to the deal either. But we can’t get to the keys without you allowing it, and you can’t open the way without us. Why don’t we give it a try and see where we end up?”

Point-Two could see the boss weighing up the risks and options. A greedy man would land on the side with the greater chance of profits, a wise man would prefer to be patient.

“Very well. Let’s see where we end up.” Greedy men were far more common.

“Great,” said Ubik. The shield around him disappeared.

“Threat level diminished,” said the sphere as it sank back down into the plinth.

The boss glared at his two men and then turned as the door opened.

Point-Two was glad this had been resolved but he found himself staring at the plinth. Threat level diminished? That wasn’t how anti-theft shielding worked. What had Ubik just done?

Fig came over to Point-Two. “This is going to be tricky with each side suspecting the other.”

“That’s where the two of us have the advantage,” said Point-Two, as they followed the others through the door. “We don’t trust either of them.”

Book 4 - 3: I Am the Law

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

Daring City — Guest Hub

 

The Plu-Ton bar became very quiet once the guards arrived. They were all eager to see what would happen to the violent offenders who had broken the city’s very strict code of conduct. In Ubik’s experience, the more corrupt the city, the bigger the deal they made about law and order.

The screens on the walls flickered as someone new broke into the top ten, their achievements ignored. Everyone was too focused on the real action. Ubik guessed they were hoping to witness some form of resistance, followed by some sort of beating.

“Come on, let’s go,” said the lead guard. “I don’t want any trouble. Let’s keep this nice and friendly.”

“I want justice,” screamed Zola in an unfriendly manner. His buddy was sorrowfully nursing his severed metal limb like it was his dead child.

“And you’ll get it once we put them in front of a magistrate. Now please step back.” The guard waved his rifle in a brushing motion, like it had a broom attachment on the end.

“It’s one of the automated magistrates, isn’t it?” said Ubik. “You’re not denying it. Why can’t we see a human magistrate? We’re allowed to request a human, I saw it in the guidebook.”

Ubik had no idea if there was a guidebook for a place like this, but he wouldn’t have read it even if there was. The pages would probably be stuck together.

“They’re absolutely impartial,” said the guard.

Ubik threw up his arms in dramatic fashion. “We’re doomed. They’ll lock us up and toss away the key. We might as well fight our way out and take our chances.”

The guard seemed a little nonplussed. “It’ll probably just be a fine.”

“See?” said Ubik, fingers thrust into his hair, eyes as big as possible. “You know we’ll be found guilty already. What’s the penalty for killing the guy? I mean, if we’re going to do the time, might as well do the crime.”

The crowd were starting to get excited as they saw a potential clash between the three nobodies and the might of the city guards. Who didn’t love an underdog in way over its head? A flurry of bets were being made.

“You’re overreacting a bit, aren’t you?” said the guard.

“Overacting, more like,” said PT, but under his breath. Ubik heard him, though. Always a critic.

“Alright, that’s it,” said the guard. “All of you, back to your tables.” He waved a hand and the drones flew over the crowd, releasing a fine mist.

Everyone rushed back to their seats, hands over their mouths, coughing and choking, but also smiling and hugging each other. Whatever was being sprayed, it was an effective way to defuse the situation.

“Where did you get those from?” said PT as they were escorted out of the bar.

“What?” said Ubik.

“The goggles and the mask.”

“Came with the suit,” said Ubik, uncovering his mouth. No point swallowing happy chemicals when he had stuff to do.

They were both wearing gear they’d got from the guild, with the guild insignia.

“Maybe you got a duff one,” said Ubik. “Should have been nicer to the guild officer. Costs nothing to be polite, you know.”

“I was polite,” said PT.

“You were a bit short with him,” said Fig.

“Whose side are you on?” said a dismayed PT.

“Ubik’s,” said Fig. “For the health benefits, same as you.”

Outside the bar was a square surrounded by other bars and eating establishments. They were in an enclosed artificial environment for off-worlders. A mixture of tourist accommodations and facilities for pleasure-seekers. Vice for a price.

There was a reddish tint to the light that made it very hard to use any sort of laser-guided targeting system. Ubik liked the ambience. It was his kind of town.

Across the square, there was a large, official-looking building. Lots of columns and statues of famous people Ubik had never heard of. It was where the magistrates resided. It was where Ubik wanted to go.

The four guards very smoothly guided them through a set of automatic double doors and onto a moving platform which carried them forward along a pinkish corridor to another set of doors. No effort was required.

“Wait in there until you’re seen,” said the guard.

Before he had finished speaking, a second set of doors opened in front of them and the guards moved to the side as the three of them carried on. It deposited them into a narrow room where a transparent, faintly pink shield of light appeared on each side of them, including behind, blocking their way out.

They were squeezed together in a very small area, with Ubik in between the other two.

“Do you think this is where he meant to put us?” asked PT.

“Definitely,” said Fig.

On the other side of the light in front of them was a raised plinth. It looked like a square block of stone. Beyond it, there was a large metal door that looked very secure.

The top of the plinth opened as a bronze sphere rose out of it. It looked like a featureless head.

“Case 2-3-6-9 in session,” said a calm, neutral voice. “Disorderly conduct, unauthorised use of an augmentation organic, destruction of private property. Video surveillance footage has been examined. Legitimate use of force acknowledged.”

“Objection,” said Ubik, raising his hand.

“Objection against what?” asked the sphere. “These are just the evidentiary findings.”

“The evidence is inadmissible,” said Ubik. “Illegal surveillance. Privacy laws take precedence over safety concerns.”

“One moment,” said the sphere.

“Ubik,” said Fig, “I think he was about to find us innocent.”

“I know,” said Ubik. “See the door back there? It leads to the Antecessor site. This is our ticket in.”

“I have reviewed your objection. Objection overruled. No audio was captured, privacy laws were not breached. Your fine will be restricted to administration charges for—”

“Wait, hold on,” said Ubik. “Do you have the original software architecture for a RZ-8 or the second generation upgrade?”

There was a slight pause. “Original.”

“Identify serial number.”

“What are y—”

“Force identification.”

“390 dash 404 dash 711.”

Ubik nodded. “Good. 675 dash 322 dash 121. Respond.”

The cube shook. “Entering maintenance mode.” The cube sank back down into the plinth.

The three of them stood in the pink box of light.

“How does this help?” asked PT.

Fig tentatively put out his hand and touched the pink wall, then knocked on it with his knuckles. It was solid.

“This is interesting. Don’t think I’ve ever seen this kind of material before.”

“It’s called dwarfcum,” said Ubik.

“There’s no way that’s what it’s called,” said PT.

“Don’t be childish,” said Ubik. “It’s just a name. It’s unique to this world. Produced by the special electromagnetic field generated by the planet’s core. Indestructible, supposedly.”

“You seem to know a lot about it,” said PT.

“Of course. I do my research. You’ve got to be thorough and precise if you want to avoid mistakes.”

“Yes, well, you really seemed to have immersed yourself in dwarfcum,” said PT.

“I have,” said Ubik. “The Antecessor site here is almost entirely made of it. It’s what enables them to change the difficulty level of the Dungeon. They can lock off certain parts and make it different every time you enter. Infinite configurations.”

“They can control it?” said Fig.

“Only down to the fourth level. The fifth is impenetrable. They’ve been trying to break through to the next level for years.”

“Don’t we need to get past the fifth?” said PT.

“Yeah, but we have you two.” Ubik pointed at the glimmering pink wall. “Try opening a gap.”

PT looked where Ubik was pointing and then put his hand on the pink wall. His eyes flickered with gold light. A second later, the wall shattered into pink dust.

“What the hell happened?” said PT, sharply pulling his hand back.

“Wasn’t me,” said Ubik. “I didn’t touch anything. You’re the one in trouble. Pretty, isn’t it? Like fairy dust.”

“Shouldn’t we leave?” said Fig.

“No,” said Ubik.

“But the door…” said Fig, pointing at the door leading to the Antecessor site. “Isn’t that where we need to go?”

“Yes, but he’ll be here in a minute.”

“Who?” asked PT.

“The boss. Head honcho. Guy that runs the place. Mister Big—”

The door was flung open, slamming into the wall, and a very, very short man, flanked by two security guards with rifles drawn, stormed in.

“How did you do that?” he bellowed. “How did you do that?”

He was glaring furiously up at PT.

“Um, it was an accident?” said PT. “I thought the dwarfcum was indestructible. Sorry.”

“What did you call me?” The short man’s face grew bright red.

“Oh, wait, it was elfidium,” said Ubik. “Can’t believe I got that mixed up.”

“You did that on purpose,” said PT.

“Tell me how you destroyed the elfidium right now,” said the short man. “Right NOW!”

“We can’t do that,” said Ubik. “But, if you take us down to the fifth level, we can open the way for you so you can get to the next level. Be nice after all these years, no? Our fee is very reasonable.”

The man stopped shouting and even stopped glaring. “I see. You don’t want to give away your leverage. I understand. Very smart. Kill them. Use your elf sticks.”

The two guards stepped forward, dropping their rifles so they hung over their shoulders, and pulling out short rods.

The rods lit up as long pink blades emerged from them.

“If you won’t tell me how you did it, I’ll make you show me.”

429: Law of the Land

There were many reasons not to run.

Where was I running to?

How would that help me get away from a billionaire who had limitless ways to recapture me?

Was I really going to outrun an athletic black man?

Of courses, not all black men are supreme sprinters, and not all white guys are slow as fuck — there’s always that one French guy in the finals of the 100 metres at the Olympics — but I knew my own capabilities only too well.

It would have been fine if there was someone else alongside me, someone I could use to buy me time, as I had so many times before. For all my complaints about the people I usually ended up stuck with, you can’t make sacrifices without someone to sacrifice.

But I was acting purely on instinct. My time in the savage lands (no, not Birmingham) had taught me to act first and think last. You might still be fucked but might be is better than definitely will be.

Archibald Larwood had caused the same reaction in me as many of the people I’d met in Flatland. Not the dimwits or the tryhards. Not even the monsters. I’m talking about the guys in charge who greet you with a smile and tell you they’ll take care of you.

What they mean is, they’ll take what they want from you. And then they’ll toss you in the garbage.

Was I being too judgemental? Possibly. It’s one of my greatest failings. How often have I thought someone’s a massive prick and been proven wrong?

Let me just count… Hold on, I’m sure there was that time… No, no, wait, I’m sure I’ll think of one in a moment.

Archie might have been a great philanthropist and the benefactor of millions. I don’t doubt it.

You know these billionaires, they provide jobs and are very concerned about the environment and other important stuff that helps make them seem relatable and not filled with contempt for all human life.

They don’t like unions but they have a special foundation focused on eradicating the potato weevil.

Sure, they don’t pay taxes but that’s because they only pay what the law says they have to, and what kind of idiot would pay more than they have to? And in any case, they use their money far better than the government would.

Would the government launch a two-seater convertible into space? No, they just don’t have that sort of vision.

Whatever his public persona, he didn’t get to be a rich git by playing fair or respecting other people’s personal space. If he wanted something from me, he would extract it with a scalpel. Or a spanner.

It was obvious that Archie knew more about this situation than he was letting on. Far more than me, certainly.

He already believed in the possibility of another world and even more so in the opportunities it presented. He probably had a fleet of space-copters ready to go in his search for unobtanium, the miracle mineral that could fix all ills and make your hair soft and manageable at the same time.

Whether Archie was a manipulative, evil oligarch with treacherous intentions, or I was just being paranoid, the die had already been cast. I was running pell-mell along Pall Mall with a large black man chasing me, and not in a good way.

I did not have a specific goal in mind, but I had been in this sort of situation before. Experience counts for a lot when it comes to panic and desperate tactics. You might think all panic is the same, but no.

A terror-stricken mind is frozen and unable to form coherent thoughts. However, a mind that has repeatedly seen death come swinging into the room on a chandelier (which I’ve literally seen at least twice) is able to compartmentalise.

Yes, I was still simultaneously shitting my pants and pissing myself, but up top, I was evaluating my options.

London streets have the advantage of pedestrians who will neither get out of your way nor try to get in your way. All the work I’d done to improve my movement skills was really paying off.

I was able to keep ahead of my pursuer by using the crowded pavements like a maze, quickly moving in-between fat American tourists and old ladies pulling small trolleys.

Groups of teenage girls parted for me, only too happy to avoid a loathsome boy of my ilk, and then gladly stood their ground to be chatted up by my handsome pursuant.

Some people feel bad about being unpopular, I use rejection like a magic shield.

The chase couldn’t go on for much longer, though. What I needed was an officer of the law.

They say there’s never a cop around when you need one, and that’s mostly true. But Central London is full of homeless people, and if there’s one thing a British copper loves to do, it’s harass someone lying down in a puddle of their own piss and/or vomit. They adore the sense of superiority, just adore it.

It only took me thirty seconds of running to spot the Day-Glo yellow of a police tabard in front of a fancy patisserie. Two of the useless fuckers were standing over a crouching drunk Scotsman, shouting obscenities while taking a dump on the street.

I say Scotsman not out of some bigoted assumption that all the homeless drunks in London are Scottish (some are Irish), but because he was wearing a kilt. Probably made shitting on the street a lot easier.

“Hey, hey. Help.” I was shouting to be heard over the Scottish guy’s protestations as the cops tried to move him on while he was trying to have a movement of his own, as well as the racket of the building works going on in what appeared to be a brand new coffee shop that wasn’t a Starbucks (of all the unbelievable things I’ve reported this is probably the least believable, but I swear it’s true). “Help. I’m being chased by a black guy. Someone save me.”

Now, I understand that my choice of words was somewhat politically incorrect. I don’t believe that black people are any more aggressive or prone to criminal behaviour than anyone else. I don’t believe that, but years of incontrovertible evidence has proved that the police do.

That might seem a bit rich coming from someone who regularly generalises about people based on their ethnicity or nationality, but when I make disparaging comments about the Scots or the Irish, it’s intended to get a rise out of people, not incarcerate them unjustly or excuse a wrongful death. Except when I make fun of the French, then it should be taken literally.

My own experiences have shown me that anyone of any race or creed can be a piece of shit. It’s just that some people have a better chance of getting away with it, which screws up the statistics.

The policemen looked up as I came racing towards them, and then they clocked the guy bearing down on me. I could tell from the change in their expressions, and also by the movement of their hands towards their belts — presumably to reach for a truncheon or a taser or whatever form of reasonable restraint they used to behave unreasonably with these days — that they were going to take my side of whatever story I was about to make up.

Unfortunately, I was wrong.

“Whoa there, son,” said the chubby one with the moustache.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” said the chubby one without a moustache.

I came to a halt in front of them and the homeless guy (whose disease-ravaged face looked up with a straining squint I wasn’t very pleased to receive) and started blabbering half out of breath and making very little sense.

“Please… you gotta… tried to take my phone.” I held up my phone as evidence of the purported crime. Which was a mistake. My phone was more than four years old. Not even the most ardent racist would believe a black man would mug someone for an ancient piece of crap like the one I was waving about.

The driver, who had also come to a sudden stop, wasn’t out of breath at all, and didn’t seem particularly concerned about the cops.

“Sorry about this, guys,” said the driver. “Just a misunderstanding. If I could have a private word…”

He very expertly took one of the cops aside and said something to him in a low voice I couldn’t hear. The cop was very attentive and nodded his head several times.

The other cop, the one next to me, smiled and held up a finger when I tried to get a word in.

Giving the black man a chance to explain himself without handcuffs or even a pompous glare?

Had the world really changed that much while I’d been gone?

Were the police of the city of London, who were famous for mistaking an innocent, unarmed Brazilian commuter on the tube for an Islamic terrorist because he had a bit of a tan, shooting him seven times in the face and then falsely accusing him of being a violent fare dodger, could it be those paragons of competence and restraint were now the pillars of fairness and equality that American TV and movies told us all men in blue were?

Didn’t seem very likely.

The more logical explanation was that working for a billionaire provided benefits not even the rampant prejudices of the Metropolitan Police Service could ignore. The driver was immune to police corruption because he was backed by corruption on a far grander scale.

This is how the world has always worked. It takes a thief to catch a thief. It takes a monster to kill a monster. It takes a priest to protect a paedophile.

There are no good guys, just a sliding scale of baddies keeping each other in check.

I could see this wasn’t going to go in my favour. Mind you, I could see that no matter what. Nothing ever went in my favour unless I grabbed it by the throat and sent it in the right direction myself.

“Arrest me,” I said.

“Sorry, sir?” said the cop trying to keep me quiet so my enemy could spread more lies about me. “Arrest you for what?”

He had a point. Being carted off in a police car would at least get me out of here, but even the police needed something to put on the arrest sheet.

I grabbed half-a-brick from the skip sitting in a disabled parking space and threw it at the shop window of the patisserie.

Property damage was a serious crime. I was going to be caught red-handed. No way I’d be able to escape the long arm of the law when the arseholes were standing right next to me.

The brick bounced off the window. Reinforced glass on the front of a bakery… why?

As soon as the brick came back, I knew where it was going. I could easily read its trajectory. Not only that, I knew it was going to hit the tramp — who had just stood up after evacuating his bowels — in the face.

There was nothing supernatural about how I knew, it was just obvious. And it was also natural for me to move towards him to prevent it. These were just instincts that I had developed through having weapons and claws and teeth and arrows aimed at or around me.

It was actually kind of cool that I had retained some of what I had learned in fantasy land, and found a use for them in the decidedly unfantastic world I was now in.

Would have been even cooler if I’d managed to get to him before he got hit in the head by the brick, in the eye to be exact.

There was a spurt of blood and other fluids as his eyeball burst like a water balloon, making an ugly popping sound.

Without thinking (which by this point I probably don’t need to add), I grabbed the back of the tramp’s head so he didn’t fall on the concrete and smash it open, and slapped my other hand over the gaping wound that had once been an eye, and poured my energy into healing him.

Of course, I no longer had that particular ability, so I stopped trying so hard and just lowered him gently to the ground and removed my hand.

The police were staring at me. Looked like I’d achieved my goal of committing a crime. The driver was also staring at me, as were the passers-by, some of who had their phones out.

There was something strange about the expressions on their faces. And the way there weren’t looking at me but at the tramp. Londoners would usually do anything rather than look a homeless guy in the face.

I looked down to see the man still had both his eyes and no wounds. No blood, no cuts, not even a bruise. His unblemished alabaster skin also made him look about ten years younger than he had a moment ago.

I looked down at my hands. I had just healed him.

Book 4 - 2: Due Diligence

Second Quadrant

Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger

Daring City — Guest Hub

 

Figaro was confident he could win the fight. The man had a height, weight and reach advantage, and he also had a formidable-looking weapon attached to his arm from the elbow.

The end of the cylindrical barrel was closed and three strips of metal protruded like a claw. Technically it wasn’t a weapon, it was a prosthetic hand.

The issue wasn’t this man, the issue was the person instigating the fight.

Any idea Ubik came up with was going to be a slippery affair. What Ubik said he wanted and what he was actually after were usually two separate things. You had to be careful not to fall into the trap set for the enemy, especially when the person who set the trap didn’t bother to tell you where he’d set it.

Fortunately, PT was also aware of Ubik’s propensity for causing collateral damage. He had brokered a much more direct exchange and made the terms clear and simple. The outcome would be the same but the chaos would be reduced.

This was how they had decided to curb Ubik’s indiscriminate approach to getting what he wanted. Give him the result he wanted, take away his control of the method employed.

When the other side lost, they would have no reason to hold a grudge, other than pettiness. And with this many of their fellow mercenaries watching, they would lose a lot of face if they tried to go back on the agreement.

Figaro stepped into the area the wait staff had cleared for them, making no objections and removing the furniture like this was a common occurrence.

Klennon, his opponent, tilted his head left and right the way you do when stretching your neck, but his neck was buried under so many layers of thick, sinewy muscle that there was hardly any movement.

“Hey, we agreed no weapons,” said PT.

“It’s not a weapon,” said Klennon in a guttural whisper. “It’s my arm.” He pumped his silver limb and it made a chunking sound like a pump-action reload mechanism. “Don’t worry, the safety’s on.”

Whether or not he used whatever ancillary functions the arm had, getting hit by something like that would do a lot of damage. The obvious solution was not to get hit.

“It’s fine,” said Figaro. “It’ll just slow him down.”

The giant scowled but forced it into a smile. “We’ll see about that, kiddo.”

They began circling each other as the crowd began to hoot and holler, offering bad advice to both combatants and making their own side-bets.

This was the culture here, the reason this place was so busy. Legalised gambling and strong enforcement of all the rules. You won a bet, you got paid. Fights were allowed, just not to the death. That outcome was only possible in the Dungeon, jealously guarded like an exclusive feature.

Figaro assessed his opponent’s movements and found them very ordinary. Still, he wasn’t displeased to be in this position.

Three months they’d been on the Antecessor ship and for most of that time he and PT had spent the time sparring. No weapons, no organics.

Once it had been decided they were going to retrieve the artefact without drawing attention, it became important that neither of them used their newly acquired abilities unless absolutely necessary. They both had very flashy organics that would be noticed and remarked on, and make them easily identifiable.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t deal with the parties who would come after them, it would just be a lot more inconvenient. Not only would those parties get in the way, they might be able to get hold of items they needed and keep them hostage. They had a lot more manpower and enough knowledge of Antecessor technology to be a nuisance.

So, any time they could deal with a problem without resorting to their organics, that would be the preferred route to take. And to further that goal, PT had helped Figaro perfect his balance and movement, while he had shown PT various martial skills and familiarised him with the techniques used by the people they would most likely end up having to face.

It was good. Figaro had enjoyed testing himself against someone at the same level as him but who had a completely different skillset. They had ended up about even, but both had improved greatly.

“Come on, let’s go, let’s go,” shouted Ubik, riling up the crowd. “We don’t want to miss our turn.”

Ubik had not spent the three months honing his fighting prowess. He had no reason to hide his power because he didn’t have any. Or so he claimed.

Instead, he had wandered the ship with an Antecessor as his (reluctant) guide. He hadn’t shared whatever he learned (despite sustained questioning by PT) but he had become much more enthusiastic about finding the Antecessor homeworld. He had pinpointed the location of the artefact they needed, he had studied the world and its culture, and he had investigated the city and chosen this bar as the perfect entry point.

The laser-focused Ubik was much more organised and prone to less joking around. It was unsettling.

Figaro would have actually liked to have gone a few rounds with Ubik, just to gauge his level. He had already discussed with PT what they’d do if they ever needed to seriously fight Ubik. Find the nearest exit was the only reasonable strategy they’d come up with so far.

At least he was getting the chance to try out a few moves on this hulking character.

Figaro stopped moving and straightened up. “You use one of the joint-locking fight systems.”

Klennon stopped moving also, looking a little perplexed. “What?”

“Fight, fight, fight.”

“Shut up, Ubik,” said PT.

“Probably one of the ground-pinning variations,” continued Figaro. “Araki? Enku? No, with your size, got to be Fusen, right?”

Klennon stood straighter as well, neither opponent in a fight stance. “Maybe. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Around them, the crowd was baying for them to get on with it, their abusive chanting led by Ubik.

“You look rusty. I don’t want to end up injuring you and you getting upset about it.”

“Injure? What? This guy… You won’t injure me, kiddo. You won’t even touch me.”

“No offence, but when was the last time you actually fought someone?”

Klennon rolled his shoulders and hunched down again. “Last week. Cage match on G-77. I won.”

“I mean a real fight.”

“This isn’t a real fight,” said Klennon. “This is just gonna me whooping your ass.” He charged forward.

“Okay,” said Figaro, backing off, “but don’t blame me if you get hurt.” He stepped back once, then to the left, but quickly to the right before his weight had a chance to settle.

As a metal claw snapped closed, missing its target as it flew past Figaro’s shoulder, he dropped down, pushing himself so his fall was greater than just gravity, and stuck his head between the man’s open legs.

When he stood up, Klennon was sent tumbling. Not finished with the move, Figaro grabbed his foot as it went past him, and twisted.

Klennon screamed in pain as his knee was rotated out of its socket.

It wasn’t a very clever move, it was just very precise, with a very narrow margin of error. Leverage from a position of maximum stability for him and the opposite for his opponent. Easily avoided if you were expecting it, but who would?

Klennon lay on the floor wailing.

“We win!” said Ubik, punching the air. “Ticket please.”

“What the hell was that?” said Zola, the man who had instigated all of this, or thought he had.

“That was a total victory,” said PT. “Your man’s on the floor.”

“You broke his leg? This was supposed to be a friendly sparring match.”

“I did warn him,” said Figaro.

The man pointed at his colleague writhing around on the floor. “That’s assault. Someone call security.”

“What do you mean assault?” said PT. “It was a fight.”

“We’re not savages here,” said the man. “There are some lines you don’t cross. How are we supposed to compete in the Dungeon without him?”

“Arghhh,” roared Klennon, who had somehow got to his feet. He was pointing his prosthetic arm at Figaro, the muzzle of which was now exposed and glowing red.

“Looks like the safety’s off,” said Ubik, with an air of detachment.

PT was the first to react. He grabbed the metal arm at the ‘wrist’ and the ‘elbow’, and snapped it in two.

Sparks flew but it was a clean break and the tronics in the arm went dead instantly.

There was a momentary silence as everyone stared in disbelief, and then Klennon screamed, “What did you do? Have you any idea how much that cost?”

Everyone joined in as angry accusations being were thrown at PT, but no one moved to confront him physically. They had just seen him break something that even the strongest organic here could only have bent. But PT had snapped it like a twig.

Of course, he hadn’t really broken metal with his bare hands, he had changed a sliver of the gun-arm, a slice somewhere in the middle, into a different substance and broken that. It was one of the methods he had been practising — small, targeted transformations — in order to put less stress on his mind and body.

The result was it looked like he had broken an indestructible material when he had just separated it into two sections, both sides remaining intact.

It was non-lethal, it was reactive and it was defensive, all of which was going to limit their exposure to accusations of excessive use of force. Figaro saw it as putting them in an advantageous position. But Ubik was still looking very happy, so he prepared himself for the opposite to be the case.

Security arrived a few moments later, four of them dressed in battlesuits that showed plenty of wear and tear, and carrying large multi-barrelled rifles. Small drones hovered above them clicking and beeping as they scanned the room.

“What happened?” asked the lead guard, his grizzled jaw the only part of his face visible under a shiny black helmet.

“He broke my lead tanker’s arm!” said Zola, dramatically gesturing at Klennon, who was sitting on a chair, staring dejectedly at the broken limb. “We demand justice!”

“Okay, okay, calm down. You. You broke his arm?”

“Self-defence,” said PT. “He was about to fire on my friend, so I stopped him.”

“Did he actually fire or did you think he was going to fire?” asked the guard.

Figaro could tell where this was going. He looked over at Ubik, who was watching with a gleeful smile on his face. A smile that suggested this was all going to plan.

“The safety was on and then it was off,” said PT. “That’s more than me making an assumption. Or am I supposed to wait until he’s blown someone’s head off?”

The guard shook his head. “I don’t make the rules. I don’t know if he was going to fire or not, but you’ve admitted to property damage and you used an organic without authorisation. You want to bend the rules, you shouldn’t have come to a zero-tolerance bar like The Plu-Ton.”

“This is a zero-tolerance bar?” PT looked over at Ubik who shrugged his shoulders like this was news to him. “I didn’t know that.”

Judging from PT’s calm demeanour, he had also figured out that this was why Ubik had brought them to this bar and forced them into a rule-breaking situation.

“Ignorance is not a defence,” said the guard. “You’ll have to come with us. Don’t worry, you’ll get to state your case in front of a magistrate before you’re punished. Everyone gets a hearing.”

“We get to see a magistrate, do we?” said Ubik, suddenly taking an interest. “A human one, right? I heard you have automated ones that find everyone guilty. You wouldn’t put us in front of one of them, right?”

“Who are you?” growled the guard.

“Me? I’m his lawyer. I’m the one who gets him out of trouble.”

Figaro exchanged a look with PT. Neither of them said a word.