V. Moody's Blog, page 31

98: Exit Strategy

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

VGV Motherboard (orbit).

Simulation Room 3A.

 

The screen had gone blank. Point-Two couldn’t tell if things were going well or if they were going badly. They definitely weren’t going to plan because he was pretty sure there had never been one.

“What’s going on?”

“What’s happening now? Is it over?”

“I’m getting a message, are you getting a message?”

The Vendx crew were in a state of anxious confusion. They were alive and in no danger, for the time being, so now should have been the time to consolidate and organise. The problem was, they had no idea what they were going to have to prepare for.

“Quiet, please. Quiet.” The lead technician of the simulation facility they were all crowded into was trying to establish order, but he didn’t have the rank for it. The Vendx hierarchy was very strictly built so everyone knew who they had to listen to, and who they didn’t. “I need quiet. Please!”

The chatter continued as the technicians tried to find out what was happening and if it was worth panicking over. The good thing about not knowing was that it gave people a false sense of security, which at least meant they weren’t screaming and crying.

Point-Two calmly noted the exits. He didn’t want to have to climb back down to the commissary. It was a way out, but leaving the ship via a large hole in its side wasn’t the sort of escape route he was looking for.

Whatever had happened, it was clear to him that his role had been minimal. Not even a diversion, as far as he could tell. Ubik’s approach seemed to be to send as many people off in as many directions as possible, and then wait to see if anyone got lucky. If they did, he would follow up. If they didn’t, well, they were on their own.

Maybe it wasn’t quite as callous as that but there was no point offering support to people who had no chance of making a difference. Point-Two could see the sense in it. A chillingly practical sort of sense.

He noticed it had gone very quiet. He looked around. Everyone was staring into the middle-distance, a hand on their cheek, their earlobe, their temple. They were using their ocular implants to view a message. The implants were small and attached to the surface of the eye, a very common device that didn’t require surgery.

Point-Two used to have one when he was on the Liberator Garu but he’d removed it when he left. For all their usefulness, they were vulnerable to being hacked and an easy way to be tracked. Vendx employees probably had to wear them, which wasn’t really a problem. Why wouldn’t you want to be connected to the system you worked for? Easy communications and messaging, all in the blink of an eye.

But it became a different matter when the company decided you were no longer part of the Vendx family.

“This can’t be right,” said someone. “My annual appraisal isn’t due for months.”

“It’s all of us,” said someone else. “We’ve all got to go in for evaluation.”

“But that’s good, isn’t it,” said a nervous-looking woman. “It means they haven’t decided to can us… yet.”

She received some sad looks. They all seemed so defeated. Life as part of a huge corporation provided security but the loss of that life left you floundering. They knew no other life. Point-Two could relate to their predicament. Life on a colony ship was also all-consuming. It was hard to stand on your own two feet in a gravitational field that wasn’t your own.

“Please, please, remain calm,” said the lead technician, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’m sure this will get sorted out once H&R have had a chance to review the files. Everything’s on record. None of you have done anything wrong… have you?”

His attempt at placating the crowd was met with dark looks.

“Did you get a message?” someone asked him.

“Er, I haven’t... I haven’t checked.” He stepped back, uncomfortable at being confronted. If he hadn’t been summoned to account for his actions, he was in no position to advise others. Point-Two had seen this sort of divide before. Those who were unaffected trying to tell those who were how to act. It never ended well.

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” said Point-Two. He had come to a decision. The general atmosphere was suppressed and morose — the perfect time to manage a large group of people. “And who management will want to talk to.”

All eyes were on him now. They might have been grateful towards him a moment ago, but things changed rapidly when people were under pressure. No one wanted to give up their second chance. They could quite easily decide that their best bet was to take him prisoner and tell their employer they had fought back to save the ship. That was the sort of thing an employee would assume the top brass would be pleased about.

Point-Two saw it differently. Once control had been lost, someone had to take responsibility. Someone had to take the blame. And in most cases, it wasn’t the person in charge. It wasn’t ‘the buck stops with me’, it was ‘the buck stops here’ — and ‘here’ was a very loosely defined term.

These people didn’t know that, though. Or maybe they did, deep down, but they were desperate not to accept it. They would gladly push someone else into the firing line, if they could.

Point-Two, however, still had options. Ubik may have left him to fend for himself, but since when had that been a problem?

“The drone-net is down,” said Point-Two. “That isn’t Vendx’s doing. The Central Authority is in command now, whether your people like it or not. The planet down there can contact the CA and tell their side of the story. So can you. Vendx are going to want you to back up their version of events, so they’re going to make you a deal.”

There was hopeful muttering — maybe the appraisals they were being called in for were to make sure they kept to the official line. Point-Two had no idea if that was actually the case, but he knew it sounded plausible. Bribe the employees and they’d play ball — everyone recognised that as standard business practice. They might even come out ahead in the deal.

Now all Point-Two had to do was wait for the CA to take over, hopefully before Ubik did anything else to sour relations.

The screen above the consoles flickered into life and a face appeared. It was a man, slicked-back hair and a tight face.

“Crew of the Motherboard, this is Chief Supervisor Mayden. I am making a shipwide announcement to all hands.” He had small beady eyes that stared intensely out of the screen. “This is a priority message, all frequencies, do not redirect.”

The people in the room all stopped talking and stared at the screen.

“The Vendx Galactic Vessel Motherboard is once again under my command. Systems have been purged and all computers are responding. I repeat, we are in control of this ship. Intruders are still on board, but they have been isolated or captured. There is no further danger to the ship or the crew.”

The crew in the room looked around at each other, and then at Point-Two. They were in a unique position to doubt the Chief Supervisor’s assurances.

“To ensure there are no lingering foreign elements inside our internal system, I am ordering a full purge. This will begin immediately, all departments. Commence… now.”

There was a surge in muttering.

“He wants us to delete the files.”

“We won’t be able to prove what happened.”

“It’s to protect the company, isn’t it. They won’t use it against us.”

“Grow up. Of course they will.”

“Hey, they’re beginning the wipe. Stop them.”

The technicians had all rushed to their consoles, hunched over and running their checks before beginning a removal of data. The CA worked off of hard evidence. If it came down to conflicting witness testimony, the norm was to do nothing. That was how it had always been.

Some of the crew pushed off the walls and swarmed the technicians.

“Please,” said the lead technicians, “we’re just doing our job.”

Point-Two couldn’t see the point of stopping them. This was just one small database and nothing very much had happened here. But the crew were lost to their paranoia. They wanted to take some kind of action, even if it made no difference.

The screen flickered and Mayden’s face was replaced by a female one, framed by red hair and containing angry green eyes.

“This is Guardian Tezla of the Central Authority. I am now in command of this vessel. I repeat, all administrative privileges reside with me and only me. What? No, Janx. I said no. Yes, I am implementing executive order six. I just said so, didn’t I?”

She seemed to be having a heated exchange with someone off to the side.

“As of now, you are locked out of all systems. Any attempt to interfere with files, data or backup systems will be considered a violation of article three of the Central Authority Treaty, 256-299. Shut up, Janx, I was about to say that. The full text of the treaty is available online at the Central Authority main hub. Although, all access to the net is now restricted, so you’ll have to wait before checking out that particular thrilling read.”

“I must object,” said Mayden’s voice. “It’s absolutely necessary for the security of our—”

“You listen to me, Chief Superintendent.”

“Chief Supervisor,” said Mayden in a whiney voice.

“One more word out of you, and I’ll blow that command module of yours into the next quadrant. Yes, I can Janx. I’ll fill in the paperwork later.”

She leaned in towards the screen, her face filling almost all of it.

“Now, listen carefully. You may have heard things about the CA, startling things about how we get things done. They’re all true. I know you’re all professionals just doing your own job, so you’ll be able to relate to this, I’m sure. I do not like people making life difficult for me. I especially don’t like jokers who think they can make me look foolish. I’m going to find out who did it, and I’m going to show them how CA justice works.”

She looked quite upset. There was only one person who could have upset her that much.

“I know who it was,” said Point-Two.

“Who said that?” Her head bobbed around as though searching for the speaker. “Janx, put it on my main screen.”

Her eyes stopped moving and came to a rest on Point-Two, although there would be a number of people on board who would think she was staring at them from their screen.

“I know who compromised your systems,” said Point-Two.

“And who are you?”

“I’m a trainee from the Free Volunteers Guild in Fraiche. Vendx sent in an assault team to eradicate us.”

“That just isn’t provable,” Mayden’s voice squeaked.

“Fire a missile on his location,” said Tezla. “Fine, a warning shot first. Make the ground shake under that idiot. You, you’re behind this?”

“No,” said Point-Two. “I’m just a trainee. But before I tell you, I want to apply for asylum.”

“You want what?”

“Under article nineteen, paragraph four. I am under immediate threat from hostile forces and require extraction.”

“What hostile forces? The only hostile person here is me.”

“These people,” said Point-Two, pointing at the others in the room. “They took me prisoner and are planning to execute me to stop me from talking.”

There were a few denials that were quickly silenced as the Vendx crew whispered at each other to say he was right. The ones who were quick on the uptake sent grateful looks in Point-Two’s direction. He ignored them. He wasn’t doing it to help them, it was just the easiest way to get himself off the ship.

“Can you prove it?” said Tezla.

“No,” said Point-Two. “Can you take the chance I might accidentally disappear?”

“Very well,” said Tezla. “I’m sending a shuttle. Any attempt to harm this individual will be met with lethal force.” She became distracted again. “Fine, fine, semi-lethal force. Is that even a real thing, Janx? Oh, well, as long as it hurts.”

Point-Two let out a breath. At least he had managed to secure safe passage for himself. He wondered how Ubik would ruin it for him.

Chapter 457

I didn’t run all the way, I got bored after a bit and slowed to a jog. But it was amazing what it felt like to have energy. To be so full of life you actually wanted to waste some of it.

I’d never been very energetic, even when I was a kid. I was more of your quiet, contemplative toddler. My whole childhood was quite hard-going, right from the off. It’s not normal for the baby to suffer from postnatal depression, but I guess I was always special.

As I grew older, I was pretty normal, I think. Had a few friends at school but would rather lobotomise myself with a pencil through the nose than bring anyone home. When you have an awful home life with parents who never should have been allowed to raise children (or farm animal or a flag), isolation is preferable to exposure.

You learn to live with it and it’s fine. You don’t have anything to compare it to, other than the joy and happiness around you every day. Holidays and presents and needing a briefcase to carry your Valentine’s home. Or maybe everyone was as miserable as me and I’m just confusing life with a Charlie Brown cartoon. No, I’m not Charlie Brown in this scenario. I’m more the football Lucy keeps pulling away.

My favourite fantasy growing up was to be stranded on a desert island, on my own. I probably wouldn’t survive very long, but oh, the peace and quiet would have been lovely.

I’m making it sound like I had the worst childhood ever, which obviously isn’t true — I had a Playstation I had a laptop, I had a TV in my room — I’m just saying the Menendez brothers weren’t entirely wrong. Pro-choice should work both ways.

When you run, I discovered, you had time to think. It was nice to let my mind wander as I zoomed through the pedestrians cluttering the pavement. Once or twice, I thought I saw a big burly bloke watching me, military bearing, beady eyes following my passage down the road.

It wouldn’t have surprised me if I was being kept under observation. I had seen things I probably shouldn’t have but to be honest, who was I going to tell? Who was going to believe me when I told them about a large office building full of airships being prepped for a journey to another world? I mean, who apart from some sad lonely gits on the internet who just want someone to talk to?

Back in the day, when you uncovered some world-changing conspiracy, you went to the papers and they blew the lid off the whole thing. Leaders resigned and governments fell because the headlines couldn’t be denied.

Not like that anymore, is it. Remember the time they discovered those Panamanian papers and it turned out all those politicians and businessmen and celebrities had been squirrelling away their wealth without paying taxes? Remember how they were punished and the money was reclaimed for the greater good? No, me neither.

There was a guy in a shop doorway, his hair shaved, his chin scraped red and only recently stopped bleeding. Caused by me? Looking for payback?

There was another big fella, army jacket with a camo design, watching me run by through the glass window of the chip shop he was standing in. No chips in his hands Suspicious.

I may have been imagining it. No one tried to stop me or follow me. Seemed unlikely they had staked out my exact route, but then again they did have a bunch of psychics to help them.

Not that I was convinced that stuff was legit. Lillian was meant to be one of the most powerful psychics there were, omega level, X-Men franchise spin-off that didn’t suck (always a first time). But she hadn’t found a way to stop me.

Some people think they know what’s coming, and then they go out of their way to make sure it comes true. Lillian was convinced today was the day she would die, and then she pulled out a grenade. Well, no shit you’re going to die, Nostradumbass.

She probably felt the stakes were high enough to warrant that sort of extreme unilateral action, but she had failed to take into account my ability to not give a fuck.

People hate it when you don’t let them make their shitty choices on everyone else’s behalf. Everyone wants to have a go at steering the bus, everyone but me. However, not wanting to be in control myself doesn’t mean I’m happy to let anyone take over. That would just be stupid. It was the only reason I didn’t just walk away and leave them to it, the knowledge that incompetent people were waiting in the wings to leap out and fuck things up.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t expecting professional-level competence, I realised how the world worked, but that didn’t mean letting high-functioning psychopaths and religious wingnuts run the show was a good idea.

Lillian had her reasons, she had her firm belief in herself and the voices she heard in her head, and she did what she thought was right. Her motivations were perfectly reasonable and easy to understand — I didn’t hold it against her at all. Next time I saw her, I planned to drop-kick her off the nearest bridge, that’s what the voices in my head told me to do. I was sure she’d be equally understanding.

I made it back to Cheng’s place without being intercepted but I still had the feeling of being watched. Even more so once I got to Cheng’s gate. There were vans parked along his road, three black ones that seemed very suspicious and one ice cream van which I didn’t trust at all. I bought a 99 flake from it but I didn’t like the look of the guy one bit. He gave me free chocolate sauce which was a clear giveaway he wasn’t a real ice cream van man. He also had a neck tattoo, but these days that means nothing. Tattoos and piercings and stretched-out earlobes used to be the province of carnival sideshows, now they’re what dull people rely on to get Instagram views.

I buzzed the gate and Mandy’s dulcet tones came through the intercom.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Open the fucking gate, you ungrateful slut,” I said. Our secret password exchange that we hadn’t even prearranged.

The gate creaked open and I walked in, checking over my shoulder for any sneaky shit. I crunched up the drive to the house and was met by Mandy holding her kid. The poor little monster had been dressed like a chav footballer (so like a footballer) with a baseball cap that had ‘Juicy’ bedazzled across it to make sure any passing paedos were aware of what was available.

“You’re not dead, then?” she said with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“No,” I said. “You’re still not—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. As much as I ragged on her, she was pretty sharp. She knew when there was an STD insult coming her way. “I thought you were heading back to find Jenny.”

“I found her,” I said. I was still at the door, waiting for her to let me in. “Is Cheng here?”

“Yes.” She reluctantly moved to let me past. “You’re not going to cause trouble, are you?”

She meant to say, “Please don’t take the only thing I value in my pathetic failure of a life away from me,” but passive-aggressive people find it hard to say what they really mean. Especially to people who have explicitly told them they are a pathetic failure. In writing. Notarised.

“I am not going to cause trouble,” I said, “but trouble may happen in my vicinity, by coincidence.”

Charlie, son of the demon, laughed and pointed at me. At least he was pleased to see me.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Mandy said in the sing-song voice people use to talk to children for some unknown reason, “he is a stupid isn’t he? Yeees, a big stinky stupid.”

I didn’t say anything but I made a note to have a word with the kid at some point, give him a few tips on how to deal with a mental mother. We survivors have to stick together and help out the next generation.

Cheng was in his basement study. Mandy held the door open and shouted down to let him know I was here.

“Oi! Your boyfriend’s here,” she screamed, and then nodded for me to go down.

I walked down the stairs with one eye on Mandy, in case she decided to give me a push. Some girlfriends are so crazy, they don’t even have to be your girlfriend to ruin your life.

Cheng was sitting at his wooden workbench with a tray of test tubes, each holding a different coloured liquid. He wasn’t wearing a top and probably no pants, but I didn’t check.

“Oh, Colin, you’re still alive.” Cheng sounded just as surprised as Mandy, although not quite so disappointed.

“Yes, just about. Here, what can you tell me about this.” I held out the crystal ball I’d taken from Lillian.

He took it from me and gave it a good look. “It’s made of glass.”

“And? Can you use it to contact other worlds?”

“No,” said Cheng. “It’s just glass.”

“Doesn’t it have any other properties?”

“You could use it as a paperweight,” he said. He wasn’t even being sarcastic, which made it more cutting than if he had been.

“I saw a girl use it to contact Jenny,” I said. “She’s a psychic.”

Cheng shook his head. “I’m not sure what you saw, but I don’t think it had anything to do with psychic powers. That sort of thing is very weak in this world. Negligible, as far as I can tell.”

I wasn’t sure if I should trust him. I didn’t think he was lying, but his confidence in his view of the world was no different to anyone else’s. You can’t be sure of what you don’t know, and anyone who is will be eventually be proven wrong. That’s one of the things about leading a life of relentless misfortune, you learn to assume the worst and hope for something not quite so bad. Assuming the best is going to happen is just a recipe for disaster (coincidentally, very similar to the recipe for deep-fried Mars bars).

“I saw Jenny’s face in there” I said. “I spoke to her.”

“Maybe there’s a switch underneath, a video playback device.” It was hard to take this kind of scepticism from a fucking demon. Couple of months ago he had no idea what a battery was, now he was pooh-poohing the idea of the supernatural.

I took the crystal ball back and checked it over. I had hoped it would turn out to be some kind of interdimensional communication device, and it was actually about as useful as an old Nokia. I exhaled on it and gave it a rub. If no Jenny, maybe a genie?

“Can’t you open a gateway and send me back?” I asked him as I looked at the ball from different angles.

“Yes,” he said.

“You can?” I was surprised by his answer.

“Yes. In about two hundred years when the stars align.”

“Can’t we speed it up a bit?”

“Perhaps. You have the power to change things, once you learn how to use them properly.”

“And how long will that take, approximately.”

“Approximately… about three hundred years.”

Very helpful. I concentrated on the ball. If Lillian could activate it, why not me? I had skills, probably.

The ball began to glow, deep inside, maybe. Softly but it was definitely doing something. It was getting all misty inside.

“Look, it’s working.” I held it up to show Cheng.

He frowned. “It’s just condensation. There’s probably a leak.”

“Crystal balls don’t leak.” I shook it and put it closer to my eye. “Hello? Anyone there? Can you hear me?”

A large brown eye appeared in the ball, distorted and freaky. I jerked my head back, almost dropping the ball. It wasn’t Jenny’s eye, I was sure of that.

“Look, look,” I said to Cheng. “What is it?”

“Not what,” said Cheng. “Who.” He didn’t seem at all put out by the appearance of an eyeball in what he’d claimed was just an ordinary lump of round glass.

“Who is it?”

Cheng shrugged. “Why don’t you ask?”

He made a good point. I held the ball firmly and stared back into the abyss. The eye didn’t blink.

“Who are you?” I said, doing my best to sound confident and dangerous (five out of ten, if I was being generous). “Don’t try anything. I’m not someone you should fuck with.”

“So,” said an unimpressed voice, “it’s like that.”

“Biadet?”

The eye pulled back to reveal a small, round face.

“Have you finished your business with your friends?” she said. “About time you came home, don’t you think?”

“How?” I said. “I’m stuck here. Do you know the way back?”

She sighed and shook her head. “Fine. I suppose I’ll have to come and get you.” She let out an exasperated breath. “Stand back and douse any open flames.”

Stand back from where? What was she going to do? Come here? Come to this world? It didn’t seem feasible. But if it was, one thing was for sure — the people over here trying to pull their shenanigans were well and truly fucked. I couldn’t wait.

97: Hard Line

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

“It’s probably a coincidence,” said Figaro. “It’s just similar to the symbol you saw. In your junkyard.”

The green sigil filled the room and seemed very deliberate.

“Could be,” said Ubik. “Different shapes mean different things to different people. Who knows what this meant to the Antecessors? Could have been a sign pointing the way to the nearest bathroom, for all we know.” He grinned.

“You don’t think it’s a coincidence, do you?” said Figaro. He still couldn’t read Ubik, the man was a total enigma, but he recognised sarcasm when he heard it.

“I think…” Ubik tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I think it’s unlikely. Same way it’s unlikely you triggering this thing was a coincidence.” Ubik walked up to the sigil so his face was bathed in green. “Something about you made this possible. Might be your DNA, or your face, or your abilities — it needed you to be here so it could activate. It wants something only you can give it. Any idea what that is?”

Figaro wished he did. “None. I’ve been in lots of simulations. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

“Well,” said Ubik, “it might be the timing. It needed you and it also needed a bunch of other things to line up, stuff we aren’t aware of. But you, you’re definitely a key component.” Ubik turned his attention to the droids silently hovering either side of the sigil. “By the looks of things, the ship doesn’t want to scare you off. It needs you to play ball.”

“You’re saying it chose me because it can manipulate me into doing what it wants?” Figaro wasn’t naive enough to think the Antecessor ship was his new best friend. Whatever it wanted, it would use whatever method it considered most likely to succeed. Figaro had enough experience with Antecessor technology to know that much.

“I was gonna say it needs someone gullible, but ‘manipulate’ is a lot less insulting, so, yeah, it needs someone it can manipulate.”

It was a strange experience being disrespected so directly. Figaro was used to snide remarks coming from an angle, difficult to prove or deflect. Ubik didn’t care. In fact, he revelled in it. Even more surprisingly, Figaro felt no offence from the remark.

“I think the ship wants me to go home,” said Figaro.

“Oh,” said Ubik. “Back to your dad?”

“No, I don’t think this had anything to do with him,” said Figaro, but as he said it, the thought occurred to him that maybe his father was somehow involved. It certainly wasn’t something he should discount yet. “There’s an asteroid near my homeworld. It has an Antecessor site on it, it controls a wormhole.”

“Sounds like a busy place.”

“Yes, it is. The site, we only have access to the top two levels. No one’s been able to get past the entrance to the lower floors.”

“Not even your dad? Must be heavily defended.”

“Not really,” said Figaro. “I mean it is, but that’s not the problem. There’s a door. No one can open it. Can’t break it, can’t even scratch it. But… I think this ship wants me to go down there.”

“Alright,” said Ubik. “It’s given you a key, has it?”

Figaro was mildly surprised that Ubik had understood so quickly, but he was getting used to Ubik being able to keep up. Or maybe he was slowing down, so Figaro could keep up with him.

“Yes. I think so. I won’t know for sure until I get back. I’d like you to come with me.”

“Sure, sure, sounds like fun,” said Ubik. “I’m looking forward to meeting your dad, if he’s got time.”

“I’m sure he’ll make time,” said Figaro. “Someone who was able to reconfigure a simulation machine to port into another machine’s active simulation, he’d want to talk to that person.”

“No, no, no,” said Ubik hurriedly. “Don’t tell him that. That wasn’t me, I wouldn’t want him to think I took credit for that. That’s all Vendx.”

Figaro was momentarily confused. “Vendx can do that?”

“Not all their machines,” said Ubik. “Just the executive ones. They like to keep an eye on their employees, like, close up, without them knowing. The top execs and VIPs, some of them like to, ah, watch.”

“Ubik,” said Figaro, “I know what you’re getting at. You don’t need to be quite so careful around me. I might be young, but I’m not totally inexperienced with the darker side of human nature.”

“Of course not,” said Ubik. “Never crossed my mind. Only, we aren’t alone, are we?” He nodded towards Destri, who was floating in a curled up ball to the side, overwhelmed by the situation. “No point demoralising the workforce any more than necessary.”

Figaro nodded, not entirely sure he should take Ubik’s kindness at face value. “I’d like to get home as soon as possible. That doesn’t seem very likely at the moment.”

“No,” said Ubik. “We’ve got Vendx and the Central Authority to deal with. And we’ll probably have trouble with the guild and the city council, too. Everyone will want to delay your exit.”

That’s what worries me,” said Figaro. “I was thinking, if I could contact my father, once he was aware of the situation, it would be much harder for any of the parties involved to hold me here.”

“He has that much clout?” said Ubik. “Even with the CA?”

“Yes,” said Figaro. “My mother, also, would have some influence on their actions.”

“Uh-huh. Power couple, are they? Turn heads when they walk into a room? Must have been fun growing up being the least important member of the family.”

Figaro’s had an urge to defend his parents but he disregarded it. Ubik wasn’t the type of person to be convinced by disingenuous words.

“The problem is the drone net over the city,” said Figaro. “We can’t send a message from down here. What about from up there?”

“Possibly,” said Ubik. “But it would be better to just take the net down, no?”

“You can do that?” Figaro had seen what Ubik was capable of, so it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility, but still, the Vendx drone net was known for its dependability. They wouldn’t be able to get away with the misdeeds they committed if that weren’t the case.

“Hmm, well, you know, I’ve been thinking it over. I might have a way to do it. It’s a big ask, the security will be tight, super-tight, not an easy job by any means, but we’ve got to get you back home. It’s not guaranteed, but like I said, it’s all about the—”

“Hey,” said PT’s voice, “we’ve got a development. The net’s down. It’s all down.”

“—timing,” said Ubik. “Oh well, looks like we got lucky.”

“Were you responsible for that?” asked Figaro.

“Responsible? Not a word I like to use. I was gonna say—”

Ubik disappeared. One moment he was standing in front of Figaro, the next, he had vanished.

“He’s dead,” said Destri, his eyes bloodshot and his lips trembling. “I saw him go. They killed him.”

“He DC’d,” said Figaro. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“What he said about the execs watching us in our private sim-U sessions, do you think that was true?”

Figaro felt uncomfortable under Destri’s gaze. The poor man was falling apart. It was a common effect of spending too much time in an Antecessor map. The stress was continuous, even when there wasn’t a direct threat. The indirect threats were enough.

“I don’t know,” said Figaro. “Probably just a rumour, you know how people like to talk.”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Destri. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

“We’re in a sim-U,” Figaro reminded him.

“I heard you, your plans. I know too much. You can’t lie to me, I’ve been working for Vendx long enough to know when an employee needs to be silenced. They tell you he was moved to a different department, but everyone knows he must have seen something he wasn’t supposed to, and now he’ll never be seen again.” There was a defeated look in the man’s eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Figaro. “I don’t care what you heard. It’s fine.”

“Really?” Weak hope seeped out of him.

“I won’t kill you. But we might both end up dying in here if we don’t find a way out. I can’t get through to the guild and they don’t seem able to disconnect us from their end. Without our suits, we have to wait until they decide to end the sim-U.”

“Yes, sorry, sorry about that,” said Destri. “Couldn’t you… couldn’t you ask them to let us out?” He nodded towards the droids without directly looking at them.

It was an unusual suggestion considering what droids usually did to anyone who approached them, but this was an unusual situation.

“Um, hello?” said Figaro to the sigil. “It’s me again. Look, I understand where you want me to go, and I’m willing to go there, but you have to let us out first.”

He waited. None of the droids moved, the sigil stayed the same. Did the ship even understand it was a simulation? It was adapting and changing, but that didn’t mean it grasped everything.

“We’re not actually in this ship,” Figaro continued. “We’re inside a simulation. You have to let us go so we can return to the real world.”

Would any of what he was saying make sense to the ship? It sounded ridiculous even to him.

The sigil changed colour to white. Then it began to fade until all that was left was a faint afterglow. The droids remained where they were.

Figaro waited for something else to happen. Nothing did.

“Princep Galeli, can you hear me?” Figaro tried to use his suit comm even though it was fried. There was no response. He looked at Destri. “There is one other way. We have to suicide and hope the programme will end when there’s no one else here. We’ll be in the buffer, but they should be able to tell on their end.”

Destri took a breath of Antecessor-made air and nodded firmly. “Okay, okay, how do we—” It was his last breath and his last words as Figaro grabbed his head and smartly broke his neck. It required very little force, it was all in the timing.

Now it was his turn. Figaro faced the droid nearest him. “Listen to me. I need you to kill me.” It would have been convenient if the droid did it for him but the tentacled monster stared impassively past him. Just his luck to encounter the only pacifist droids the Antecessors had made. “Execute me!”

A droid limb shot out and grabbed Figaro’s neck. It squeezed until his head popped off.

 

***

 

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

 

Figaro opened his eyes to find a girl staring at him.

“He’s awake,” said Bev.

“Ah,” said Princep Galeli. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you,” said Figaro as he got out of the chair. The needle in his neck tickled on the way out. “I need to send a message home.” Princep Galeli’s eyes flared with concern. “To my father.” Galeli’s concern lessened.

“Yes, a good idea. I was reluctant to involve him, but we have scant other choices. Shouldn’t be a problem now that the net’s down. I don’t suppose you know how that happened.”

“Not exactly.” Figaro looked to the side where the Vendx assault team were still in their chairs. “Are they in the buffer?”

“They are,” said the princep. “We’ll have to return them, I suppose.”

“Can you erase their memories?” said Figaro. “You have that technology, yes?”

“Yes,” said Galeli. “Probably for the best. Not entirely ethical, but… I could put them back to when they first landed.”

“No,” said Figaro, “erase them completely. Vendx will have recovery software. Leave them blank.”

Galeli’s mouth dropped open. “What? You can’t be serious. That would be tantamount to murder.”

“No,” said Figaro, “it wouldn’t. It’s the only way to keep Vendx in the dark and save these men. What do you imagine they will do to these people if they suspect there might be something to extract in their brains?”

“He’s right,” said Captain Hickory. “Vendx will tear them apart trying to find any information on what happened in there. If they’ve been wiped, there won’t be any point.”

Galeli sucked in his lips, but he nodded and set to work.

Figaro had told Destri he wouldn’t kill him and he’d kept his words. But, as his parents had taught him, emotional responses were a poor substitute for common sense. Destri probably wouldn’t thank him but then Destri would never know.

Chapter 456

Eventually, everything falls apart. You make your plans, you save up what you need, you put your trust in others. The outcome is obvious.

This is nothing new. We all know it will end badly, we’re just seeing how long we can delay the inevitable. We do this mainly through lies.

It’ll be fine.

You’ll feel better in the morning.

Never give up and you’ll get there in the end.

It’s not out of malice, nobody’s forcing you to believe this shit. We want to have sweet nothings whispered in our ears. The person most eager to deceive us is us.

I’m no different. I don’t like looking in the bottom drawer of the fridge because I already know what’s in there, and I can’t be bothered to throw it out, all slimy and dripping everywhere.

That’s my life in a nutshell (or in a plastic sandwich bag with a ziplock seal and a white space on the front to write pertinent information). You organise, you prep, you waste time on things that aren’t important to trick yourself into thinking this time you’ll go all the way.

Alexa and Siri and Cortana wait to be told what you need so they can get it for you, and still nothing ever gets delivered on time.

I’d never been blown up before. It was an unusual experience. Everything slowed down as Lillian pulled the pin on her second grenade of the day. I saw it quite clearly come out and stay hooked onto her finger like a wedding ring.

“Do you take this man’s life for no good reason other than your own stupid certainty you know what you’re doing?”

“I do.”

There’s something annoying about people who are sure they know what’s going to happen. I wouldn’t care if they kept their rubbish ideas limited to their own actions, but they feel the need to self-determinate on behalf of others.

They know the right thing to do. They’re only trying to make things better. They have your best interests at heart. And so on and so forth.

It happens to people as soon as they get the chance to bully others. Politicians, priests, teachers, parents, anyone with a social media account, that nutter on the bus.

I don’t like that sort of thinking. I don’t force others to do things my way and I for sure have no interest in doing things their way. I’m not saying they’re wrong (they fucking are, I’m just not saying it) but your belief-set is appropriate for exactly one person — you.

Believe God disapproves of abortion? Don’t have one, then.

Think eating meat is wrong? Go ahead and stock up on those lima beans.

It’s not okay if what someone wants to do impinges on others, then they have to be stopped like any nuisance. You can’t go around shooting people with a gun because you feel like it (unless it’s term time, obviously), but if what you’re doing doesn’t affect others, then it’s nobody’s business but theirs. And if they don’t want to do something you feel is very important to do, then you need to stop bothering people and go do it yourself.

Pretty straightforward.

Lillian didn’t agree, apparently. She carried grenades as a way to get her way. Very obnoxious. I’d class her as a domestic terrorist, but women’s groups would accuse me of being sexist.

“Who you calling a domestic, you chauvinist pig?”

Personally, I think things would be better all round if more women carried grenades or explosive devices. It would improve their situation considerably (as long as they didn’t mix up their IED with their IUD). Imagine how much less hassle a woman would get if everyone knew she had a bomb in her handbag. Rape would be gone in a weekend.

Of course, it would require women to be willing to give up their lives rather than allow a man to abuse them, which probably wouldn’t happen. Most women seem unable to give up the promise of a slight chance of a job in show business in exchange for their self-respect, but hey, you have to suffer for your art.

By the way, I’m not saying women should commit suicide to force the patriarchy to give up some of its power, I’m saying it should be a murder-suicide. Always take one of them with you. As a man (technically) I can confirm that the alpha predator really hates getting his junk blown to pieces by an uppity female. Will do pretty much anything not to have that happen, including not forcing his cock inside her nitroglycerine-packed fanny.

Yes, a few women would have to die to prove a point, but don’t think of them as suicide-bombers, think of them as sacrifice-angels.

I would have explained this to Lillian, made her see she was fighting for the wrong cause, like those people who run charities for abandoned cats when there are children dying of starvation in the alley next to their ‘Save Tiddles’ shop, but Lillian, like the batty old women raising money for vegan cat food, had made up her mind that she was doing what was necessary.

I had no idea what it was Lillian thought I was going to do in the future that required getting rid of me and my body in the most flamboyant way possible, but I was apparently the harbinger of the New Apocalypse (rebranded because of all the bad publicity, like New Labour, only not so inherently evil) and needed to be exterminated. She could have been right.

That wasn’t what happened, though.

The explosion wasn’t something I could dodge. At no point did I trust Lillian, but I didn’t think she would go kamikaze on me, so I wasn’t close enough to get to her, anyway. Once the pin was out, I didn’t have many options.

Die quietly.
Die screaming.

My luck in surviving so far had been based around me not having to do anything to protect myself. For some reason, my body took care of itself and went ethereal whenever danger loomed, but I was too exhausted to manage anything like that after all the healing I’d been doing.

Maybe Lillian knew that and had purposefully tired me out so I wouldn’t be able to defend myself. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn she had a better understanding of my powers than I had.

In any case, I accepted my death with good grace, no thought of Jenny, no regret at never having achieved my dream of dancing for the Bolshoi, just a very English, “Oh, well,” passing through my mind before my mind passed through the back of my skull.

People often complain about a loss of English culture, what with all the foreigners filling up our cities and bringing their filthy, disgusting, delicious food with them, but the truth is the culture we were best known and respected for died out long ago. A good-natured acceptance of loss, a quiet celebration of a victory, a warm round of applause for playing well even if the effort never came close to what was required. That all went out the window once free markets and leaders with good hair became the norm.

We used to be something special, something so much better than the French. Oh, well.

There was no pain, no blistering heat searing off my skin. It was actually quite a pleasant warmth, like closing your eyes and turning your face towards the sun. And the energy poured into me.

When I said I was exhausted, I meant my energy stores were empty. I could feel it, the weariness in my body, like a video game where the health bar is a sliver of flashing red. The explosion filled me up and gave me a full bar of green.

I sucked it all in, leaving nothing to cause mayhem and destruction in Lillian’s small office. I had my eyes closed so I wasn’t sure what it looked like to her, but when I opened them, she was staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

“What are you?” she said in a breathy whisper, eyes wide with awe. And then she fainted.

My effect on women usually fell somewhere between complete disregard and utter contempt (a narrow but rich furrow I ploughed with the enthusiasm of a subsidised farmer), so amazement to the point of passing out was a new one. Or maybe I’d sucked the life out of her when I’d absorbed the blast from the grenade.

Either way, I felt pretty good, like that mood you get when you think, “Actually, I might hit the gym for an hour or two.” Or what I assume that feels like.

It would be nice to think I had levelled up and could now walk through a war zone, absorbing explosions and bullets like a proper superhero, but I doubted it would work like that. I needed a proper understanding of how my abilities worked before I went running into the middle of a firefight and made a complete fool of myself, dying while trying to hug a missile.

Lillian was lying with her head on her desk, out cold. The rest of the room looked just the same as before, no sign that a small bomb had just gone off, other than me feeling a little frisky.

I picked up Lillian’s crystal ball, which I thought might come in useful at some point, and put it in my pocket. It was too big to fit but I shoved it in anyway, with a manly disregard for my trousers’ consent. And then I left the room.

There were still people looking for me and I had no idea how to get out, but that seemed a very small problem compared to the airships smashing into each other somewhere below. It was a testament to what you could build with enough money that the building was largely unaffected by all the destruction I was leaving in my wake.

I didn’t really fancy fighting my way out and I had little faith in my newly found invulnerability lasting very long, so my hope was to find a quiet way out and hope nobody noticed. Which would be a bit tricky with all those psychics and Lillian no longer shielding my presence from them. Then again, last time they’d tried to probe me, they’d come off the worst for it, so I was banking on them not wanting to get too close.

My memory has never been the greatest, so it took me a couple of wrong turns before I found my way back to the kitchen area. I considered stopping for a break and having a cup of tea, but generally speaking you’re not supposed to take tea breaks during an escape attempt. I know, so uncivilised. Another of our English traditions lost.

Standing in the kitchenette, watching the microwave go round and round like it was some sort of James Cameron special event, was the potato researcher Lillian had introduced to me earlier. He was no longer in his shiny Hazmat suit, he was wearing regular clothes, at least what I would consider regular clothes for a scientist — poorly fitting oversized jeans and an untucked lumberjack shirt. He had a stained white lab coat on top, to round out the look.

He nodded at me. “Oh, hello again. Lillian cut you loose, has she?” He seemed jovial and courteous. I’d probably end up getting him killed at some point.

“Yes,” I said. “She gave me directions but I can’t quite remember which way it was to the lifts. This way?” I pointed down one of the three corridors that met at this junction.

“No, no, you have to go down here, then take…”

I stopped following what he was saying because of the sounds of a large group of people coming from the corridor he was pointing at.

“By the way,” I said, “John, right?”

“John Grand, that’s right.”

“Yeah. I’m Victor. Victor Sifuentes. You mentioned your special potato collection. Is that one of them in there?” I pointed at the microwave.

John looked horrified. “Oh no. I would never… that would be like eating one of my children.”

“Do you think I could have a look? Sounded interesting.” I sounded retarded — who the fuck wants to check out a potato collection? — but it was music to John’s ears.

“Of course, of course, this way.” He practically shoved me down a hallway — not the one with all the noise — probably scared I might suddenly come to my senses.

He led me to a small lab with large metal ovens, like a commercial kitchen. Once inside the heavy door (which had a keypad lock to stop any potato thieves getting in) I was surrounded by a thick layer of silence. You couldn’t hear anything from outside.

“Shouldn’t I put on a lab coat?” I asked. “To prevent contamination.”

John smiled, nodding with warm regard. “Absolutely.” He clearly appreciated the respect I was giving his work with the king of tubers.

I put on a white coat which he took from a rack on the wall. I helped myself to a pair of large plastic safety goggles sitting on the table. It all suited me surprisingly well, judging by the reflection from the glass. On the other side of which, men rushed past.

“So, secret potato research. Do I have to sign an NDA?”

“No, no. If Lillian’s vouched for you, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

We spent the next ten minutes or so reviewing rows and rows of identical root vegetables grown on trays in the ovens. It was difficult not to yawn, but with remarkable force of will, I managed it. Not all superheroes wear capes, some of us wear the wrong-sized lab coats that need a wash.

Nobody burst in to take me into custody. No one sent out an email asking to keep an eye out for me. I doubt anyone would have been able to recognise me as an outsider.

“As you can see, there’s no way to tell them apart from a regular, run-of-the-mill potato. But under the hood, well, now you know what’s possible.”

I nodded vigorously and gave him a sold ‘you bet’ look. I hadn’t been listening for the last nine minutes so I had no idea what secrets of the tater he had revealed, but I was quite happy to take his word for it.

“And all perfectly safe,” John added.

“Great,” I said. “I hope they don’t get you to find a way to weaponise them.”

John’s face fell. “How did you know about that?”

Just my luck to stumble onto his true purpose— potato grenades. Probably with the help of Lillian.

“I was joking,” I said.

“Hah, me too,” said John. I don’t think he was.

“I should be going,” I said. “Is there a quick way out? I’ll only get lost if I try to find the way Lillian brought me.”

“There is, actually. Freight elevator, special clearance needed.” He waved his ID card at me. “I need it for my manure deliveries.”

He took me to the end of the corridor where a large lift with doors you had to manually pull to one side waited. We went down slowly, in squeaky jerks, down to the carpark. I thought I heard some sounds through the walls, people screaming, large objects crashing, the crackle of flames, but it was like hearing a song from the earphones of a person sitting next to you on the tube. You couldn’t really tell what it was.

“I’ll need the coat back,” he said when the doors opened.

“Ah, sorry, forgot I had it on.” I took off the lab coat and handed it back. John looked at my crotch for rather longer than society deemed acceptable, but it was only because of the bulge made by the crystal ball.

He said nothing. We had come to an understanding, me and the potato whisperer. We shook hands and parted ways.

Lillian was bound to have regained consciousness by now, and Jack’s boys would still be looking for me. I could have called a cab but that would take too long. I decided to go see Cheng, see if he could get reception on the crystal ball.

I felt good, energised. I took a deep breath and started running. I ran all the way.

96: Background Check

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Mobile Command Centre - Designation: Junior.

 

“Sir, we’ve got the Central Authority ship hailing us again.”

Mayden took a breath and steeled his resolve. Even if the most powerful organisation in existence wanted to talk to him, he couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. He had to close this deal, and he had to be the one at the command console when it happened.

“Tell them we’re having issues and put them back on hold. Be polite. Play them some music and give them the regular update loop.”

“Sir, they’re the Central—”

“I know who they are. Do it. Creed, respond.”

“Chief Supervisor,” said Commander Creed. “We’re still working on tracking Ulanov. He’s in the system, we’ve got—”

“Yes, yes, keep at it. I want you to increase the coverage from the drone net over the city.”

“But, Chief Supervisor,” said Creed, his voice full of doubt, “we’re already covering the entire city. Nothing can get in or out.”

“I know that. I need it to interfere with my comms here on the city limits.”

“Your comms.” Now Creed sounded confused. “But why would—”

Mayden switched to a private channel. “Creed, listen to me, we’ve got the Central Authority breathing down our necks. We have to recover that box and we have to do it like in the old days, fast and dirty, you understand? This is going to give us the keycode to the executive orbital platform. You and me, Creed, joint credit, we have to push this through at any cost.”

“I’m with you, I am,” said Creed, “but they’re right here, watching us.”

“I know, that’s why you need to crank everything up and give me maximum distortion. We can sell it as a communication malfunction if we have to.”

“Maximum distortion?” said Creed. “That could blow a lot of circuits. I’m liable for damages, you know. It—”

“Hang the damages!” said Mayden. “I’ll cover your costs.”

“Really? Will you put it in writing?” 

“You’ll have my digital signature by the end of the day. Just do it. And find Ulanov.”

“Okay. Leave it to me. Joint credit.”

“Right,” said Mayden. He turned off the channel. Joint credit. The man was a fool. He should have gotten the agreement in writing first. End of the day. There was no end of the day, there was only business.

 

***

 

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Surf  ‘n’ Turf

 

Terrific JonJo stood in the wreck that had once been the finest dining establishment in Fraiche city, and wondered how it had come to this.

He was not a person people trifled with. His reputation was one of a cold, hard businessman. That was the word he used, and woe betide anyone if he heard them using any other — and he always heard.

No one could get close enough to do him any harm because JonJo always heard them coming. It wasn’t just the sound of their footsteps that gave them away, it was the volume of their intentions. Nobody could keep a cap on their excitement, their agitation, their turbulent thoughts clanging around their skulls when they were planning to commit a misdeed. Something always leaked out. Always.

JonJo poked the end of his cane at what had once been an exquisite wooden table, made from genuine Kordoban mahogany. It had been imported over several light-years, cost a small fortune, and all he had left were dark brown splinters.

He used to sit at that table on a raised platform at the back of the restaurant and conduct his business while watching his customers enjoy themselves. It had given him an immense amount of pleasure to be successful, to be respected, to be feared.

And now what did he have? Rubble.

It was inconceivable that he hadn’t anticipated this. He was the finest augur in the quadrant. His neural network was far more complex than any other organic of his type. There had been no indication.

The boy, the trainee, he was the one responsible. He was the one who would pay, him and his entire guild. And those Seneca mercenaries, he would find a way to pay them back for getting him involved with this catastrophe. 

Looking up, through the holes in what remained of the roof, the sky was dotted with small black drones, thousands of them. If it weren’t for the Vendx drones shutting down every communication device in the city, he would have taken care of it already. As soon as the drones were gone, as soon as Vendx disappeared with their bullying technology, JonJo would find the people who had destroyed everything he had built, and he would destroy them.

Scrambling footsteps hurried towards him from the back of the restaurant, or the shell of what remained.

“Boss, Boss,” called out a voice. “Good news, Boss.”

JonJo didn’t bother to turn around. He had recognised the clumsy footfalls as soon as he’d heard them, his newly appointed head of security, Tibro. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be as disappointing as his predecessor.

“What is it, Tibro?”

“We’ve just heard from the warehouse. We’ve got an order for the provisions. It won’t go to waste now, we’ve got a buyer. For all of it.”

JonJo turned to face his man, a small, sweaty thug with broad shoulders and hands like mallets. “All of it?”

“All of it,” confirmed Tibro, waving away the dust he had kicked up running to tell JonJo the good news. “Every last crate. Had to sell it a bit cheaper than we would have liked, but we made our money back.”

“Who bought it?” asked JonJo. 

“Offworlder. Wants it delivered to his ship.”

JonJo’s eyes flashed red and his ears tingled. He tilted his head and scanned the sky. Nothing; every signal suppressed. “Offworlder? How did he get through the blockade?”

Tibro’s elated pug face turned to confusion. “I don’t… I’m not sure. It wasn’t me that spoke to him.”

“What ship was it?” said JonJo. 

“The, ah, the…” Tibor fumbled to get his communicator out of his jacket pocket. “The Red Devil,” he read off the screen. “It’s not very far, just outside the Magellan belt. Registered to the, ah, the...”

“Free Volunteers Guild,” said JonJo. Were they mocking him or just stupid? Both, it would seem. “Do you have the recording?”

“Yes, yes.” Tibor scrolled through his files and then played the audio of the order. Everyone in the organisation was under strict orders to record everything.

JonJo listened, eyes pulsing with light. He recognised the voice, one of the guild’s pilots. But he also recognised the background hum. A kitchen, in orbit, in a Vendx ship. Every space, every environment, had its own unique sound. Unmistakable. 

He looked back up at the sky. The guilder was on the Vendx ship ordering food to be sent to his own ship. Well, he would get his order, plus a little extra. Never let it be said Terrific JonJo didn’t give value for money, to friends and enemies alike.

“Complete the order. Have Inigo deliver it.”

Tibor’s eyes widened. “Inigo? But he’s—”

“Do it,” said JonJo. “And make sure—” He stopped and looked up. His ears were burning. Something was happening to the drone net. A flood of noise washed over him.

 

***

 

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

Princep Galeli checked the readings on the simulation machine. Everything seemed to be stable. All vitals were steady. The entire Vendx assault team were in the buffer, which was probably the safest place — for them and for the guild. Only Trainee Fig was left inside the sim-U. 

“What’s wrong with it?” said Hickory. 

Galeli looked up at the black screen. “I don’t know.”

“It’s Vendx, isn’t it?” said Bev. She was standing by Trainee Fig’s chair, staring up through the gaps at the bottom of his helmet. “It’s their machine, they must know how to hack it.”

“That would be highly illegal,” said Galeli, “and open them up to a massive lawsuit.”

“Only if you can prove it,” said Bev.

Galeli had to admit she had a point. He fiddled with some more buttons, tried to get back in, but he was completely locked out.

“If that weird guy was here, I bet he could fix it.” Bev blew on Trainee Fig’s face.

“Please don’t do that,” said Galeli. 

“He can’t feel it,” she said.

“I know,” said Galeli, “but the way things have been…” He stopped as the readings fluctuated.

“What is it?” said Hickory.

“The drones,” said Jace, who was bent over his comms device. “They’ve stopped.”

“Stopped what?” said Hickory.

“Stopped working,” said Jace. 

“The net’s down?” said Hickory. “All of it?”

“Yes,” said Jace. “Every one of them. The skies are clear.”

“Then get a message out to the ship,” said Hickory.

“They’re contacting us,” said Jace. “Red One, Red One, can you hear me. This is Jace.”

“Tell them to get here, now,” said Hickory. “Cloaked.”

“They’re asking… they’re asking if we ordered a shipment of food.”

“What?” said Hickory. “What are you talking about?”

“They’re saying they have a delivery incoming. They want to know if—”

Hickory ran to the window and looked out, his eyes glowing an intense crimson. “That’s one of JonJo’s. Tell them to open fire on it.”

“Open fire!” Jace shouted into the mic. “Open fire!”

 

***

 

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Observation Deck. 

 

“Open this door right now,” said Chukka.

“I can’t,” said the senior technician. Chukka had no idea what his name was, but she knew he was a coward. Anyone with a cushy job like this one wasn’t going to take any risks. “I have a gun trained on me,” he whined. “Several.”

“I thought you said he was in the sim-U,” she said through the locked door. The guards on either side of the door stared past at her, over the heads of the security team waiting to go in. They looked embarrassed. They would look a lot worse once she had them brought up on charges of gross negligence.

“He is.”

“How can he have a gun on you, then?” she said.

“Not him,” said the frightened voice. “The drones.”

This was getting her nowhere. The executive simulation room was one of the few areas she didn’t have direct access to. How could the little shit have known that?

“Break it down?” she said to the man behind her.

“But, sir…” He was carrying a large boron laser, a power cell strapped to his back. This was why he was here. “This is Vendx property.”

She was proposing something sacrilegious, and also very expensive. You break it, you pay for it — that was the Vendx company motto.

“I’m taking full responsibility,” said Chukka. “Now—”

“Excuse me, sir,” said the guard floating to her left. “I can open it.”

“You can? How?”

“Emergency key. For emergencies.” He said it like he didn’t want her to ask what kind of emergencies he meant. Knowing the calibre of Vendx executives, she didn’t want to ask.

“Open it.”

The guard vented his suit and turned to face the door. He would never do this normally, but he’d already messed up. This was his way of trying to win her over. At least he wasn’t a total idiot.

She didn’t see what he did, but the door slid open. 

Chukka floated aside and the team shot inside in pairs, weapons raised. She followed, rising up into the large dome to get a clear view. The two techs were cowering on the floor beside one of the sim-U pods.

“Who is holding a gun on you?” she demanded to know.

They pointed up. Chukka looked up at three interceptor drones outside the dome. 

“They’re outside,” she said.

“They have cold laser modifications,” said the senior technician. “It can fire through glass.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She floated down.

The two men cowered even harder, then looked up when nothing happened. Somehow they had been fooled into thinking the drones had cutting edge weaponry attached. 

“Right,” she said. “Pull him out of there. The rest of you, aim at his head.”

The circle of men around the pod all raised their weapons.

***

 

Third Quadrant. 

Asteroid Tethari.

 

“Give me an update,” said Ramon Ollo.

“The readings are—”

“I can see the readings from here,” he said into the comms mic. “Give me an update. What can you see? What has changed?”

“Nothing, sir,” said the voice on the other end, from deep inside the facility. “It’s exactly the same as before. Nothing has changed.”

He was standing in the control room of the small asteroid that floated in front of the wormhole that dominated his world’s sky. And he was frustrated.

For some unknown reason, the asteroid was now full of breathable air. Breathable by humans.

It made no sense.

If it were possible to transform the atmosphere, he would have found the mechanism by now. And even if it did exist before, why had it suddenly decided to activate now? There hadn’t even been anyone inside the main floor at the time. 

Antecessor sites didn’t just spontaneously begin spouting oxygen for no reason.

“What about the droids? Are they behaving any differently?”

“No, sir.”

“How would you categorise their behaviour?”

“Hostile, sir. Very hostile.”

Why provide air that humans could breathe and then attack them as soon as they tried to enter?

“Where are you now?”

“We’re approaching the end of corridor six. We’ve taken care of the first wave. We can see the — wait.”

“Yes?”

“The door to the lower floor…”

“It’s open?” 

No, sir. But it’s glowing.”

“What do you mean, glowing? The whole door?”

“No, sir. Just the middle. It looks like a…”

There was no way to see inside the facility. Any video signal would be blocked. The only reason sound could get out was because of the organic on the team who could amplify auditory signals.

“What is it, man?”

“It looks like three… like a… sort of a flower?”

“Just wait there,” said Ramon Ollo. “I’m coming down. Don’t touch anything until I get there.”

He moved away from the console and signalled to his team. They swiftly brought his battlesuit forward, floating it into position, the rear open. Ollo climbed up the steps built into the leg, which was as tall as he was, and climbed in. It was his latest prototype, a suit that could magnify the wearer’s power. He had planned to use it to break through the door to the lower floors after some more testing, but it seemed this was going to be a live test. He strapped himself into the cradle and powered the suit up. He headed in.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty Four

When Acting-Minister for Instruction Mol Carmine came to, he found himself standing in the middle of the orchard at the back of his family’s estate. Dawn was breaking and he was naked. The cold morning mist smelled of damp and ash; it reminded him strongly of his childhood. He shivered.

Birds called to each other in the distance, none daring to perch in the fruit trees. Nests were regularly removed and the estate’s hawks patrolled the perimeter.

The fog in his head was quickly dissipating and the chill across his body became more noticeable. He had been a sleepwalker as a child, doors and windows needing to be locked to prevent him from harming himself. He had long outgrown that phase, or so he had thought, but that didn’t explain why no one had stopped him, or why they hadn’t noticed his absence.

Navigating his way through the house, down the stairs and out into the grounds must have made some noise at the very least. Someone must have heard or seen him, and it would be obvious something was amiss.

The household staff were usually prescient enough to not need instructing on such matters, well-trained by having seen what happened to those who failed to measure up to his exacting standards. Another lesson would need to be taught, he decided.

There was a bitter taste on his tongue and his hand was holding onto something very tightly. He brought his clenched fist up to his face. He was squeezing a small, empty glass bottle in his cold, numb hand.

The bottle looked vaguely familiar, the remnants of a red liquid smeared across the transparent sides. He licked his lips and the memory of a taste passed down his throat. He had no recollection of drinking the contents, but clearly he had. While sleepwalking? That would be new — he had never managed anything that complex when he was a child.

Carmine took a deep breath and let a stream of white air out of his mouth. He looked around to get his bearings, and then set off towards the gate that led to the garden path. The kitchen door was probably the best route back into the house in his current state of undress. The dewy ground felt uncomfortable under his bare feet.

It was shady in the orchard and the lines of yellow sunlight streaking through the leafy boughs offered very little warmth. A sudden darkness crossed his mind and he thought he was about to pass out. Was he ill? He squeezed the vial tighter.

A darker shadow passed over him, but this one was not inside his mind. It flitted through the trees.

“My master, I come to report as instructed,” it whispered rather gloomily.

“What? Who’s there?”

For a moment Carmine was chilled on the inside, but the moment passed. He remembered this was his inheritance, power over these dark creatures. He looked down at the vial again. This was also part of it, this concoction that made him their master. As was the loss of memory and fogginess that came with it. He would have to be careful lest his other childhood ailments were also resurrected. That would not be at all good.

“Yes, report. Where is Rutga? Does he have the boy?”

“We do not know.”

“Where is the boy now?”

“We do not know?

“Where is Rutga.”

“We do not know.”

Carmine was taken by surprise by the last answer — although none of them had pleased him — and he almost tripped over a tree root. He stopped and raised his foot, one hand planted on the tree trunk, and rubbed his wet toes. He remained still, his eyes closed gathering his thoughts.

“How is that possible?” he asked calmly. “I sent you to keep an eye on them, didn’t I?”

“Yes, my master,” said the shade from somewhere behind him. It liked to remain in the corner of his eye.

“Where did you see them last?”

“At the school with the children,” hissed the whispery voice.

“And then?”

“Gone. Hidden. Taken. Chased away. We were chased away.”

“By whom?” said Carmine.

“The scion.”

“Who?”

“The late master’s daughter…” The voice drifted away like a sigh.

“I see,” said Carmine. It wasn’t surprising that she would be aware of these clandestine creatures that no one else would have noticed. Delzina would have encountered them before, been familiar with them, know how to deal with them. She was a very accomplished girl. It was what drew him to her. It was why they would make a fine couple, he was sure.

“Very well,” he said, “Miss Delcroix is to be left alone. Do not engage her or provoke her.”

“It will be as you say, my master.”

There was almost a tenderness bordering on relief in the shade’s voice. He must have imagined it, Carmine told himself.

“You must search for the boy, scour the school.”

“It has been done. The result was failure.”

“The Secret Service, perhaps they have him?”

“They do not.”

If they said they’d looked for him and couldn’t find him, he was inclined to believe it. They had never failed him before but there was a good chance the boy wasn’t acting alone. Carmine knew there were others also watching the boy, it was why he was watching him.

Where had he gone? If he wasn’t on the school grounds, he can’t have gone far. Rutga was supposed to have secured the boy and taken him to a safe location. Perhaps he had. But then why wouldn’t the shades know?

No, something else had happened, something unforeseen. Whatever it was, he would have to find out. It was his job, after all.

He suddenly noticed that all his muscles ached, as if after hard labour. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. It was nothing, he told himself. The pressure of his new position had nothing to do with it. A little tension was to be expected. War was in the offing, nothing was going to happen smoothly. There would be hitches.

The shade moved between the trees, watching. It didn’t make Carmine self-conscious. These creatures weren’t judgmental, they just did what you asked of them, did their job.

“I want you to locate Rutga. Search the city, all his known hideouts and regular haunts. Make him your first priority.”

“As you wish, my master…” The voice faded into the distance.

If the boy had been whisked away by some powerful entity, kept somewhere away from prying eyes, then it would be hard to track him down. Rutga was another matter. Once he was found, he could at least give an idea of what happened. After which, he would be appropriately punished.

Carmine walked out of the orchard and bright sunshine washed over him. The house loomed before him, the tower on one side and the dome of his father’s observatory on the other. He took another deep breath of cold damp air and headed home.

As he made his way through the vegetables in the small plot outside the kitchen, Shavay, the old gardener, came out of the shed carrying a basket. He saw his young master walking nude among the cabbages and lettuces and stood there gawking and grinning stupidly.

Carmine lost control of himself for a moment and scowled. His face must have taken on a rather terrifying appearance because the gardener shied away, grin frozen like the rictus smile on a corpse, and hurriedly ducked back into the safety of his shed.

Carmine calmed himself and entered the kitchen via the back door which wasn’t locked. The cook and two of the maids were in there. He was sure they noticed him but no one said a word, including him. He went up to his room and washed up.

By the time he came down for breakfast, Carmine was feeling much more composed. He ate his breakfast while going through his mail, none of which was very important. There would be reports waiting for him at the Ministry.

He had the carriage brought round and gave the housekeeper instructions for the day. She nodded and betrayed nothing by her eyes, but no doubt she already knew about Carmine’s early morning jaunt. She had been with the family from before Carmine had been born, so she knew about his history regarding nocturnal outings. He could trust her to be discreet. The others, though, would most likely chatter and spread gossip. He would make them regret it, but he didn’t have the time right now.

The black carriage was waiting for him at the front door and Carmine climbed in, adjusting his clothes as he sat down. He was dressed in much the same way as his predecessor, who he had greatly admired — no flash over substance, no cheap attempts at attracting attention — and he felt comfortable taking his place. He might have been young but he was more than capable.

“What did you do with Nic?” said a feminine voice from the opposite seat.

The voice startled him, more from its unexpected appearance than any perceived threat. It was the voice of a child.

He looked more intently at the shadows that, now that he focused, were unnaturally dark. They dissipated and the Archmage’s daughter was sitting there in her school uniform, legs crossed, no sign of any apprehension on her face.

“Miss van Dastan,” he said, making sure to sound unperturbed. “This is a surprise. May I call you Simole?”

“You can call me whatever you want,” she said. “Where is Nic?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He knew she was a very capable mage and not someone to trifle with, not without preparation. But he was being honest with her. If she could identify a lie, she wouldn’t be able to in this case. “Are you saying he’s no longer at the school?”

Simole’s eyes narrowed. She seemed to be making an assessment. He had the feeling she didn’t like him very much. That was fine. She was a teenage girl who didn’t get along with her father. She was bound to regard all men with a degree of suspicion.

“You didn’t take him? I know you sent those pets of yours to watch him.”

“I wouldn’t call them pets,” said Carmine, “but yes, I did. For his own safety… and also for the safety of everyone. He seems to have become unexpectedly central to proceedings. I’m new in the job, so I have yet to make a determination as to why.”

“Good luck with that.”

Carmine kept his smile inside. Apparently, it wasn’t just grown men she had a scepticism towards. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage.

“In any case,” he continued, “they have lost track of him, too. Which leads me to believe he has either been taken or willingly went with someone very powerful.”

“Yes,” said Simole. “Probably.”

“Do you know who that might be?” He asked. “Perhaps your father? They’re fairly close, I understand.”

Little Simole’s eyes burned with what Carmine would call a mild fury, if such a thing could be said to exist.

“No, not him,” she said, her voice flat and disinterested. “Never mind, then. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Before he could say anything else, she opened the door to the moving carriage and jumped out, slamming it shut behind her. By the time Carmine lowered the window and looked out, there was no sign of her.

***

Carmine walked purposefully through the main entrance of the Ministry for Instruction, the guards stationed on either side of the doorway nodding respectfully in his direction. Only a few months ago, he had been another one of many adjuncts to Minister Delcroix. Now he was the master of all he surveyed.

He walked past door after door, some leading to offices, others to less welcoming rooms. Beneath the Ministry was a labyrinth of endless corridors and passages holding some of the most reprehensible people in the kingdom. People who were considered too dangerous for regular incarceration in one of His Majesty’s prisons.

In his old office, which had been a dark and dusty room with barred narrow windows, he had occasionally heard the excruciating wails of men, and sometimes women, from below.

“Help me!”

“Save me!”

“I am innocent. Innocent!”

The tunnels spread out under the other ministries on either side and behind this building, but no one dared go down to see what the noises might be.

Some people claimed there were no longer prisoners held at the Ministry, the voices were the ghosts of those who had died under torture in a previous, more barbaric age. Carmine had evidence to the contrary.

As Carmine approached the double-doors of his office, a guardsman on sentry duty stepped forwards, his spear ready. “You may go no further,” he declared sullenly.

Carmine didn’t recognise the soldier. Stationed here because of the war, told not to let anyone pass without the correct authorisation.

“You’re new?” he said sympathetically. “You’re doing your duty, that’s commendable, but you need to be a little more circumspect in how you go about it. Causing offence to someone in a higher position won’t do you any good. No good at all.”

The guard, still tightly gripping the shaft of his spear, looked a little confused. “Better a little trouble than to let an enemy of the state through. You don’t have a ministry insignia. Everyone has to wear theirs under the current orders of the acting-minister.”

It was an accurate and valid point. At least the man took his duties seriously. Carmine had left his official insignia of office — a rather gauche medallion worn around the neck on a heavy gold chain — at home. He didn’t like it and didn’t feel the need to wear it. His staff all knew who he was. His regular staff.

“Quite right — my fault entirely. Why don’t we both go to my office and verify who I am with my assistant?”

The guard thought it over for a moment. “No, you’ll have to go home and get it. If you have one.”

Carmine’s patience was running thin. He had tried to be civil with the man, but he was a little too officious for his own good. There were cells down below full of people like him, people who had decided they knew better than their betters.

“I don’t have time for this.” He pushed the guard aside with a simple shove. He was a little shorter than the man, but he had been trained to a much higher level of combat. The guard went flying back, thumping into the wall.

He would have to have the man reprimanded, even though he wasn’t to blame. Such confusions happened during wartime, they still needed to be dealt with.

Carmine heard the hurried patter of running boots behind him. He turned around, ready to really let him have it this time, but it was his assistant, Stodar, running towards him, holding a folder tied with ribbon.

“Minister, there you are. I tried to intercept you in your carriage but you had already exited and taken the other route to your office. My apologies.”

“What is it, Stodar? What couldn’t wait?”

“It’s a summons from the palace. All ministers. I’ve gathered the overnight reports for you.” Stodar wasn’t even out of breath. Had the man really run all the way to the stables to inform him? He dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

“Thank you.” Carmine took the folder and started walking back towards the exit. “This man,” he said, pointing at the bewildered-looking guard, “have him reassigned to external duty. And make sure he’s paired with one of our regulars. Can’t have a man inside the Ministry who doesn’t know who anyone is.”

Stodar gave the guard a piercing glare and the man blushed. He hadn’t reacted like that under Carmine’s glare. He would have to learn that ability.

***

The ride to the palace was a short one and Carmine only had enough time to browse through the reports Stodar had prepared. They told him nothing new.

Enemy forces were remaining in position, ready to move at a moment’s notice. The Gweurvians were in charge, at least nominally, and they hadn’t given the go-ahead. What they were waiting for? If he could deduce that much, they would at least have something to work towards.

Carmine walked into the main assembly hall to be met with a barrage of angry shouting and accusations. The room was long and thin with a table with eight chairs — nine, actually, but the ninth was never filled.

A full assembly was rare, usually only called at times of celebration or to mark the passing of a revered personage. And occasionally to deal with a matter of grave importance, although such things were usually decided by the cabinet members, those in the eight chairs.

Seven were currently filled, with the other ministers standing behind the ministers they were most closely allied with. Thirty-two ministries were represented, including the most insignificant and pointless ones that were little more than cosmetic. The Ministry for Swamps and Floodplains (which hadn’t been active in over a hundred years since the swamps had been reclaimed as farmland and the floodplains were protected by levees), the Ministry for Mining Rights (the rights all being owned by the royal family of Ranvar, but appearances needed to be maintained), the Ministry for Carriages (whose regulations hadn’t required changing since its creation), and so on.

Some ministries served a purpose but held no particular civic responsibility. The Ministry for the Defence of the King’s Good Name was very active but rarely did the minister in charge attend anything other than the most obligatory assemblies. He was currently standing behind Minister for War Reshvay, watching the other ministers with a keen eye. Taking mental notes to jot down later, most probably.

Only a few hundred years ago, the Royal Court had been a place of debate and thoughtful interactions. That all changed when a group who had fought to give the southern marsh region more autonomy had attempted to assassinate the Leader of the Chamber, a staunch loyalist. Under torture, they had confessed their ultimate goal to overthrow the monarchy and were hung in the central plaza. The assembly was soon after reduced in number and filled with bootlickers and sycophants, although the history books would describe them as more closely aligned with the king. There was still room for discussion, none for dissent.

Things had changed little since then, the room for compromise a thin sliver it would be hard to get your fingers through.

The cabinet ministers were hunched over, leaning across to each other, whispering their thoughts to one another, ignoring their inconsequential fellows.

Most people only remembered the major ministries, because there was no real reason to know more. Carmine had memorised all the different ministries when he was a child. His goal had always been to rise to a position of importance in one of them, even though his family was not well connected politically. His idea was to choose one of the lesser ones and transform it into a force to be reckoned with. But fate had intervened, and now he was the one being transformed.

“This is an outrage,” said a rotund, bald man Carmine recognised as the Minister for Inns and Taverns, although he couldn’t immediately recall his name. “We are practically defenceless while all around us the jackals sharpen their knives.” His body pitched forward in sympathetic momentum with his words, nearly sending him over the chairs in front of him if not for the men either side of him holding him back.

“Jackals don’t use knives,” said an elderly man Carmine seemed to recall was the Minister for Fish and Game. He was seated on a chair pulled back from the table to indicate he wasn’t part of the cabinet, but his age required he sit. His knees were far apart with his cane between them, resting both hands on top.

“This is hardly the time to be pedantic. Why isn’t something being done? These low, ungrateful tracts of mud think they can challenge us? They need to be shown their place.”

There was a round of harrumphing and a general mood of dissatisfaction.

Carmine took a seat at the table, the only empty one, squeezing in between two lanky men who saw who they were now positioned behind and made their way to other parts of the table.

“Here now,” said someone to Carmine’s left. “Here’s the man who can provide us with answers. The Minister for Instruction.”

“Acting-minister,” said someone from Carmine’s right.

All heads turned to look at him. Carmine took a moment to pour himself some water from the carafe on the table. He knew full well they didn’t see him as one of their own yet, never mind someone to fear and obey. His predecessor had cast a long shadow and it lingered still.

Carmine took a sip of water while the gathered men waited impatiently.

“Gentlemen,” began Carmine, “ministers, please. There is much to discuss and only a limited amount of time before I must leave to attend to other matters.”

He took another sip of water. Let their indignation fester, it would only be to his advantage.

The truth was he enjoyed being the centre of attention. He liked that everyone here was senior to him in terms of age and experience, yet they were forced to turn to him for insight into the state of current affairs.

No one spoke, wary of only causing further delays. They were all seasoned enough to know when someone was toying with them. They might not have much regard for him, but he was the Minister for Instruction, acting or otherwise. The office he represented was still one of the most powerful.

“The latest reports I’ve received show that there are forces lined up along all our eastern borders but that they are not in the process of preparing for deployment.”

“Then what in blast are they doing?”

Carmine turned his head to face the speaker. “Minister Anatole.” Carmine was pleased it had been someone whose name he knew. It made him look that much better informed. “I understand why you would ask that, but please consider the sensitive nature of such a question. We can not afford to have our plans leaked to the enemy. All I can tell you at the moment is that there is no danger of an imminent attack.”

His point was accurate, it would be foolish to reveal such information in a venue this exposed, but it was also true that you couldn’t reveal what you didn’t know, whether it be to the enemy or to your own peers.

“How long would they need to mobilise?”

Carmine didn’t see who spoke this time, so nodded instead. “Our estimates put a major offensive requiring forty-eight hours at the very least, but more likely anything up to a week. Obviously, we would be well aware of their intentions within hours of the decision being made.”

“But how do we defend ourselves without dragons?”

“Is it true the enemy have acquired their own dragons?”

“Why can’t we reinstate the dragon healers? They can’t all be dead.”

The questions were coming all at once, overlapping and leaving no room for answers.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Carmine’s pleas for a chance to speak went unheard.

“Quiet, you fools!” boomed Minister Reshvay. The War Minister was on his feet, which didn’t happen very often. Carmine couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen him up, let alone walking around. How the man travelled from location to location was a mystery. By magic carpet, perhaps.

The gathered men had fallen into silence at Reshvay’s admonishment.

“How and when we choose to deal with these blackguards remains a process of the utmost secrecy,” said Reshvay. “As Minister Carmine has said, we cannot afford any leaks, intentional or otherwise.” Reshvay stared around the table, simultaneously questioning the loyalty and intelligence of everyone present. It was a bold double-slap to the face.

But Reshvay had earned his position and no one present dared to challenge him. That was the kind of esteem Carmine wished to be held in.

“We all know the danger of spies in our midst,” continues Reshvay, remaining on his feet, hands on the table. “We all know the history of betrayal within our own ranks.”

He looked around again. Eyes nervously avoided returning the stare.

There had been several betrayals over the years, none successful. The great power of Ranvar made it so the only true threat came from within her own borders as brother vied with brother to redistribute that power that was already held, leading to strictly drawn up rules of conduct that kept a delicate balance in place. Most of the time.

“Now,” said Reshvay, leaning back into a standing position, breaking the spell, “you have been summoned today to ensure your resources are available should they be required. You won’t be informed of what will be needed from you until the last possible moment, so it is imperative you keep your decks clear and your personnel on active duty.”

Reshvay hadn’t given them any more information than Carmine had, but the impression he left was very different. The ministers had an air of hardened resolve about them. They were ready to do their part, even though there had been zero indication of what that entailed.

There was a sudden burst of noise from the other end of the room where most of the ministers were clumped together. They parted as another figure entered the chamber. It was one that didn’t require any introduction.

“Well?” said the Archmage. “You called for me. Here I am.”

There was an even greater sense of nervousness in the room now. Most here still saw the Archmage as the criminal he had only recently been. Despite his reprieve, he was viewed with suspicion, and a wariness lest he revert to his previous ambitions.

The Archmage wasn’t alone. Beside his stood a young woman. One that Carmine had only recently been visited by — Simole, the Archmage’s daughter.

She only added to the Archmage’s air of disdain for the proceedings. It was highly irregular to bring an unsanctioned guest to the chamber, let alone a child.

Carmine avoided making eye-contact with her. No doubt she knew he would be here, but there was no point in revealing their encounter to the Archmage if it wasn’t necessary. From what Carmine knew about their relationship, it wasn’t particularly cordial. It was highly likely she hadn’t told her father who she spent her time with. The more pressing question was what was she doing here?

“Archmage,” said Foreign Minister Duplas, rising from his chair. “The prince has already been made aware of your arrival and will summon us when he is ready. In the meantime, perhaps you can advise us on the current state of the dragon population that have been put under your care.”

“The same,” said the Archmage.

There was a disappointed grumble around the table.

“No improvement in their condition at all?” asked Reshvay, sitting heavily into his seat.

“None,” said the Archmage. “But their health is of no concern.”

The mood in the room changed to one of surprise and confusion.

“You say no concern?” said Reshvay, his whiskers shaking. “Blast it, man, what are you saying?”

The Archmage raised his arms, causing a few ministers to scurry away from any potential explosions. “The Royal College will provide the support the dragons would have ten-fold. Mages will be assigned to every platoon and brigade. We will use the full power of Arcanum that is at our disposal.”

There was a mildly positive reaction to this announcement, some cautious smiles shared between the less well-informed ministers. The implication of what was being proposed was not lost on the more astute members of the assembly.

“Are you saying you will put the mages under our direct control?” asked Minister Duplas in a quiet, unassuming voice.

“No, of course not,” said the Archmage. “Obviously I will remain in charge of the members of the Royal College as constitutionally guaranteed, but—”

“This is an outrage,” said Reshvay, jumping back to his feet. “Are you trying to usurp command of His Majesty’s forces?”

“There’s such a thing as separation of mage and state, you know?” added Duplas. “And for good reason.”

The struggle for power between mages and non-mages had been going on since the birth of the nation of Ranvar. Only a very firm declaration by both sides on the merits of keeping the strongest mages away from the reins of power had allowed peace to exist. It was clear to everyone, including the members of the Royal College, that if someone with near limitless power became ruler, whether in name or in action, they would be impossible to mediate with. A dictator, benign or otherwise, was in no one’s interest.

“I have no intention of promoting myself into some kind of administrative role,” said the Archmage. “I find it tedious enough handling the affairs of the Royal College, which I delegate as much as possible. I have no interest in governing an entire country.”

The room was silent, the doubt tangible.

“No one ever claims to want to be a despot,” said Carmine into the silence.

The Archmage turned to look at him. “Indeed. But these are unusual times, Minister…?”

“Carmine. Acting-minister Carmine.” He smiled and bowed his head a little, happy to accept his role with humility.

“Well, acting-Minister, placing my mages within the troops is an entirely temporary measure for only as long as this emergency exists. And it won’t exist for very long once my mages take to the battlefield. I plan to shorten this exercise to the least amount of distraction possible. There is also no need to keep this information hidden from our enemies. They are likely to surrender as soon as they learn of it.”

He sounded very much like the whole thing was a huge waste of his time, and the sooner he could be done with it, the sooner he would be able to return to his real work, whatever that might be.

“Yes,” said Minister Duplas. “I understand. But it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you are employing the same tactics as our own when we wish to infiltrate another regime.”

It was, Carmine knew, standard procedure to offer assistance, have operatives installed as consultants and trainees in an ally’s armed forces, and then take control of those forces from the inside.”

“That’s not how I operate,” said the Archmage, “that’s how you operate. I am making the best proposition possible under the circumstances. It is, of course, up to Prince Ranade to make the final decision.”

There was a murmur of agreement on this point.

A soldier came hurrying in and whispered into Minister Duplas’ ear.

“The prince has sent for us,” said Duplas. “Archmage, ministers of the cabinet, if you will.”

Eight ministers rose from the table, including Carmine, and followed Duplas and the Archmage, accompanied by his daughter, into the next room, an antechamber through which was the prince’s private office. There were nearly as many guards in the room as ministers, stiff men in full armour carrying halberds that nearly touched the high ceiling.

“Wait here,” the Archmage said to his daughter.

“You also,” Duplas said to Carmine.

“What?” spluttered Carmine, completely taken by surprise. “But I’m—”

“Acting-minister,” said Reshvay. “There is still protocol to follow.”

Carmine was bursting with anger but he knew there was no point displaying it. His time would come, and sooner than any of these old men realised. He snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

He was left alone with the girl and the guards.

Ten minutes passed. Carmine felt a searing embarrassment in front of these lowly soldiers who had witnessed his humiliation. He focused on making sure his face didn’t show it.

The Archmage’s daughter looked like she couldn’t have cared less about being excluded. She had the air of a teenage girl who had been forced along to some dull affair under parental-duress. A mode entirely fitting for someone of her age.

“I don’t suppose you had any luck finding your friend,” he said to her.

She looked almost startled by his question. “Do I know you?” Then she turned and walked away from him to go stand by a window.

Carmine was a little thrown at being brushed off by a child. Apparently her desire to not reveal her associations to her father extended to when he wasn’t in the room. Then again, he was the Archmage, he could probably see and hear through the walls.

After half an hour, the doors opened and the ministers came out looking weary. Whatever had transpired hadn’t left them full of optimism, that was evident.

“The prince is taking the Archmage’s proposal under advisement,” said Duplas in response to Carmine’s carefully understated look of curiosity.

“Yes,” said Carmine, as though this was the outcome he had expected. In truth, he had been too agitated by his exclusion to give the matter much thought. “When will he make his decision?”

“This evening,” said Duplas. “In the meantime, we should prepare for the eventuality. We questioned the wisdom of the Archmage’s plan, but there wasn’t an alternative to suggest in its place, so…”

Duplas looked tired and distracted. “Don’t worry, my boy. It will all be fine.” He seemed to be consoling himself more than Carmine, who did not appreciate being called a boy. He let it pass, though.

The room was full of distracted men now, all lost in thought. They left one by one until there was only Carmine and the Archmage left, and his daughter at the window.

The Archmage snapped his fingers and everything froze. The guards, already stood to attention, no longer blinked, the daughter a statue staring at the sky.

“It went to plan, I take it,” said Carmine.

“As well as could be expected,” said the Archmage. “The boy, do you have him?”

Carmine shook his head. He saw the frown begin to form on the Archmage’s face. “He is being helped.”

“Yes,” said the Archmage. “As are you. Find him.” He held out a small bottle.

“I will.” Carmine took the bottle of dark liquid. His hand trembled slightly. “This stuff, is it really safe?”

“Of course. Why, have you had ill effects?”

“No, no, it’s nothing. A little lightheadedness.” Carmine put the bottle in his pocket. “I didn’t think you would bring your daughter.”

“She will play a part in this before the end.”

“Can she be trusted?” asked Carmine.

“It will make no difference,” said the Archmage. “Why? You sense something?”

“No, it’s not that... She seemed different somehow. None of my concern. I leave you to it. I can go?”

The Archmage nodded.

Carmine moved through the room like he was walking under water. It was a strange experience. He opened the door and stepped outside to normality, relatively speaking. He patted the bottle in his pocket. He wouldn’t need it much longer. Find the boy, prepare for war, and then the other ministers would learn their lesson. He headed back to the ministry.

***

“He saw through your disguise,” said the Archmage.

The demon turned from the window. “No. He merely thought he saw a shadow in the corner of his eye. No cause for concern, my child. And what of the prince? Did he agree to place a mage in every corner of his army?”

“He will. He put on a show of deliberating to appease his ministers, but he will. He has no other choice.”

“Very well,” said the demon. “And the boy?”

“Yes,” said the Archmage. “We still have to take care of the boy.”

95: Defragmentation

Fourth Quadrant

Planet Fountain

Central Authority Vessel Nirvana

 

“I do not like this,” said Guardian Tezla. “I do not like it one bit. Something smells bad.”

“Would you like me to adjust the atmospheric controls to remove unpleasant odours?” asked Janx.

Tezla was used to her drone companion being overly literal in response to her comments. She suspected it did so on purpose, to amuse itself.

Drones weren’t supposed to have a sense of humour, but her experiences in the Central Authority told her otherwise. There was something about the way they resented having to employ human guardians that needled them into making unnecessarily arch retorts.

“What else do we have on CS Mayden?” She had the Central Authority’s records on the captain of the VGV Motherboard open on the screen in front of her and it was not very illuminating.

“You are currently viewing all of the available information on Chief Supervisor Mayden,” said Janx. The small drone was hovering just above Tezla’s shoulder, observing the same screen even though it had the information running on its own internal systems.

Outside the ship, dozens of Vendx drones were floating helplessly, inactive and unable to offer any further hindrance.

“Would you like me to have the debris cleared around the ship?” asked Janx. Central Authority drones had a thing about tidying up.

“No,” said Tezla. “They were sent to distract us. Ignore them. They aren’t going anywhere.”

“This is the first time a Vendx ship has attacked an Authority vessel,” said Janx. “It is unprecedented.”

“Mayden was right, Vendx aren’t that stupid. They didn’t send the drones.”

“The hijackers, then?”

“Hijackers.” Tezla snorted through her nose. The idea was preposterous. There hadn’t been any piracy in the four quadrants in over a thousand years. You could steal a ship easily enough but where would you hide? The galaxy wasn’t that big, No, something more insidious was going on here. And if that were true, chances were that someone on Vendx’s payroll was involved. “Have you identified where these hijackers are?”

“Vendx has declared all crew on the Motherboard as enemy combatants. Technically, they are all hijackers.”

Corporate shenanigans — she recognised the signs. Presumably, they had done it to protect themselves from lawsuits, but it conveniently provided a smokescreen to hide the true instigators. Until she knew what was going on, it was better not to rush in.

Tezla scanned through Mayden’s files at maximum speed. She was able to absorb it a much faster rate than a normal person but it didn’t help. There was nothing here to indicate the man was anything more than a mid-level employee of the corporation, and not much more than a glorified cabin boy.

He may have been in command of the company flagship, but it wasn’t much more than a showboat.

“What about Vendx’s records?” said Tezla. “Can’t we access them?”

“Treaty 412 only allows access to private files once a state of emergency has been declared. The Central Authority is evaluating the situation and has put the threat level at eighteen percent likelihood of an emergency declaration being made in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Eighteen percent? You have to be kidding me?”

“I am being entirely serious, Guardian,” said the drone.

“Okay, fine, override the internal guidance mandate. I’m declaring an emergency.”

“Guardian override has been requested.”

“Don’t request it, implement it.”

“Please state reasoning. Please include as much prima facie evidence as possible to substantiate your claim.”

Tezla took a breath. She had been trained to maintain her composure under the most intense conditions, but there were some days… “Defer reason. I’ll submit at a later date.”

“Reason for deferment?”

“Because this is an emergency.” It was hard not to raise her voice, but the training helped.

There was a pause. “Conditions have been met. Emergency status is now in effect. The Fourth Quadrant is under Central Authority guidance for the next thirty days, standard.”

“Great,” said Tezla. “Let’s hope we won’t need that long to sort this out. The Vendx files on Mayden?”

“Accessing now,” said Janx, the light around its disc-body flashing. “On your screen.”

New text appeared in front of Tezla. She scrolled through it using ocular commands.

“The request was met with some resistance,” continued Janx. “They made a formal appeal against the procurement of the files. You are required to give them a judgement ruling within thirty days, standard.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Remind-me, twenty-nine days.”

“I have entered the remind-me in your diary.”

Tezla’s ocular implant absorbed the information flashing across the screen in a blur. Employment record, psych evaluation, disciplinary reports, mission reports. There were several hundred pages. Her eyes flickered. “This… this is useless. There’s nothing here. Is this all of it? Are you sure they aren’t hiding something?”

“Some duplicate files were excluded for similarity or irrelevance. Would you like me to include the omitted results.”

“Yes, might as well.” More pages appeared, all of which were irrelevant. “According to this, he’s nobody special, rose through the ranks the usual way — bribes.”

“Internal contributions are not bribes,” said Janx.

“Yep, that’s what I meant, internal contributions. Psych eval is standard stuff for corporate stiffs. Low-level sociopathic inclinations, nothing stands out. I don’t think he’s behind this.”

“Central Authority puts the likelihood of a single entity coordinating this development at six percent.”

“Six? Really? And what about the declaration of war? Wasn’t that sent by a single entity?”

“Likelihood of a miscreant-level entity being responsible is at eighty-four percent.”

“Wow, pretty sure of yourself.”

“You disagree?”

“Yes, I disagree.” Tezla closed the Mayden files. “We’ve got Vendx, us, that guild, whatever it’s called.”

“The Free Volunteers Guild.”

“Yes, them. And the Antecessor sites oxygenating at the same time — how’s that going, by the way?”

“Guardians have been dispatched to investigate.”

“Lucky them. I don’t know why this is all happening but I can guarantee you there’s somebody behind it, pulling the strings. Not everything happens at the same time without careful coordination.”

“Statistically, the probability is over three percent.”

“This is why you need people like me.”

“The Central Authority recognises Guardian Tezla’s important contribution to our mandate.”

“Thanks,” said Tezla. “But this person, this entity, isn’t a statistic. They’re a menace. You have to find them with a stick, preferably a red-hot poker.”

“I have checked the armoury. Red-hot poker is not on the manifest. Would you like me to put in a requisition order?”

“No, I brought my own. I’m going to find this menace, and then I’m going to squeeze the truth out of them. What about Mayden’s orders from Vendx, I don’t see them here.”

“Orders are sealed.”

“Unseal them.”

“Under Treaty 417—”

“Override.”

“I need clearance to—”

“Clearance given.”

“From the Central Authority.”

“Emergency status,” said Tezla. She had long ago realised there was no point trying to streamline the way the CA operated. You had to go through the same series of box ticks for every request. It was quicker to just do it.

“On your screen. An official complaint has been lodged.”

“How long do I have to respond?”

“Thirty days, standard.”

“Fine. Add it to the remind-me.” The screen displayed the orders from Vendx Head Office. “Aha.”

“You have found something?” asked Janx.

“A repair ticket for a faulty simulation machine.”

“And that is noteworthy because…?”

“Because you don’t send two cruisers and a flagship to pick up a broken down sim-U.”

“Your logic is sound,” said the drone. “The machine is no longer under warranty.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” said Tezla. “Give me everything on the guild’s sim-U history.”

“We do not have access to the guild records.”

“Emergency status,” said Tezla.

“The guild is not a cosignatory on the Treaty 400 series. We have no legal recourse in this matter. I can put in a request to the guild’s main office.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll very happily volunteer the information. What about Vendx? They installed the machine, do they have access to the guild’s records?”

“Yes. But it is a questionable approach. May I advise making a request for guidance from the—”

“No, you may not. Give me everything Vendx has on the guild.”

“Vendx Processing Headquarters have installed a firewall. We will need to make a formal request for an injunction to access more information.”

“How long will that take? No, let me guess, thirty days, standard.”

“Correct.”

“Forget it. Withdraw the request. Go directly through the ship’s computers. The Motherboard will hold localised files, I’m guessing.”

“Aha,” said the drone, mimicking Tezla. Mocking her, it could be said.

“What?”

“The ship’s systems have been compromised. There are seventeen thousand requests logged in the execution queue. The central processor is in reboot paralysis.”

“It’s been stunlocked. Still think there isn’t a deeper purpose behind this?”

“Reevaluation in progress.”

“Don’t bother. Is it a virus?”

“Antiviral processes are active and show no sign of infection.”

“Which antivirus programme are they using?” asked Tezla. “Not their own pre-installed one, I hope. That would explain everything.”

“The Vendx Regulation 3.2V has been certified as a—”

“Yes, yes, I know, I know. It was a joke.”

“I see,” said Janx. Tezla doubted it.

“What software are they running.”

“Grandma,” said Janx.

“Sorry?”

“That is the identification I received. Grandma.”

“I’ve never heard of it. Can you do a check?”

“No such software is registered. It isn’t certified. It looks like a bespoke code.”

“You think those cheap bastards would pay to have a specialised… wait, let me see. Bring it up here.”

Tezla looked at the code streaming across her screen. “Amazing…” she muttered to herself. Someone had replaced the anti-virus software with a virus. The cheek of it. No, not a virus. Something more banal than that. A memory bank of some kind, filling every available byte of the ship’s memory, taking up every process.

But it wasn’t just the scale of it, it was also remarkably sophisticated, performing millions of actions in an almost mesmerising dance of interweaving executables. No sooner had one process finished than another request was made before the host system could regain control.

“I can intercept the software’s core prog—”

“No!” said Tezla. The last thing she needed was to let that thing onto her ship. “Just keep an eye on it. Let’s see where it’s coming from. And get Mayden back on the line. He’s got some explaining to do. In the meantime, let’s give whoever’s behind this something to keep them busy.”

She removed the clutter from the screen and initiated a weapon’s check.

“We do not have authorisation to open fire,” said Janx, sounding a little concerned.

“Emergence status.”

“We aren’t under attack.”

“We will be in a minute if I have anything to do with it. Are we hardwired to the Motherboard’s hull?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got Mayden back?”

“They’ve put me on hold,” said Janx.

“Hmm. I had my suspicions about him but now I’m just annoyed. Flood the Motherboard’s internal systems with noise. All signals terminated. Let’s hear her death scream.”

“That will cause a major incident,” said Janx.

“I’m counting on it.”

“The simulation machines will get kicked. They are currently in use.”

“Not for much longer. Do it.” They might have been able to hoodwink Vendx, but the Central Authority was not so easily fooled. Time to flush the little buggers out.

“I am required to advise you that such a course of action—”

“Emergency. Status.”

“Very well, Guardian. Please brace yourself.”

The ship shook as a pulse of energy hit the Motherboard. The huge vessel seemed to shiver for a moment.

“Is it done?” asked Tezla. There was no reply. “Janx?”

“46,656 drones have been neutralised over Fraiche City,” said Janx.

“What? By whom?”

“By us.”

“I told you to hit the ship,” said Tezla.

“We did. It was diverted.”

“That’s impossible,” said Tezla.

“Statistically,” said Janx, “it is only very, very unlikely.”

Chapter 455

Who walks around with a grenade in their pocket? I mean, come on. Sure, a rape whistle isn’t going to do a lot, maybe announce half-time so players can switch ends, but upgrade to pepper spray, invest in a taser.

A grenade is a weapon of spite. Kill your enemy, kill yourself, blow the glass out of all the windows and create a terrible draft for people who have to work there. Does everyone have to pay for your pain?

Where does a girl even get hold of a grenade? Do Prime members get access to Amazon Armoury? You go away for a few years and the internet makes everything about that exclusive membership. It’s all free, but if you want to get into the VIP areas, that’s going to cost you.

Lillian tossed the grenade. Jack and the boys went from standing proud, chests out and a look of ‘You shall not pass’ in their eyes, to crouching with legs primed to leap out of the way, a look of ‘Oh, fuck,” all over their faces.

Problem was, it was quite a narrow platform we were on. If they jumped to the side, they’d fall off and go plummetting to their deaths. Their only real option was to go back the way they’d come, which would present very bad optics. It’s all about how you look on social media these days.

The grenade bounced and rolled towards them. It was an odd-looking thing, not the classic pineapple-shaped object I was familiar with from Call of Duty, it was more round and black.

“It’s a fake,” shouted one of the men. I would expect them to know more about it than me so I was willing to believe him. 

The grenade exploded with a loud bang, but instead of death and shrapnel, thick smoke poured out.

“Smoke bomb,” shouted someone from inside the fog of war. There’s always one person who has to say the obvious thing out loud, just to feel like they have a purpose in the group. 

It was an interesting weapon to carry around. Did Lillian have a whole arsenal of specialised items in her inventory? As an RPG player, I recognised the value of picking up every single fucking object you come across, just in case it comes in handy at some point, but Lillian appeared to be carrying this idea over into real life. 

“Follow me,” said Lillian.

We still had to get to the exit which was past the trained thugs with the weapons. The smoke made it impossible to see anything but that worked both ways. 

“How are you going to get through them?” I asked

“I’m psychic,” she said and grabbed my hand. “Don’t let go and you’ll be fine.”

Call me a cynic, but I don’t think relying on people who claim to be reliable has ever worked out for anyone. People quickly figure out they can get their own way if they just make out they know what they’re doing, and deal with the consequences if they fail. Who knows, you might end up getting everyone killed and have no one to apologise to (and no one left to report your incompetence).

She didn’t wait for me to agree to her terms and ran into the smoke. 

Inside the blanket of cloud, there was the sound of coughing and shouting. No one was rushing around (apart from us) probably because they didn’t want to risk falling off the edge. 

Lillian swerved left and right, a fierce grip on my hand. If this had been an anime, this would be the lewd part with pixelation to protect the innocence of the young and the incel. If she didn’t let go soon, she might even get pregnant.

Somehow, she managed to navigate a path through everyone without bumping into any of them. We burst out of the smoke into a curved corridor walled on one side by tinted glass that looked out onto the roofs of buildings. We were on the outside of the building which was a thin shell around the empty middle. 

Lillian let go of my sweaty hand and pointed down the corridor. “This way, I think.”

There was no way to know what was around the bend, but she was psychic, so she had the advantage over me. 

The smoke would clear eventually and they would come after us. I wasn’t sure what I’d do then, but it made sense to keep moving. She was already running so I followed. It wasn’t like I had many other choices.

Lillian ran like a girl, arms swinging to the sides and high heel shoes clip-clopping on the metal floor. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with running like a girl, I’m just painting a picture. She coughed and flailed and ran like a spaz.

There was a smell of smoke clinging to me, clawing at the back of my throat, but I wasn’t too badly affected. I’d expected the smoke to make my eyes water and Hong Kong police to come looming out of the mist with batons, but no eye-watering and no Chinese wankers with inferiority complexes.

It occurred to me that maybe I’d phased out when the grenade went off and it passed through me, but I hadn’t felt anything change. Then again, I hadn’t felt anything in a long time, so maybe I was permanently phased and only occasionally became solid. 

“Up here,” said Lillian. There was a ladder running up the wall. It came up through a hole in the floor and disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. It was made of metal and was bolted to the wall.

Lillian was already climbing. There was a distant clang of running feet so the pursuit had probably started. How long before they caught up?

I began the climb after Lillian. Looking up gave me peek up her skirt, which felt wrong and what kind of goth wears tartan knickers? Looking down made me feel a bit dizzy as I could see the ladder rungs disappear into infinity.

It’s very tiring climbing a metal ladder and it hurts your fingers. I realise that’s a feeble complaint, but those are the complaints I excel at. 

“Don’t look up my skirt,” said Lillian after about thirty seconds of climbing.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, too exhausted to tilt my head in her direction. “Where did you get the smoke grenade from?”

“Etsy,” she said. I think she was joking, but who knows? “And you’re welcome.”

“It was very convenient and worked out surprisingly well,” I said between gasping breaths. “Which probably means you planned it with Orion and his boys and this is all an elaborate trap.”

“I wouldn’t go to this stupid an extreme if I wanted to trap you,” she said. “It’s too tiring.”

It was not an unreasonable point she was making. 

We kept going up, breathlessness providing a lack of conversation. Every time I looked down, I saw no one. That didn’t mean they weren’t coming after us, just that they knew a shortcut. There were bound to be security cameras all over this place. All I could do was put my trust in Lillian and her psychic powers. It was not something I was comfortable with.

The ladder ended in a hole in the floor of a small, dark room with shelves and boxes. Lillian was crouching by the door as I emerged. I sat down on the edge of the hole, panting. 

“It’s locked,” whispered Lillian.

“Don’t you have a key?” 

She looked at me like I was an idiot, which was subtly different from how she looked at me before (like I was going to get her killed by being an idiot).

“No. I don’t even know where we are.”

“But you’re psychic,” I reminded her. 

“It doesn’t work like that.” Her tone suggested she was losing her patience. Trust me, it was a tone I was very familiar with. “We have to be quick. You need to talk to Jenny.”

“Okay, let me see,” I remained crouched and waddled over to the door. There was no handle and no keyhole. I gave it a push. “It’s locked.”

She gave me the ‘duh’ eyes. Very childish.

“Can’t you use your magical powers to open it?” she said in a mocking tone. 

It was certainly something I could try, the question was should I? Perhaps this was another part of the elaborate ruse. Make me use my power on a seemingly ordinary door, but no, it was all a Mission Impossible-style fake-out where I wasn’t in a submarine at all, it was a trick to make me reveal the name of the Russian spy in the Pentagon (would be a very long list of names if they tried that scheme today). 

This door could be the door to Flatland and me opening it could mean the end of Narnia, Book Eight: Susan’s Revenge. 

“What? It’s just a door,” said Lillian. 

“People have tried to trick me before, you know.”

“That’s not my fault,” said Lillian. “I’m sorry if you’ve been betrayed by people, but I can’t change the past.”

“No, but you can fuck up the future.”

“You have a lot of unresolved baggage you should deal with,” she said. “See a professional and get help.” It was sage advice.

“And tell them what? That I can do magic?”

“If you can do some to prove it, then yes.”

Bickering over nothing, just like old times. 

I put my hand on the door and tried to think myself into the right state of mind to make my body change states. If nothing else, I could use this to get some practice in. There was no point having a superpower if you never learn to control it properly, and high-stress situations were the best time to push yourself. 

What I was actually doing was crouching in a darkened closet, my palm pressed against a locked door with my eyes closed. I felt stupid. I probably looked stupid, too. The whole thing was just embarrassing.

I put both hands on the door and pushed hard and fell through the door, ending up on the floor. I was out and in a dimly lit room, behind some kind of partition. The door was still closed behind me with Lillian on the other side. Leave her there and go do my own thing? It was tempting, but she was the only one who knew where her office was and there was no other plan to work with.

The doorknob on this side had a red light on it. I tried turning it but nothing happened. 

I took a breath and put my hand into the door. It was easier this time, slid right in. I aimed it next to the door handle and pulled the door open, stifling the scream in my throat.

By putting my hand where the bolt from the lock entered the wall, I forced my flesh between the two. The door opened with the lock sheared off and inserted itself in my hand. I fell over, shaking my hand like it was on fire, which was how it felt. A lump of metal flew out and skidded along the floor.

My hand looked more or less the same, a bit red, but it hurt something fierce. I tried healing it but I was spent. I’d just have to suffer. Story of my life.

Lillian came out on crawling on her knees. “What are you doing? This is no time for a rest.”

I was pretty exhausted but I blew on my hand and got on my knees. “Which way?”

“I’m not sure. You check that side.”

We both crawled to opposite ends of the partition and looked out. It was the room with the psychics and big window we’d been in before. The lights had been dimmed and the window was closed. There were some technicians in white coats up on the platform, illuminated by the lights of their RGB keyboards (fucking nerds). 

The pods containing the psychics filled the lower floor and provided good cover. 

“This way,” whispered Lillian as she began crawling on all fours. She seemed to know the way so I followed.

“Aren’t there security cameras?” I hissed at her backside.

“No. The psychics see everything. But I’m blocking them so they don’t know about us being here.”

No one noticed us as we weaved our way across the floor so I guess she was right. We avoided wandering nerds (they’re everywhere these days) and snuck around in the shadows until we reached a door on the other side and quickly went through, which was painful on the knees.

This door had a keypad on it and Lillian knew the code which she punched in by sticking up one hand as high as she could while being on her knees. 

The door clicked open and dived through, hoping the crack of light hadn’t given us away. Still no signs of our pursuers. Very suspicious.

Once through, Lillian stood up. I did likewise. We were in a brightly lit corridor with a coat rack on the wall, full of jackets. Lillian took off hers and hung it up, took out a pair of glasses and put them on, Clark Kenting it. 

“This way.” 

I followed her past some offices with glass doors and people inside at their desks. She waved at a few of them as we passed, all very congenial, workplace buddies. On the opposite side was a long glass wall, through which I could see a lab — test tubes and glass cabinets, things boiling on Bunsen burners and machines flashing numbers. People in white coats were going about their nerdy business. 

We reached the end of the corridor and came out into an open area with a table and kitchenette — small fridge, microwave, poster of Garfield — and a man in a Hazmat suit carrying a potato in large pincers like it was radioactive.

“John,” said Lillian. “New potato working?”

The man peeled off the headgear and revealed a sweaty red face. Steam rose from the collar and the smell wasn’t great. “Yah. Best one yet.” He looked at me.

“New guy,” said Lillian. “I’m showing him around.”

“Great,” said John. “John Grand. Nice to meet you.” He put out a silver glove for me to shake.

I gave him a wave instead, which he copied. 

“Nice potato,” I said. “Very smooth skin.” It was a well-maintained potato, no doubt about it.

“I see you have a good eye,” said John. “Don’t be fooled though. Every potato is its own snowflake. No two are the same.”

I smiled and nodded, edging behind Lillian. I know a latent serial killer when I see one.

“Okay, catch you later,” said Lillian, leading me down another hallway.

“Come find me,” said John. “I’ll show you my collection.” Yeah, of potato skins fashioned into a bodysuit. Hard pass.

We reached a non-glass door at the very end of the hall and Lillian closed the door behind me after we entered. It was a very small office with a desk that took up most of the space and no windows.

“I don’t know how long before they track us down,” she said, “so we’ll have to be quick.” She opened a desk drawer and pulled out a crystal ball.

“Really?”

“Shut up. I need total silence to do this. I’ll be tapping into the psychics’ network. Don’t be alarmed.”

“I’ll try not to panic.” I was pretty sure I could handle whatever she had in mind. I’d been around.

She sat down on the chair behind her desk, the crystal ball held in both hands level with her face. Her eyes went a bit crossed and the ball glowed. All very easy to fake and unconvincing. Then the room shook and the door rattled and bits of polystyrene fell off the ceiling. 

I wasn’t particularly concerned but I had a feeling this might give our location away.

Jenny’s face appeared in the crystal ball. 

“Finally,” she said. “Where are you?”

“I’m in an office with a young woman and a bunch of burly men are about to come in any minute. There’s a camera on my phone, so should be able to get some decent content for my PornHub channel.”

“Don’t say things like that about Lillian,” said Jenny, standing up for her fellow woman.

“Who said she’d be involved?” I said.

Jenny smirked and it was like a kick in my gut. It’s the small things that break your heart, like bullets and broken glass and a girl who’s genuinely pleased to see you. 

“What did you want to tell me?” I asked her. 

“Me? I thought you wanted to tell me something,” said Jenny. “I’ve already told you what I want. I want you to come back.”

I was a little confused. Why had I fought my way to this place if it was just to be told nothing new? I looked over the ball at Lillian. 

“I’m glad you got a chance to speak to her again,” said Lillian. She put down the crystal ball and took something else out of the open drawer. This one looked just like the ones in CoD. 

“You brought me here to blow me up?”

“I’ve seen the future. They need your body to make it happen and I can’t allow it.”

“No!” said Jenny, but when did women ever stick together to the end? Just not in their chemistry.

Lillian pulled the pin on this grenade and everything went bang.

94: Network Connected

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

Ubik was surprised by Fig’s outburst. Normally, Fig was the epitome of cool, calm and collected. Even though he was young, he had always managed to come across as very focused and deliberate in how he conducted himself. It was impressive.

But there was also a degree of masking going on. The kind of cold calculating behind the eyes you only saw from people who had grown up knowing to show fear or weakness was going to lead to problems, so they suppressed it. That didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Ubik’s own background was like that. Not just in how he had presented himself when he was younger, but how everyone around him had acted, too.

You couldn’t afford to let down your guard, or your mask, even once. No one would attack you if they suspected you might have a trump card up your sleeve, it wasn’t worth the risk. But as soon as they realised you didn’t, they’d see it as their best opportunity to take you out of the game. It was basic common sense when you grew up in a highly competitive arena. The slums, outer space, marketing — it was all do or die.

What kind of environment had Fig grown up in? Not a completely unforgiving one if he was willing to allow his true emotions to show. Maybe it wasn’t even a weakness where he came from.

“Where?” said Fig. “Where have you seen this sigil before?”

Ubik looked at the large green symbol hanging in the air. Then he looked around at the large droids standing guard — guarding what? The ship? The sigil? Fig?

And lastly, he turned his attention to the Vendx employee, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.

This wasn’t the scenario Ubik had envisioned when he sent Fig in here, but it was still a workable one. Probably.

“I’m not sure.” The three leaves in a circle did jog a memory in Ubik’s head but he couldn’t place it. “Maybe on the side of a ship… Doesn’t it look familiar to you?”

“Hey,” said PT’s voice from the screen. “Any ideas? Running out of time over here.”

PT, on the other hand, was more than happy to express himself. His approach was the opposite — he was always letting his displeasure be known, whether it be through sarcasm or irritation or telling you to your face. At least he was always that way with Ubik.

The advantage of PT’s approach was that you could never be sure when he was really upset. If you assumed he was out of sorts and off-balance when he wasn’t, he could lull you into a false sense of superiority.

“Can I talk to him?” said Ubik.

The screen was wrapped around a sphere floating above the console Fig was standing next to. The image was curved but somehow managed to look three dimensional. Fig grabbed the ball and turned it. PT’s face took up more of the screen and it was almost like his head was sticking out of the console.

“Hey, how’s it going?” said Ubik.

“Not very well,” said PT. Possibly, this was one of the times when he was genuinely upset. “The Central Authority ship asked us to stand down and you launched an attack on them. I don’t think anyone’s directly attacked a Central Authority ship in over a century. Should be interesting to see how they respond to this historic moment.”

“How did they contact you?” asked Ubik, ignoring the pointed barbs. “Over the comms?”

“No,” said PT. “Some sort of sonic device that puts words into your brain directly and painfully.”

“Ah,” said Ubik. “That’s interesting. Probably means they’re planning to board us.”

“Before or after they blow us into atoms?” said PT.

“They won’t attack the ship,” said Ubik.

“You’re sure about that are you?” said PT. “No, no, don’t answer that. I don’t even know why I asked. Of course you aren’t.”

“Sonic interactions,” said Ubik. “Can’t send that through a vacuum. Has to be a physical connection between their ship and this one. I doubt they’d dock with a ship they planned to blow up.”

There was a pause as this information was digested.

“We’re picking up a communication from the CA vessel,” said another voice.

“Turn it up,” said PT to someone off to the side.

“What do you know about the release of oxygen in Antecessor sites?” said a female voice.

“Nothing,” said Chief Supervisor Mayden’s voice. He sounded frustrated. “I told you, my ship has been hijacked. Aren’t you going to do something about it? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m here to investigate a report of open warfare. Why have you sent these interceptor drones to attack my ship?”

“Would you rather speak to someone from legal?”

“No.”

“What about PR? They could explain—”

“Definitely not. Why have you sent—”

“I didn’t.” Mayden’s voice suddenly went high-pitched. “I’m not insane. I wouldn’t attack an Authority ship. You haven’t destroyed them all have you? They’re very expensive to replace.”

“They have been neutralised,” said the woman. “Why are you on the surface instead of on your ship? I should warn you, your answers are being recorded.”

“Shouldn’t you tell me that before we start talking? I really think I should have legal counsel sitting in on this.”

“So you have something to hide?”

“No.” Mayden voice went up another octave.

“I’ll need to see your logs.”

“Certainly. They’re on my ship. The hijacked one. As soon as you liberate her, you can read all the logs you like.”

“Stand by.”

There was a pause.

“I think she’s going to open fire,” said PT.

“They won’t blame the ship for the drones attacking,” said Ubik. “Vendx has already declared the ship is no longer under their direct control. They may see hostages as expendable assets but the CA won’t. Not until they find out who the hostage-takers are. They’re good at that sort of thing, I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“That’s us,” said PT in a low hiss. “We’re the hostage-takers. You want them to come after us?”

“At least they’ll want to talk first,” said Ubik. “I’ll tell them we’re sorry.”

“You think an apology will work?” PT’s tone was not confident.

“You don’t think so?” said Ubik. “What if I say we’re very sorry.”

“All the drones have been neutralised, whatever that means,” said PT. “We’re next.”

There were whimpering sounds coming from behind PT.

“Not all the drones,” said Ubik. “There’s still the drone net over the city.”

“You control them, too?” said PT, his usual suspicious tone giving way to a hopeful one.

“Me? No. But I have people working on it.”

“Do they know they’re working on it?” PT’s suspicious tone came rushing back in.

“Let’s hope they figured it out the way you did,” said Ubik.

“Figured what out?” said PT. “I still don’t know why you sent me here.”

“Nice, nice,” said Ubik. “You’re right, now that the CA ship is hooked up to the Motherboard they’re probably listening in. Best to make it look like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

PT just stared at him.

“Okay,” said PT after a long pause. “So what do we do now?”

“You’ve got enough people with you, should be fine,” said Ubik.

“Enough people for what?” said PT.

“Who knows?” said Ubik. “We’ll have to wait and see. Hold on, I’ve got to sort out a few things here.” He pushed the screen and PT’s head went spinning away.

Ubik turned back to Fig, who had been listening without interrupting. He was good at that, able to restrain himself from jumping in with questions and suggestions. It was always the chatty ones you had to be wary of. They were the ones closest to breaking point.

“You’re quite friendly with the aliens, aren’t you?” said Ubik, looking the droids over. They had the appearance of an honour guard for Fig at this point. “I thought you’d be more in need of saving.”

“You were hoping my situation was worse?” said Fig, his composure back.

“No, not at all,” said Ubik, careful to keep his voice level. The kid was sharp. “Why would I want that? It’s good, that’s what I meant. You can handle yourself in unexpected situations. We should take care of this and get out of here, what do you think? Go see your old man.”

Fig nodded. “How?”

“Hmm, well,” said Ubik, getting the order right in his head before speaking. “Now that everyone’s linked up, we should speak to the people in charge. Explain this is a giant misunderstanding.”

“We’re linked up?” said Fig. “To whom?”

“To everyone,” said Ubik. “The CA, the Motherboard, Vendx mobile command, the guild down on the surface, we’re on the same network now, through the sim-U, like one of those chat rooms where people from across the quadrant can talk about their hobbies. It’s what people have in common that brings them together.”

“I see,” said Fig. “And what do we all have in common?”

“Lots of things,” said Ubik. “We share an interest in the Antecessors, for a start. That’s always a good ice-breaker. People’s ears perk up whenever you mention anything to do with that. A bit too much, if you ask me, but you can’t really blame them. Instant power at your fingertips with no effort, very tempting.”

Ubik looked around again. There had to be a way to make these droids a bit more interactive.

“Do we just wait now?” said Fig.

“We could, we could,” said Ubik. “Or you could ask the ship what it wants.”

“What do you mean?” said Fig. “Ask this ship?”

“It must have picked you for a reason,” said Ubik. “Maybe it’s something really simple.”

“I never thought to just… ask,” said Fig. “It’s not very easy communicating with a civilisation that’s millennia old. No one’s managed it so far.”

“You seem to have a unique bond with it now, though,” said Ubik. “It should be fine. I think everything’s ready, just in case it goes horribly, horribly wrong.” Ubik couldn’t help but grin at Fig’s concerned face. “We even have the Central Authority here to call in the cavalry. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Fig slowly turned around to face the sigil. It hung in ominous silence.

“Um… is there anything you want?” said Fig. Nothing happened. “What do you want?” He spoke more slowly this time, but still nothing. “I don’t think we speak the same—”

The sigil flickered. Then parts of it turned white, making the partial outline look like the petals were pointing at each other, indicating a circular motion.

“Hey, I remember now,” said Ubik. “I’ve seen this back in the junkyard. It’s from before we had the whole ‘use it then lose it’ mode of manufacture, when they would reuse stuff to make it new again. It means—”

“Resurrection,” said Fig.

“I was gonna say recycle, but sure, resurrection,” said Ubik. “I wonder what they want to resurrect.”

Chapter 454

Orion kept pulling the trigger on his empty dart gun. The clicking was just about audible over the distant sounds of screaming and shouting, the occasional explosion and something that sounded like a firework display. We were far enough above it for it to be a concern but not to a trauma-inducing level.

The floor of the airship was opaque but I could make out the blooms of red-yellow clouds. I could also make out Lillian, who was lying where I’d tripped her. She had thought she was going to die today, apparently while saving my life. It’s very overrated, saving people. It never turns out the way it does in movies. No medal, no prize of any kind. The whole thing is just very disappointing.

“How did you do that?” she said in awe of my abilities, cunningly hidden behind a sneer of disgust.

“It’s complicated,” I said. By which I meant, beats me.

I had saved myself — no medal for that, either — by grabbing onto the light they were using to pin me in place. I couldn’t tell you how the technology worked (not surprising since I couldn’t tell you how any technology worked) but I had felt the pressure of the light beam on me — a solid, substantial pressure.

The rest was more or less instinctive. If I could feel it, it could feel me. And what do you do when someone starts firing darts at you and a solid object is close at hand? I didn’t have to think about it, I just grabbed the light and used it as a shield. A very normal reaction.

Less normal was the light being able to shield me, but it wasn’t like my abilities ever made sense. I didn’t even have to activate anything. This heavy light was apparently made especially for me no matter what state I was in, but that also meant that I could interact with it.

Whoever came up with it — a disgraced nuclear scientist who looked like Doc Brown from Back to the Future, I was hoping — clearly knew a thing or two about how my abilities worked. It would be good to track him down and hear his thoughts on the matter, the root of magic and the role of science. Perhaps we could put out a joint paper in New Scientist which would get picked up by Morning TV shows and misrepresented to the public.

“A new study suggests magic exists. Scientists have discovered a new force in the universe that could revolutionise the way we live, and are currently working on how to turn into a diet pill for fat people with money.”

Whoever this genius was, he hadn’t taken into account the First Law of Colin-Fu: Every action has an equally endless ability to get right on my tits.

Once I had hold of the light, not only did it prevent me getting darted, its other properties quickly became apparent. It didn’t obey the old Newtonian laws, for a start. It had much more in common with the vines and threads I was familiar with from the adjacent world, and a simple pull was enough to bring the house down, or a giant lamp in this case

Light was wave and particle, and now it was solid and immaterial. I could hold it and attach things to it, but it also passed through things. And a pull on one end instantly created a pull on the other.

I wasn’t too concerned about what would have happened if the light-shield hadn’t worked. At this point, I was so OP, I had no reason to fear anyone.

It was strange going from being a weak little git who had to run from everything, to someone who wasn’t afraid of being shot by genetically-altering poison. Oh, how the turntables.

It wasn’t all peaches and cream, though. I might have been able to avoid getting hurt, but that didn’t mean I could do what I wanted. Sure, walking away from trouble was great, but if I wanted to go towards trouble to sort something out, then I only had my usual arsenal of misguided perceptions and poorly conceived ideas to rely on.

Unfortunately, walking away wasn’t an option. Jenny would be pissed at me, and when someone who has accepted all your many, many flaws decides you’ve disappointed her, that shit cuts deep.

I don’t like people, I don’t need people, I don’t enjoy being around people. And yet, sometimes they need me. And the truth is, it’s kind of addictive.

That thrill of seeing the look in a person’s eyes when they realise they couldn’t have managed without you because you’re strictly better than them, it’s like crack, only not invented by the CIA to fund an illegal war in Central America.

“Don’t come any closer,” said Orion.

I hadn’t been planning to but now it would look like I was doing what he told me. These are the trials even Hercules would have struggled with.

“It’s getting to the point,” I said, “where the only way to make you stop with this shit is to kill you. What the fuck is wrong with you people? Can’t you ever just take no for an answer? Were your parents really this shit at teaching you basic manners?”

I find being extremely condescending to people older than me is an excellent way to snap them out of whatever fake attitude they’re trying to play up. Just because I didn’t have any offensive powers, didn’t mean I couldn’t cause offence.

“This is too important,” said Orion, dropping the gun and holding up his hands to show he meant no harm. Sure. Very convincing. “I’m very sorry. Very sorry, indeed.” He reached into his jacket.

At this point, I had a choice to make. Act like I was invincible and let him take out another gun or a knife, maybe a South American bolas, and let him try his luck. Or, I could attack!

Problem with that line of thinking was that my attack options were very limited. Even though I was younger, he was taller and stronger than me. Lillian was back on her feet, so she might try to shield me again. I was in the mood to let her this time.

But you can’t let people keep on having a go until they manage to be successful and kill you. It’s not a winning strategy.

I rushed forward and hit Orion in the stomach with my shoulder. I’d been aiming for his face with my fist, so that should give you some indication of my level of expertise when it comes to the old fisticuffs.

Orion was winded and slumped to the floor. I landed on my knees and quickly rifled through his jacket Smeagol-style.

“What’s it got in its pockets?”

What he had was a cheque, written out to me. For one billion dollars. It just looked weird and fake. This was their trump card? More money?”

I threw it away. I know, very edgy of me, but it really didn’t tempt me. Once you got over a certain amount, you needed to be a certain kind of person to keep wanting more.

“Who gives a shit about money, Orion? What do you think’s so great about having even more that you already have, when you already have all the money in the world? I really don’t get it. You have more than you can spend and all you do is complain about how unfair the top-end tax rates are — taxes none of you even fucking pay with your secret off-shore accounts and Panamanian accountants. You’re all insane.”

I let go of him and got to my feet. I need to work on some more offensive capabilities, not everyone would go down as easily as Old Man Orion. The sword lessons I’d taken weren’t going to do me much good here. But then, it’s a slippery slope, being able to force people to do what you want.

It doesn’t help that there are a bunch of them who react by becoming completely servile when faced with someone holding a lot of power. There are always people willing to bend the knee (and then suck the dick), if they think it will save them from being on the losing side. Orion was just doing his master’s bidding.

It’s pathetic. Someone told them they were worthless, and they leaned into it. They looked in the mirror and thought, yeah, I can’t compete with what’s out there, might as well own it.

Every giant dickhead needs a crowd of sad losers to prop them up. They’re the real problem. The guy at the top, he’s just one guy. Can’t do shit. Not even that brilliant. For every guy who created the iPhone, there’s his true self who thought he could cure cancer with acupuncture and herbs. Fucking idiot. And still, they buy that shit in droves.

Power achieves nothing of real value because a good sword still needs a good swordsman. And there aren’t any of them left. I mean, there’s fencing, of course, which is possibly the least interesting Olympic sport ever. Let’s take the art of dancing death, and see who can poke the other person first. One-two-three-go.

“How do we go back down?” I said. The controls didn’t have any handy labels under them.

“You can’t escape,” said Orion from the floor. “There’s no way out of here.”

The lever on the console moved in two directions. Orion had pushed it up and the ship had risen. If I pushed it down, logic dictated it would go back down. I grabbed the lever.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” said Lillian, with a nervous edge to her voice. It was almost like someone had told her to watch out for my penchant for fucking things up.

“Nope, no idea.” I pulled down and the ship began to go up, but much faster this time.

How can up go up and down also go up? I felt what happened next wasn’t my fault, M’lud.

The ship was rising so fast it made your stomach turn inside out, like when you’re on a fairground ride. Then we hit something.

I can’t say for sure what it was, but judging by the debris that fell past the window, it was one of the ships above us. I’d been in their secret lair for ten minutes and I’d already destroyed two of their precious airships of the future. Pretty good going.

Our ship shook and tilted to a severe angle, so everything not nailed down slid towards the back. Various parts of the hull were open and it would be easy to fall out. The smooth, sleek fibreglass interior didn’t help. If I really was invincible and protected from death, then now was going to be an excellent time to prove it.

The ship was still moving up, banging against things as it went, which helped knock it back into a horizontal position. As the angle of slope decreased I was able to move towards the side nearest the wall of the building we were in. If they had been able to shine a light on me from above, it stood to reason that there would be a platform or structure the lamp had been fixed to.

What I saw once I got over there was a series of gangways, jutting out of the wall and leading to doorways into the walls of the building. They were zooming past like I was in a glass elevator on the way to claim my very own chocolate factory.

Then we hit something that stopped the ship on its upward trajectory and I decided it was now or never. I got up and ran towards the opening and jumped.

It wasn’t a big jump, there was a platform right below me, but it was still quite a surprising thing for me to do, I’ll admit. I just had the feeling I was going to make it and if I was wrong, so be it.

I landed on the platform and immediately lost my footing and fell over, scraping my knee. That was going to be a nasty scab. I pulled something in the back of my thigh at the same time which made me squeal. The scores from the Russian judge weren’t going to be good.

When I turned around, I saw the chaos I’d caused. There were at least half a dozen incomplete airships stuck together, parts of one sticking inside parts of another. There was also a great deal of smoke and lots of yelling and screaming. There had been people working on the ships, some of whom must have fallen out. I don’t think I can be blamed for that, either.

Lillian was standing in the opening I’d just jumped out of. The ship was on the move again, slowly pushing its way through its sister vessels.

“I can’t make it,” she shouted.

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

She looked annoyed. “It’s too far.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll die if I stay here.”

“Probably.”

“What should I do?” It felt like she wanted me to do something. Whoever had warned her about me hadn’t done a very good job.

“You did say this is the day you die. I guess you were right.” Everyone likes to be complimented on a job well done, right?

She was getting more and more annoyed, but smaller and smaller at the same time, so it balanced out.

Then she jumped. If she was going to jump anyway, might as well have not wasted time whining and done it at the start.

“Catch me,” she called as she came down at terminal velocity,

“No thanks,” I said as she hit the gangway. She landed hard and her ankles buckled. It looked painful.

“Fuck,” she screamed, stretching it out. She lay there in a crumpled heap.

You had to hand it to her, she had balls. Not that I would tell her that.

“You are one dumb bitch,” I said. “Makes me feel homesick.”

I bent down and grabbed her knees. She upgraded her swearing to the premium package.

Normally, when a badly injured girl is having her knees pulled apart, there are secret service agents watching the exits so no one comes in but in this case, I wasn’t campaigning for re-election and she wasn’t going to have to give testimony for Congress to ignore.

“Ah, ah, ahhh…. ahhh?” She sat up and stared at me. “What did you do?”

“I healed you,” I said, letting go of her and standing up. “You’re welcome.”

She got to her feet, a little wobbly, but otherwise fine. Still batshit crazy, but nothing I could do about that. I did magic, not miracles.

One of the airships above us burst into flames and the smell of burning plastic filled my nostrils. Streaks of molten plastic on fire dripped down on to whoever was still down below.

“So, how do we get to your office from here?” I asked.

“How would I know?” said Lillian.

“Let’s have a look over here, then.” I turned around and headed towards the doorway, just as Jack appeared in it, surrounded by his boys. They had apparently been keeping track of me and had rushed up to help. Nice of them.

“I’ll take care of this,” said Lillian, which was not what I was expecting her to say. She took something out of her pocket.

“Is that a... grenade?” I asked her.

She pulled the pin and said, “I hope you’ve still got some healing left in you.”