V. Moody's Blog, page 32

93: Crisis Management

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

Figaro had been trained to deal with difficult circumstances. Experts in their fields had put him through rigorous and unrelenting exercises to prepare him for any eventuality.

He had been taught breathing exercises that would keep him calm in the most trying situations and also keep him alive when there was little to no oxygen available.

Underwater, outer space, caverns underground — there was an expectation that he would find himself in these sorts of places and that things would, at some point, go wrong.

He had been trained not to panic when that happened.

Controlled breaths, a calm disposition, an acceptance of death as not the worst outcome.

Once he was in control of himself and able to think clearly, the knowledge ingrained in him since childhood would allow him to deal with the specific problem he faced. That was the theory.

Time and again he had been put into the worst possible situations, and left to disentangle himself from the ensuing complications.

It had been done inside a sim-U, but it had felt completely real. He had always succeeded in getting himself out.

Figaro was confident that if he found himself in such a position in real life, he would be able to acquit himself in a reasonable manner. He was less confident he would be able to do so when faced with all of his worst-case scenarios at the same time.

Ironically, the combination of worst-case scenarios he was currently dealing with were happening to him while he was inside a sim-U, but they were very, very real — inside and out.

An attack on a Central Authority vessel was complete suicide. Their technology was far in advance of anything owned or operated by anyone else. They had accrued the most sophisticated Antecessor tech in all four quadrants, and they had the best understanding of how to use it. A drone assault was not going to do much more than piss them off.

“Can you stop them?” said Figaro. There was little he could do from inside a sim-U, even this one.

There was some chatter as questions were asked between the people on Figaro’s screen, everyone jabbering at the same time.

“No,” said PT, cutting through the cacophony. He, at least, could be counted on to identify a solution if someone presented one, and he had quickly come to the conclusion no one in the room was going to. “What about you? Can you do anything?”

Figaro had already come to his own conclusion that he couldn’t, but he still gave it another consideration.

This was a very different simulation experience to what he was used to — to what anyone was used to — so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that he might be able to affect the outside world in some way.

He took a deep breath of the fetid air he was now surrounded by — it smelled exactly like the air inside the suits of the dead Vendx team members — and looked at the droids around him. They had stopped moving, other than some gentle swaying of their limbs, once the ship had changed the atmosphere to a breathable one.

They hadn’t tried to interfere with Figaro or his one surviving companion. Destri was still unconscious but breathing normally. The connection to the Vendx ship had come as something of a surprise but by now Figaro had given up trying to understand how any of this was possible.

His father had given him a broad idea of how the simulation machines worked, and an awareness of the real universe was not part of their design. In fact, it was a necessary omission to their programming in order to make simulated objects behave exactly like their counterparts. As far as the Origin was aware, it was the original ship in its original universe. Although, clearly it had figured out that was not the case.

Why had it wanted to connect him to the outside world? Figaro doubted it was for his benefit. But what could the ship gain from access to the physical world?

“I can’t think of anything to stop the drones,” said Figaro, his attempt at scanning his mind for any shred of relevant knowledge coming to naught. He could, at a push, repair a faulty ship drive, if the problem was limited to the outer casing, but the inner workings of drones were not something he was very familiar with. “If Ubik is behind this, I expect he’s already found a way to lock out anyone from Vendx, so we’re unlikely to—”

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Destri had suddenly come round and was reacting wildly to the sight of the large droids hovering before him. Even when not attacking, they projected an air of irrefutable menace.

Destri suddenly realised he was no longer wearing a helmet and began to panic, grabbing at his throat and gasping. There was plenty of air to breathe, but Destri’s panic was making him hyperventilate and putting him in danger of passing out. It might have been the best thing for him.

But Destri was evidently planning on going out with a bang. He raised his hands, his face bright red from the rapid, squealing breaths he was forcing into his airway, and prepared to fire off another EMP blast.

Figaro didn’t know what that would do — possibly end the simulation and return them all to their bodies — but he wasn’t willing to find out. He grabbed Destri’s left hand and twisted it down and behind his back, pinching the wrist hard through the man’s suit.

Figaro’s father had not only taught him how to survive against the elements and the environment, he also had Figaro trained in how to survive against other people, including organics.

Ramon Ollo himself was the most potent anti-organic weapon alive, his ability negating that of other organics, but he still invested time and research into being able to restrain an organic augmentation, and his son had been taught every known technique.

Figaro bent the wrist back and stopped the blood flow. Destri still had another hand free, which was pointing at one of the droids. The droid hadn’t moved, other than a slight bobbing motion. Another anomaly that made no sense. Why had the whole ship decided to open a channel and then leave everything to him?

Destri was battling against confusion, the pain in his left wrist, and his inability to accept that he could breathe inside an Antecessor craft keeping him from being able to think clearly. It gave Figaro enough time to swing Destri around and grab his other hand.

With both hands pinned behind his back, Destri stopped struggling.

“What… what…” He was still gasping for air. “What are you… I can take them out.”

“This is a simulation,” said Figaro, forcing himself to sound relaxed and reassuring. Even though he was restraining the man, an unelevated tone would keep him from thrashing around. A calm human voice was still preferable to alien monsters. “They can’t hurt you. We’re fine.”

The tension in the arms eased and Figaro adjusted his grip to cut off less of the blood. An EMP strike right now would only make things more chaotic and that was the last thing he needed.

“Hey, what’s going on?” said a chirpy voice from behind him.

Figaro spun around, almost losing hold of Destri. Ubik was standing in front of him — in normal clothes and without a helmet. He looked completely out of place.

“How come you guys can breathe in here?” Ubik asked, a look of gleeful curiosity on his face.

Figaro was a little thrown by the question. “The same way you can.” It made no sense for Ubik to come here without a spacesuit if he wasn’t expecting to be able to breathe. Which raised another questions. “How did you get here?”

“The same way you did,” said Ubik. He seemed completely unfazed by the droids. “What’s that thing?” he said, pointing at the large sigil hovering in the air. “Does it have a dimmer switch? It’s a bit on the bright side, isn’t it? Didn’t realise Antecessors were so into kitsch furnishings.”

Figaro pulled down on Destri’s right arm, making him grunt with pain and lean to the side to lessen the strain on his joints, allowing Figaro to see the droids. They weren’t reacting to Ubik at all.

“How did you get past the defences?” said Figaro.

“Walked,” said Ubik. He was walking right now, strolling in fact.

Something wasn’t right here. Something didn’t fit with what it was like to be inside a sim-U. “You aren’t here,” said Figaro.

“That’s kind of dismissive of you,” said Ubik, looking around like a tourist in a museum. “Hey, droids, come at me!” He waved his arms, mimicking the swaying tentacles. “All at once, come on.”

“Stop that,” said Destri, reacting with greater fear to Ubik than he had to the droids. “Is he crazy?”

“No,” said Figaro. “He isn’t part of this simulation. He’s an observer. I didn’t think it was possible, just theoretical.”

“Theoretically anything is possible,” said Ubik, passing his hand through the nearest droid. “You just need the right theory.” His hand disappeared into the body and came out the other side. The droids didn’t react. “You catch on quick, Fig. The old man would be proud, I’m sure. I’m being piped in from Motherboard. Can’t integrate me into the programme, but I can get in on a visitor’s pass. Hello, you must work for Vendx.”

He waved at Destri, who looked utterly confused. “You can do that?”

“Sure,” said Ubik. “Just need to tweak a few knobs.”

“What’s going on up there?” said PT’s voice. “Have you thought of anything? The CA ship’s destroyed most of the drones and I think we’re next.”

The surprise of seeing Ubik had momentarily dislodged the other unfortunate event currently taking place from Figaro’s mind. No one had trained him how to remain focused in an Ubik-level disaster.

“Why the hell did you launch an attack on a Central Authority ship?” Figaro was hoping against hope that there would be a brilliant if unconventional explanation.

“There’s a Central Authority ship here?” said Ubik. “Wow. I wonder what they fly. Got to be something pretty impressive, huh?”

“Why did you attack them?” Figaro’s ability to modulate his tone and breathing had all but deserted him. In front of Ubik’s breezy indifference, it was all he could do to not become hysterical.

“Me?” said Ubik. “I would never attack someone unprovoked. I’m basically a pacifist.”

Figaro took a slow breath, clearing his mind and focusing on remaining present. It would be easy to lose it right now. Very easy.

“I did leave them on perimeter watch. The drones must have made an independent tactical decision. Self-defence — it’s a basic human right.”

“No,” said Figaro, letting out his breath in a controlled burst, “it isn’t.”

“Isn’t it?” said Ubik. “Since when?”

“About three hundred and fifty-two years,” said Figaro.

“That doesn’t seem right,” said Ubik. “I’m surprised people agreed to it.”

“They didn’t,” said Figaro. “Millions died. Call them off.”

“I can’t,” said Ubik. “Not from in here. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure they’ll understand once we explain it was just a misunderstanding. The Central Authority are all about getting the full story first before they make a judgement, right? Hey, you know what? I feel like I’ve seen this somewhere before.” Ubik was looking at the sigil.

“Ubik, they’re all going to die if you don’t — wait, what?”

92: Joining Forces

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain .

VGV Motherboard (orbit).

Simulation Room 3A.

 

“It looks like you’re not alone,” said Point-Two.

“I’m not,” said Fig. Black arms snaked around behind him on the screen.

“But… you’re okay?” Point-Two was being guarded in his questioning, uncertain of the exact situation. He didn’t want to say something that could compromise Fig.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking. You don’t appear to be alone either.” Fig was being equally circumspect. The two of them were attempting to ascertain how much trouble the other was in without making it worse.

Point-Two glanced behind him where the thirty or so members of the Motherboard crew had gathered to watch from a distance. They mostly looked confused and nervous. Whether that was due to the strange boy on the screen, bathed in green light with tentacles writhing menacingly on either side of him, or because they didn’t know what their employment status was going to be after this was over, it was hard to tell.

“I’m on the Vendx ship,” said Point-Two, turning back to Fig on the screen. “You’re on the Origin?”

“Yes. And… Ubik?” asked Fig, letting the name sneak out of his mouth in case saying it too loudly might set off alarms.

“He’s… around here somewhere,” said Point-Two. “What are those things? Are you sure they aren’t dangerous?” The black tentacles hadn’t stopped moving, but he couldn’t see what they were attached to.

“Yes,” said Fig. “For the time being. They’re Antecessor droids.”

“You’re their prisoner?” said Point-Two.

“Not exactly. I’m not sure, actually. They don’t seem hostile, currently.”

“Is that normal?”

“No,” said the technician next to him, breaking into the conversation. “It is not. Why aren’t you wearing your helmet? What’s going on? Is this some sort of prank?” The strangeness of the situation and his professional interest in such matters had overridden his fear of the intruder. Now he was insisting on answers and investigating what, to him, appeared to be impossible circumstances.

Point-Two considered slamming the man’s face into the console. Not out of malice — the question was a perfectly reasonable one and Point-Two wouldn’t mind hearing the answer — but to make sure nobody started to get any ideas about who was in charge.

Once they realised they were no longer in immediate danger, it would only take a few of the people here to overpower him. It was best to keep them off-balance. Which, Point-Two realised, was straight out of the Ubik playbook, which was not a warming thought.

There was an alternative, though. He could keep everyone’s mind off rushing him by keeping it on the big screen.

“Yeah,” said Point-Two, “shouldn’t you be suffocating to death right now?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. The air’s breathable. The ship, it changed the atmosphere so we could breathe. And then it tried to contact you through the connection you were trying to make. It oscillated the optical input drive to produce a sonic pulse. Did you hear it knocking?”

The ‘knocking’ had sounded more like the ship falling apart.

“That’s impossible,” said the technician. “You’re in a simulation. You can’t impact the optical drive from in there.” He seemed to be in charge, the other techs were staying by their controls, ready to push buttons and turn dials. They looked like they were expecting the whole thing to go into meltdown at any moment. “And you can’t be breathing oxygen, it just isn’t… it’s never… it can’t be…” He was flustered and unable to get his words out, which was good. Everyone else seemed to be taking the lead from him, looking at each other with baffled expressions.

“I assure you it is possible,” said Fig in an even and measured voice. “You’re the head technician on the Motherboard?”

“Assistant Chief Simulation Engineer Genjin, second grade, first grade pending,” said the man proudly, especially the pending part. “I’ve been working in this field for seventeen years, and I’ve never heard of anything remotely like what you’re suggesting. Not even in any of the research journals. And you’re suggesting it’s possible in a class nine map? I know the Origin. Intimately. I did my graduate thesis on that vessel. There is nothing on that ship that could do what you’re suggesting.”

He sounded forthright and confident in what he was saying. It was interesting how the man was able to overcome the panic of a few moments ago simply because he was dealing with an area he felt he had expertise in.

Point-Two was careful to keep the wry smile off his face. He hadn’t known Fig very long, but he could tell this was a set-up.

“Assistant Chief Genjin,” said Fig, his calm demeanour that of someone who had frequently dealt with people who doubted what he was saying, “can you identify this?”

The camera moved to the side, showing the owner of the tentacle-like limbs. The droid was black and white, streaks of light running over its body and undulating arms. It looked like it could wrap itself around a person in a spacesuit and crush them like a tin can.

“That’s a senior archivist droid, third generation in ultimate mode, found in class two or higher… wait… how?” He had started off very confidently, his tone very matter-of-fact as he rattled off the droids designation, using his knowledge to establish the bonafide nature of his credentials. Now he looked shocked by his own words, the argument against his total conviction in his professional opinion coming out of his own mouth. “That isn’t possible. That’s a second-gen… in ult mode. What’s it doing in a class nine map?”

Assistant Chief Genjin looked over his shoulder at his team. “Is it a substitution?”

The other techs all looked down at their consoles and rapidly went to work. Everyone of them looked back up at the same time and shook their heads in perfect synchronisation.

Genjin looked back at the screen. “The code’s been rewritten. It must have.”

“You’re connected to the same code I am,” said Fig. “You can see if there’s been a code violation. You know there’d be a dozen tripped alarms if anything like that had happened. Didn’t they tell you why they wanted you to intersect with this simulation?”

Fig’s calm, reasonable tone had switched to something more insistent now. He was forcing the assistant chief to follow his own logic to the end, rigorously. He would refute himself, unable to throw accusations of deception at anyone other than himself.

It was fascinating to watch. How many people had Fig had to overcome in this manner to be this skilled at this kind of approach? He fought his verbal battles the same as his physical ones, with a gentle dominance and a mastery of whatever weapons he chose to employ.

Point-Two guessed it was a method devised by someone who couldn’t shout and insist he was right. A method devised by a child to defeat adults whose pride wouldn’t allow them to bow to the wisdom of someone beneath them.

Rather than a privileged life where things were easier, this was someone who had been forced to fight to be heard every step of the way.

Genjin’s eyes were darting around, looking to his team for answers, looking at the screen for clues. “They said… they said it was a surge error. False readings and a dangerous level of cortisol stimulation. Artefacts can appear in the worst cases, it’s happened before. Non-interactable objects, that’s all.”

“Does this look non-interactable?” Fig grabbed one of the tentacles.

The techs in the room all gasped. Fig was holding hands with an Antecessor droid. They were deadly machines that showed no mercy and killed relentlessly. They didn’t do hand-holding.

There was indecision in Assistant Chief Genjin’s eyes. Fig was pushing hard to convince him what he was seeing was real. Once he was on board, once he couldn’t deny the veracity of what the readings were telling him, Fig would get him to agree to whatever it was Fig wanted from him, this was Point-Two’s assessment.

Point-Two had no idea what he himself would ask of these people, even if he had their willingness to cooperate. He was doing his best to not give the ones he had brought with him an opening in case they asked for instructions, so he was more than happy to leave it up to Fig.

Only, he had the horrible feeling Fig was doing his best to win them over so as to be ready for when Ubik arrived to reveal what the plan was. That was where Point-Two was with all this. He had gathered a group of people to… wait. But if Ubik didn’t turn up, then what?

Genjin looked like he’d come to a decision. He was looking up at the screen, at Fig, lips trembling.

“No, no, no,” wailed Genjin. “We’re all dead.”

Fig looked surprised and let go of the droids limb. “What’s wrong? You still don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” said Genjin. “But this is Vendx we’re talking about. If we cooperate with you, if we give in to your threats or coercion, they’ll kill us all. Do you really think they’ll allow something of this magnitude to—”

There was a piercing sound that hurt every part of Point-Two’s skull. His teeth felt like they were about to explode. If he hadn’t been weightless, he would have dropped to the ground in agony.

“This is Guardian Tezla of the Central Authority,” said a voice directly into the middle of his head.

Through squinting eyes blurred by pain, Point-Two could see everyone in the room was having the same agonising reaction to the voice.

“Cease and desist all activity. Stand down all operations and prepare to be boarded. This is an official order of the Central Authority.”

The sonic insertion stopped and Point-Two could breathe again.

“What happened?” said Fig up on the screen. He didn’t look like he’d been affected.

“The Central Authority are here,” said Genjin. He seemed relieved, elated even. “Maybe we have a chance of getting out of this alive.” He was smiling, his eyes that were a moment ago filled with despair, now hopeful. “Something beautiful and impossible is happening and we will get to witness what could be the next evolution in our understanding of Antecessor tech—”

A siren went off. It was loud, but not as disabling as the Central Authority’s message. Point-Two recognised the universal ship order for all hands to report to their stations to prepare for battle.

“What is it?” said Genjin. “Are they attacking us?”

The techs were checking their consoles for information.

“No,” said one of the techs. “We’re attacking them.”

“Interceptor drones were already deployed,” said another. “They’ve taken up formation.”

“But why?” said Genjin, dismayed and appalled. “Not even we would attack the Central Authority. Who would be crazy enough to do something so stupid?”

Point-Two looked up at Fig. Neither had to say anything. They both knew who.

Chapter 453

The airships were huge. They looked taller than your classic old-timey airships, and they had a very sleek, integrated design. There wasn’t a gondola under a balloon, it was more like the two had merged. 

Blue and green lights streaked across their surface, which made the shape of it seem to change. Maybe it really did change and they were using technology the public weren’t aware of. 

None of them were moving, which was probably just as well since we were indoors, but the way they hung in the air was unreal. 

Huge lights shone down on us, making it hard to see too far up, but the ships were stacked on top of each other for quite some distance. I wasn’t sure how far down we’d come, but I had to be looking into the body of the building. Which meant the whole thing was hollow, apart from the top floor or two.

Was the idea to let them float up and then through a portal into another world? It would make it easier to keep the whole thing secret but it did seem an extraordinary length to go to. Which probably meant there was more to it.

Lillian was staring up, as bemused by the sight as I was. Orion was watching me. Around him, there were dozens of people scurrying about, dressed in overalls and wearing safety helmets. There really should have been a giant clock counting down to Doomsday.

“Allow me to show you around,” said Orion. “This way.”

We were here now, might as well take the tour. He took us to a table with hats and goggles on it and gave us both a helmet. Safety first. We followed him to a large staircase, like the ones at airports to get in the planes, only a lot, lot longer. It was an escalator, steps constantly moving. He got on and we followed. 

“How many of them are there?” I asked him, looking around.

“Ships? Eighteen, at the moment.” He seemed a little nervous but my assessment was that he thought he could still work this situation into a win for him and his conglomerate of intergalactic corporate raiders.

“Your plan is to go over there with an invasion force and take over?” I said, scratching at my chin like I was considering the merits of this approach. Couple of F-15s might have been the better option than a fleet of Goodyear blimps.

“Our plan,” said Orion, “is to get Peter. After that, we haven’t made a decision.”

I pointed up at the airship. “This looks like a pretty firm decision.”

“We are preparing for all eventualities. Once we have the gate technology perfected, we don’t know what else we’ll have to deal with. As you saw earlier, you aren’t the only one who can travel between worlds. We have to be ready to defend ourselves.”

What he meant was they had to be prepared to use the traditional winning tactic of attacking first and justifying it later. I could see the temptation. Use all the knowledge and experience garnered from ten thousand years of human history perfecting the art of doing horrible shit to people weaker than you, and take the show on the road.

How many worlds were there out there? How many of them were still using sticks and stones to beat the crap out of each other? We could make a killing. 

Should we give them smallpox blankets or hook them on opium? Drop napalm on their kids or put them in internment camps? 

I had no idea what the universe considered reasonable behaviour but I was sure our export business would give them pause for thought. George Lucas was right, galactic wars are all about trade embargoes. 

We reached the doors (more of a hole in the side) onto gangplanks that looked like metal, but made hardly any sound when you stepped on them. Plastic or some other man-made material. It was transparent, you could see through it, all the way down. 

He led us through the ship which was still being constructed. People drilled and hammered and did buildery things. It was oddly quiet as they zipped and zapped and slotted things together. I think the whole thing may have come out of a 3D printer one piece at a time and then was assembled like an Ikea closet.

There were rows and rows of cubicles on either side of us, about the right size for a person to lie in. Either for troops or a very high-altitude Japanese-style love hotel. Hundreds of spaces in just this part of the ship.

“This is for an army,” said Lillian. “You want to be conquerors.”

“No, no,” said Orion. “And please don’t repeat that in public.”

“Or what?” said Lillian, like she had to ask.

“Or I’m afraid we’ll be forced to take legal action,” said Orion. Not the sort of threat I was expecting him to make, but fair enough. You don’t have to chop someone into pieces down your local embassy if you can get a gag order and get them thrown off social media. Death by irrelevance. “This is actually quite exciting, you’re the first people I’ve been able to show this off to. Here, let me show you the bridge.”

He led us through more walkways to an area that looked like a squash court. There was no furniture, just a bunch of levers built into the wall where a large opening looked out, like a window without any glass.

“It’s very basic at the moment,” said Orion. “No computers or anything like that.”

He pulled a lever, a simple tug and we started to very slowly move up. It was hard to tell if it was just us, the whole ship or the other ships were moving down. It was incredibly smooth.

“Still needs a lot of work, as you can see, but the engines are online. It’s quite fun, isn’t it? Like a carnival ride. No weapons, nothing like that. Very little fuel, too. Mostly solar. That’s why we need all the big lights, artificial sunlight.”

“So,” I said, “your plan is to send troops over there, set up shop like the old East India Company, and ship back valuable stuff you find. Something like that?”

“No, please, you’re jumping to conclusions,” said Orion. “As I said, there are no fixed plans as of yet. We don’t plan to go anywhere. It’s this world we need to secure and make inhabitable first.”

“And if you can’t?” It occurred to me that maybe I was looking at this wrong. Things were pretty borked on Earth. Climate change and overpopulation, too many wannabe dictators and too many people with access to nukes. 

It had to be very hard to maintain any sort of unfair advantage. It wasn’t like the old days when the Spanish said, “Bagsie this way,” and the Portuguese said, “Okay, we’ll take this way.”

But with a brand new world all to yourself, you could establish yourself and lock everyone out of the game.

Orion, from my perspective, wasn’t afraid of me. He didn’t respect me or admire me or even like me. What he was doing was feeling me out. 

The longer he got to be around me, the better the chance he’d have to figure out my vulnerabilities. There was no way he was going to accept I was the guy in charge and become my bitch. All this polite regard and acquiescing to my demands was just a means to an end, and added more fuel to the fire. The fire that would eventually be unleashed once he felt he had the upper hand.

They had never encountered anyone like me, so this was just recon. And if he could butter me up into thinking I was Mr Big Stuff, get me overconfident and strutting around like a cock, so much the better. It’s always easier to take someone down when they wrongly believe in their own superiority, their own untouchability. 

I was only too happy to oblige. It’s even easier to take someone down when they wrongly believe you’ve fallen for their bullshit.

“And what about Duncan? Where does he fit into this?”

“I’m sorry…” said Orion. “Duncan?”

I looked at Lillian, who had said very little so far. Everyone was playing the waiting game to see who would blink first. 

There was Lillian, there was Duncan. There was the Council of Four and there was Orion. They were all after the same thing, more or less. If I was a smart boy, I could probably work out a way to get them to turn on each other.

But I wasn’t a smart boy, I was a lazy boy, and that sounded exhausting. 

These people wanted access to the world I had come from. Their relationships to each other may have been quite complex, built on mistrust and deep-seated enmity but, to me, they were all the same, all equally annoying. 

And they would be equally happy to put aside their differences, for a little while, to join forces against me. 

Me against them, one versus one. Seemed fair.

“Lillian works for a man called Duncan — big guy, American, obscenely rich, you know, like you — and he’s also offered me whatever I want to show him where to find the Yellow Brick Road. If you don’t know who he is, I suggest you find out, and sort it before things get messy.”

“There are probably quite a few people interested in this matter,” said Orion. “That’s why we must be as discreet as possible.” He gave Lillian a look. She gave him a look back.

“And he’s also working on genetically modified food,” I added. Lillian’s look shot in my direction. “Coincidence?”

“Are you trying to get me killed?” said Lillian. “I haven’t been giving away any company secrets.”

“You think he doesn’t already know about your boss?” I said.

“He isn’t my boss,” said Lillian. “And neither is he.” She pointed at Orion.

“You’re a free agent?” I asked. “The LeBron James of short psychics? What’s next for you? The Utah Jazz?”

“I’m keeping my options open,” said Lillian. “Which you’re making very hard.” Lillian grabbed my arm and pulled me closer. “I have a bad feeling.”

“Me too,” I said. “It usually starts when I wake up and stops when I fall asleep. Actually, it tends to reemerge when I’m dreaming, but those two hours either side of REM sleep, best part of my day.”

“I mean it. This place. I recognise it. This is where I die.” Lillian took on a suitably dramatic pose. It was an Oscar-worthy performance, but Marisa Tomei Oscar, where you accept it but you don’t quite understand it.

“You foresaw your own death? Bit stupid coming here, then.” It was clearly a tense moment so I was going easy on her.

“I didn’t know it was going to be here until I saw it,” she said. 

We were in a weird plastic room that didn’t look like much of anything. I could see how it would be hard to identify this place from a photograph or a vision.

“But you don’t know when, do you?” I said. “It could be here but next week or next year. Or it could be one of the other ships.” I pointed through the window at the dirigibles floating past outside. “I bet they look exactly the same inside.”

“It was here, this place, now.” She sounded very sure of herself. “It was just like this. Exactly. This is it.”

“Okay, well, I guess this is goodbye. It’s been swell.” I didn’t really believe her. Or I didn’t care, one of the two.

“You have to find Jenny. In my office, there’s a ball in my desk.”

“A crystal ball?” I asked.

“It’s made of crystal, yes, but it’s not what you—”

“Okay, fine,” I said. “Do you have any last words?” I was guessing she had a speech all prepared, so the quicker the better.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” said Orion. He was holding a gun. An actual gun.

“Is that a real gun?” I said to make doubly sure. “I mean, I know you’re American and everything, but there aren’t any school children here so I’m not sure who you’re planning to shoot.”

“I’m sorry about this,” he said, “I really am. I have no choice, unfortunately. Orders.”

“You do remember I can heal myself, right?”

“Not from this,” said Orion. He sounded pretty confident. “It’s a special bullet made just for you. It took us a while to get hold of your DNA and create the genetic poison that will attach itself to every cell in your body, but I assure you it will do the job.”

I looked at Lillian. “You couldn’t have mentioned this was going to happen?”

“If you know too much you might change the future.”

“Good,” I said. “It’s been fucking terrible so far. Are you sure it’s not her you want to kill? She had a vision about it and everything.”

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” said Orion. “Don’t worry, it will only sting. It’s your body we need, you see. Please try to fall without bruising anything.”

So far, whenever someone had tried to stick something in me, I’d gone into transubstantiate mode. He knew that. How was he planning to stop the bullet going through me?

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Orion, “but that’s why I haven’t fired yet. We need to put you in the right light.”

He pulled the lever again and the ship had stopped moving. A light went on from somewhere above, like a stadium floodlight. Suddenly, I was bathed in light. I could feel it on me. Not a warm glow like sunlight, I could physically feel it, the way you feel water hitting you in the shower. It was quite pleasant. I also felt very heavy, rooted to the spot.

“You can’t move and you can’t change.” Orion lifted the gun. “Again, apologies.” He pulled the trigger. The gun went pfft.

Lillian leapt in front of me to take the bullet for me, like a fucking idiot. I’d seen it coming, and I wasn’t even psychic. I kicked her in the leg so she fell on her face. At the same time, I grabbed the light — it was solid in my hand — and pulled it in front of me. If it was solid, it would act like a shield.

That’s not quite what happened. It wasn’t a bullet, it was a dart. It hit the light and stuck there. A black liquid oozed out into the white curtain I was holding. 

More darts hit the wall of light. Orion looked panicked. He was backing away as he fired. Not sure where he was going. His gun clicked empty.

It was weird holding onto a beam of light. It was solid and real, but also light and flexible. I pulled on it, hard. 

There was no weight, no resistance. It was big and bright, but it was still light and light doesn’t weigh anything. That’s why they call it light.

A loud creaking sound was followed by a whoosh as an enormous lamp fell out of the sky, or wherever it had been placed. It fell past us, about the size of four-wheel jeep suitable for a hairdresser, single but looking, and smashed into the top of the airship below us.

The ship buckled in the middle, some sort of gas shot out, and the airship plummeted downwards at greater than terminal velocity. I watched it hit the ground and explode, sending up a fireball, but only a small one. Hollywood exaggerates everything (apart from the extent of their paedophile problem).

91: Into the Machine

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Observation Deck.

 

The chute Ubik was in went up to the top of the ship, but it wasn’t meant for use by average deckhands. You couldn’t just pop up and have a look around when you felt like it.

The observation deck was the exclusive domain of the important and the eminent. Top brass and VIPs. And, of course, maintenance crews. They needed a discreet and quick way to get up there when things went wrong.

A lot of the repairs were automated — drones and internal software systems that would go into action as soon as a fuse was tripped or a bug detected. But there were some jobs that drones could do better than any human, and some jobs drones couldn’t do if you gave them fresh batteries, the latest update and an extra pair of arms.

A drone clean-up crew, for example, couldn’t tell if a bathroom still inexplicably smelled of vomit after being disinfected three times. You could always build a specialised drone for that task, but why when you could send the lowliest members of the crew to do it for no extra cost?

It was the small, occasional jobs where humans excelled. They had an excellent range of abilities, most of which weren’t very prized or sought after, and easily improved on by machinery, but the human nose had yet to be eclipsed by olfactory technology. Certainly not for the same price.

The chute was a narrow pipe wide enough so you could stand with your feet a little wider than shoulder-width and touch the sides. Which was what you needed to do to start moving once you entered. If you didn’t, you would just float there, weightless. Once you touched the sides, even if you moved your feet away, inertia would carry you.

There was a special liquid between the walls that created less friction than a vacuum — negative friction. It also absorbed momentum and distributed it. It wasn’t quite perpetual motion, there was a cheat to it that was a heavily protected secret, but it was good enough to provide energy-free travel around the ship.

Ubik kicked off the walls to increase his velocity. It wasn’t advisable to do that during busy periods, people jumping in and out through the regular openings along the shaft, but Ubik wasn’t anticipating much activity on the way to the leisure area. People were a bit too busy to be taking a break. He was, however, expecting Chukka and her people to eventually work out where he’d gone.

It was convenient that Vendx had cleared the decks for him. It made it much easier to get around. It also helped that surveillance systems were of an inferior build on the lower decks. And the greatest help of all was how poorly trained the security teams were. The ideal Ubik trifecta.

Ubik was well aware of Vendx’s training policy: hire in bulk, wait for the naturally gifted to make themselves known, give the rest heavily engineered equipment that would do most jobs adequately.

With the number of employees they had, there were always going to be some people who only needed minimal training (the only kind available), and the Vendx manufactured equipment was good enough for everyone else.

The constant system reboots going on around the ship were keeping him from being detected, but even if that weren’t the case, it was unlikely there would be any security in a chute like this one. There was no need.

If an employee entered a zone they weren’t authorised to be in, their pay would get docked. If they failed to meet any of their contractually stipulated obligations, what they had to do, what they mustn’t do, they would get docked.

People respected fiscal punishment much more than ethical or moral ones. You could survive as a debtor, but you would do much better if you managed to stay in the black, even if it was just a toe over the line.

Vendx provided their staff with everything they needed. Medicine, food, protection from the elements, and protection from boredom.

They were a complete and independent biome with their own internal economy. Lose a leg, get sick with a debilitating virus, go insane — Vendx would fix you, no charge. Quicker they got you back on your feet, the quicker they got you back to work.

Family member ill? No problem, all covered, just sign them up to be an employee (finder’s bonus for every person you bring in). Your kids are covered and have a guaranteed place with the firm (which they’re legally required to take up once they’re old enough).

There were some people who said the contract was no better than indentured servitude, that the conditions weren’t fair. Ubik didn’t agree. Fairness was relative. Their conditions were a lot fairer than starving. Much more generous than leaving someone to bleed to death in the street because they didn’t have the money to pay for treatment. Ubik saw Vendx as a fine and upstanding corporation. Relatively.

Their employees couldn’t afford to leave, but why would they want to? No one else was going to take them in.

The top of the chute was approaching. The coloured lights on the walls were flashing, warning him to get off. He stepped out of the portal, using his hands to push himself through.

The air felt different here. Cooler. Sweeter. Ubik was floating in the middle of a beautifully designed hallway. The way the walls were curved at the corners, the colour scheme of red and gold, the carpet — carpets in space! — it created a feeling of opulence and comfort.

Why carpet when there was no gravity? It looked plush and thick, but it was no ordinary carpet. It was nanotechnology, designed to grip the shoes of designated people. If you were in the system’s little black book, the nanites would recognise you, and hold you, one step at a time. Artificial gravity via astroturf. One of Vendx’s most extravagant products.

Ubik’s name was not on the list. Even with his access to the ship’s computer, he couldn’t give himself clearance — that had to come from Head Office — but he didn’t need it. He clicked his heels and his boots planted themselves into the soft, luxuriant bed of nanites, crushing thousands with each step. A shame — a very expensive shame — but he wouldn’t be able to talk the talk if he couldn’t walk the walk.

The main part of the deck was deserted. There was a large open area with seating and bars and a fountain shooting holographic water into the air, but no people. Apart from two.

There were two guards floating either side of the doors to the executive simulation room. They were dressed in very fancy, brightly coloured outfits. They looked a bit like mascots for a sports team. Ubik knew people enjoyed going to see competitive games with rules to keep things fair and honest, but he had never seen the point of it. If you want to win, the first thing you did was ignore any laws. Laws were what cheaters put in place once they had an advantage.

The guards didn’t seem unduly surprised to see him. The ship was under martial restrictions and mass panic… down below. That meant nothing here.

He walked up to them, his feet leaving miniature death and destruction in their wake.

“Hello,” he said with confidence. “I was told you’d be expecting me.”

“Ah, yes, sir. Your name?” The guard, fully-visored and in a battlesuit he probably couldn’t get out of without assistance, was faking it. He had no idea who Ubik was or who might have sent here, but the kind of person who came swanning in like they owned the place was not someone you wanted to annoy. He wasn’t just a guard, he was a professional doorman.

“Ogbollen Jedman III,” said Ubik, hoping he’d be able to remember the name later and wishing he’d gone with something shorter. “My father is the Grand Vizier of Fraiche City, you’ve probably heard of him.”

“Of course, sir,” said the guard. “Let me just pull up your details and I’ll be able to show you where to go.” He opened a screen on his HUD, the lights playing across the inside of his visor.

“My family’s on the full tour. I got a bit bored, so they sent me up here. You’ve got a fancy sim-U, I was told. Better than the one in my room, apparently.”

“System busy,” said a voice, much more urbane and suave than the computer voice in the lower decks. “Please try again later.”

“Ah,” said the guard. “Apologies. It seems there’s a heavy demand on resources at the moment. Should ease in a second.”

It was unlikely to ease for several hours. Rebooting was the most resource-intensive process the ship’s computer underwent, and it was in a constant loop of them. Everything was backed up and slow to the point of static.

“Should I call my father? He can clear this up. He’s with that Mayden chap. Wait, is that right? Mayden? Maybe it was Maven.”

The two guards exchanged looks. One looked down at Ubik’s feet and then back up at his colleague.

If the carpet accepted you, that meant you had clearance from on high.

“The sim-U, was it? If that’s all you’re here for, just go in. I’m sure they have your information uploaded.”

Classic Vendx policy — when in doubt, pass the problem onto someone else.

“It’s through here, is it?” Ubik pointed at the door. It slid open.

“That’s right, sir. Please go through and have a very pleasant experience.”

Ubik walked in and the doors shut behind him. He was in a small cubicle and it was moving, although it was hard to tell in which direction.

The sides fell away, the roof with them, and he was in a huge glass dome. The stars glittered and the planet was a blue and red marble off to one side.

The room contained a number of smaller glass domes covering luxury sim-U recliners. Not the stiff-backed chairs that most simulation machines were hooked up to, these were fully-supporting, no neck pain when you woke up in one of these.

“Excuse me! Sir, excuse me. This is a restricted area.” A young man was floating towards him wearing a light suit with a simple design, white with silver trim, his helmet deflated and hanging off the back of his collar like a hood. A second sim-U tech came floating after him.

Bluffing wouldn’t work here. They wouldn’t set him up in a sim-U without proper approval, and there wasn’t going to be any.

“Hi,” said Ubik. “I’d like a go in one of these, please.”

The man looked confused. “We aren’t operational today. Everything’s been shut down because of the irregularity on Fountain.”

“There’s been a breach,” said the other slightly older man. “They say it’s a software anomaly.”

“Who said that?” said the first man.

“I heard it on chatter, just before it crashed.”

“It hasn’t crashed, nothing’s crashed, it’s buffering.”

The two of them seemed more interested in the goings-on in the world of malfunctioning simulations than the stranger in their midst. They must have assumed, if he was here, he had a reason to be.

Ubik looked up and around at the heavens. It was an impressive sight. And then you got into a bubble and experienced the fake version.

There was movement outside the dome. Small objects rising in formation.

“I’d like you to open one of these up and link it to the Gorbol simulation machine,” said Ubik.

“What? No, no, we can’t do that. There isn’t even a direct connection.”

“Very inadvisable, even if there was.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Ubik. “It’s already connected to the machine on the third deck.”

“Don’t be — wait, who are you?”

“I’m with them.” Ubik pointed up. They followed his finger.

“What are those things doing here?”

“What are they? Oh, they’re…”

“They’re interceptor drones, but why…”

They both looked down at Ubik again.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Do you know why spaceships don’t have windows?” asked Ubik.

“Of course,” said the younger tech, who seemed to be in charge. “Cold laser weapons can fire through glass…” He looked back up at the drones and frowned. “Interceptors aren’t equipped with cold lasers.”

“I’ve made a few modifications,” said Ubik.

The man looked unconvinced. He looked back up at the drones surrounding the dome and squinted.

Ubik walked over to a table with a crystal vase containing a beautiful arrangement of fake flowers. He tried to pick the vase up, but it was stuck to the table for obvious reasons. Ubik still made a show of trying to pick it up.

“I guess we’ll have to do it here.” He looked up at the dome. “Yes, should be fine. Could you both stand back?”

The two men, who had been watching closely, moved away from the table, as did Ubik. They waited — nothing happened. Ubik smiled and put his hands in his pockets, seemingly unconcerned.

There was a small whine you could hear just at the back of your ear, and then the vase exploded with a pop. Fake petals floated off in every direction.

“Sorry about the mess,” said Ubik.

Both men looked up at the drones. “Hanzo, why don’t you set up sim-U number three for this gentleman?”

Chapter 452

I felt better after seeing Claire. I know, not something I thought I’d ever say, either.

Compared to the snotty, antagonistic, deeply unpleasant bitch she had been when we first met, she had grown and matured quite a lot. I wouldn’t call her snotty anymore.

When the black goo had parted to reveal her for a few seconds before she went back to Flatland and whatever mess she had created because of her failure to do what I fucking told her — I wasn’t angry, just disappointed — she had looked like an adult.

It’s strange that I can meet people who are older than me, in their late twenties, thirties, even their forties, and they seem to be large children. When you see old movies, a twenty-five year old man looked like Robert Mitchum or Lee Marvin — they looked like men.

Claire had been wearing grown-up clothes. Not the ridiculous fancy stuff worn by retards to try and convince people (and themselves) of their importance, just well-tailored, practical clothing. She emanated a sense of maturity, the presence of someone who had found their place in the world.

Seeing her had made me feel less responsible for getting her out of that place. It was a place that would get her killed, and I had no intention of swapping places with her just because I was better suited to handle it.

I was better suited because I wanted no part of it. As soon as you get into a collaboration — even thinking the word sets my teeth on edge — then you have to start relying on others. Which would be fine if they were honest, competent and reliable, but we all know how many of that type of person there are in the world. Well, I know. You should halve the number you just thought of, and then divide it by itself.

Also, seeing her in the flesh had made me feel less inclined to believe I was going mad.

Coming home had left me confused as to which reality I belonged to, which was the fake, whether both were figments of my imagination, and if it would all end like the last episode of Lost where it turns out my life was just a shoddy rip-off of the Tim Robbins movie Jacob’s Ladder.

I didn’t like the world I was currently living in, not that I ever had, so my belief there was another world I could escape to might well have just been wishful thinking on my part.

A psychotic break is often much easier than suicide when you want to get away from it all, and far less stressful than going on holiday. I’d be fine if I was actually in a mental home somewhere, drooling and incoherent like a Man United fan still clinging to the hope of a revival, while in my mind I had adventures where I could travel to other dimensions.

Claire’s appearance had proved that there was another world apart from this one. I wasn’t crazy. Or, if I was, at least my delusions were in 3D without the need for those garbage specs they still try to convince us to wear.

Orion had his phone out and was texting someone at an impressive speed. Clean up crew to aisle six, aisle eight and aisles eleven through sixteen. Bodies tend to explode when dropped from a great enough height.

Lillian was staring at me. She had the look of someone who thought she was viewing in full HD because it said 4K ready on the box and 1080p supported on the Amazon page, but was only just realising the native resolution was 360p and everything up till now had been scaled up via low-end Taiwanese parts. It’s a realisation we all come to in the end.

What you see is not the best that’s available. Even if they tell you there’s nothing better on the market, it just means they’re keeping the improved version in the backroom until they can sell the old shit to people dumb enough to buy it. This message brought to you by Steve Jobs.

The rest of the room was equally flummoxed by what they’d seen. The guys in white coats had had the confidence of people who thought they were at the cutting edge. They were doing things with computers no one had done outside of a movie. Now they were unsure of what they were and nervous about the future, like a software company acquired by Activision.

It was a fancy setup Orion had, but they had no idea what they were doing. They were in too much of a rush to take things slow and do the necessary testing. They were willing to take a leap of faith, but the thing about that, the thing they don’t tell you, faith is usually not well-founded. Your faith, in whatever, probably wrong. Your leap, into the wide blue yonder, probably splat.

“Are you sending someone to scrape up your boys?” I asked Orion. No one was saying anything and I was beginning to feel awkward.

“It will be taken care of,” said Orion, not looking up. These kids and their phones today…

“That — the Kamikaze Boy’s Cub — was an example of you saying one thing and doing another,” I said. “Doesn’t inspire much confidence in your trustworthiness.”

Orion put his phone away. “No, I can see that. But, in my defence, that wasn’t your doing, that was something that happened while you were here, but not caused by you. What we do in our own time isn’t really connected to you.”

He had a point. I hadn’t created the portal and I wasn’t the one in charge of the mission through it. They were well within their rights to do what they wanted outside of their relationship with me, including taking a giant running jump if that was what they wished.

“Still,” I said, “it shows how poor your judgement is. Not exactly the kind of people I’d want backing me up.”

“It was an opportunity we might not be presented with again,” said Orion, making a lot of sense. “It was worth the risk. Sadly, it didn’t pay off this time.”

“It won’t next time, either,” I said. “You guys are way too excitable. There’s a reason I didn’t end up dead over there when most of the people who arrived with me did. I didn’t do stupid shit like that.”

“Who was she?” said Lillian, pointing out of the still-open window at the empty air.

I turned around, checking just in case Claire had come back. It was the sort of sneaky crap she would pull.

“That was Claire,” I said. “She was one of the people in my party, along with Jenny.”

Lillian nodded, like this information meant something to her. “You should help her.”

I’m not averse to people having their own opinions, even retarded ones. If you want to believe some stupid shit for whatever psychologically demented reason, that is up to you. Every person has the right to believe their own lies if they so wish. What irritates me is when they think them being convinced by complete bollocks entitles them to spread their ‘wisdom’ around.

“Should I? Maybe you should help her. Go on, jump off the end of this bridge to nowhere and see how helpful you can be. Help her. Maybe next time, offer your handy tips after someone asks, you presumptuous goth twat.”

There are some people who have claimed I only have two modes of communication: complete disinterest and enraged sarcasm, and that maybe I should consider filling out the middle-ground.

Personally, I feel this is a little unfair. I’m adept at nuanced social interactions. I can be subtle, charming, offer warm encouragement when required. It’s just that it isn’t required very fucking often.

Lillian looked somewhat offended. “I’m sorry,” she said tersely. “It was only a suggestion. I sometimes get a feeling about these things.”

“Yeah? Like the feeling you got when you brought me here, straight into a waiting trap. You know that voice in your head that tells you to believe in yourself and go with your gut? Stop listening to it.”

“Just because I’m not perfect—”

“Is an excellent reason not to hand out advice,” I finished for her.

“She betrayed you, didn’t she?” said Lillian. “Let you down and left you to die. And now she’s asking for your help. I can see why that would—”

“You can’t see jack shit,” I said. “If she’s in trouble now, the best thing for her to do is work her way out of it herself. How else is she going to learn?”

“So no one deserves a second chance?” said Lillian, her voice full of aha! and gotcha!

“Deserve? No, no one deserves a second chance. They can earn it, sure, but they have to actually do something for that. And most people won’t. They’ll wait until they’ve messed up so bad that there’s no coming back from it, and then they’ll come to you, all forlorn and abject. Save me, Obi-Wan, save me.”

Lillian looked like she had more on her mind she wanted to share — a normal state of being for anyone in the middle of an argument — but I clearly had the advantage here. I actually knew what I was talking about. She at least had enough sense to know when she should shut up and quit while she was only slightly behind.

Most people don’t. Most people think if they keep going it proves they have something worth saying and need to be taken seriously. It’s not that hard to understand — you either have the power to affect change or you don’t. If you don’t, flapping your lips won’t make a difference, so you might as well save your energy.

“You said you were going to get in touch with Jenny,” I reminded her. “How?”

“In my office,” said Lillian.

“You work here?” said Orion, his eyes registering shock for the first time. Bunch of men fall to their deaths — nothing. Mystic Meg mentions she’s an employee, panic stations.

“What did you do again?” I asked her.

“Research and—”

“Yeah, yeah. But on what?”

“Bioengineering. Plants. I thought I might as well do some good while I’m here. Help the world become a better place.” She gave me a look that suggested she knew there was no point in elaborating further. I had to hand it to her, psychic or not, she picked up on things very quickly.

“Plants?” I said, an alarm bell going off somewhere in my head. “Like, GM stuff?”

“It’s perfectly safe,” said Lillian, her tone suggesting she’d had to defend her work before. “It’s not like we go around weaponising cabbages.” She turned to Orion, expecting him to back her up on this matter of environmental necessity.

Orion looked a bit miffed. “Didn’t you sign an NDA before you began work here?” He sounded cross.

“You’ve got the place full of psychics and you think an NDA is going to stop your secrets getting out?” But as I said it, I realised he wasn’t worried about the world finding out about his blight-resistant potatoes, he was worried about me finding out.

The other person who had mentioned GM crops to me recently had been Duncan. Pieces began slotting into place.

“Hey, so you’re planning to make genetically modified food your next big investment, right? Once oil and gas have had their day, it’ll be the big GM push to get us all addicted to glow-in-the-dark corn, you and Duncan, the dream team.”

“No, no,” said Orion, sounding panicked in that particular way when someone is trying to sound extra calm and nonchalant. “We are a very diverse company here. We have many areas of research we are investigating. Your friend can confirm.”

“Tell me,” I said to Lillian, “is there anywhere in this building no one’s allowed to go?”

“Lots of places,” said Lillian. “Every floor except this one. I’m pretty sure it’s all empty, though.”

“But also heavily shielded from psychics,” I clarified.

“Oh,” said Lillian.

“I remind you,” said Orion, “that you are legally required—”

“Zip it, Orion,” I said. “You’re only making yourself look bad.”

“There’s a whole basement level no one can get into,” said Lillian. “I have no idea what’s in there.”

“Okay, let’s go have a look,” I said. “Any objections?”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go down there,” said Orion, “for your own safety.”

Sometimes you’ve got to double down on your position no matter how bad it makes you look. Because the truth would make you look worse.

You could be caught on a security camera doing a terrible crime, but it’s still better to point-blank deny it. If you’re caught on film, so be it. Nothing you can do. But the camera might not be on, it might not be recording, the tape could be damaged. It’s worth taking the utterly dishonest route, even when the other people who were there know you’re lying. If there’s no hard evidence, it’s just one person’s word against another’s, and there are hundreds of ways to turn that around. Mostly using cash, the number one legal aid.

That’s how game theory works. There’s no morality, no ethics, there’s just the path to victory and how to get there. The weakness of that system, though, is that it assumes both sides want the same thing. They both want to win and are desperate not to lose. Which is why it’s never worked on me. I don’t give a fuck, either way.

“I don’t really need your permission, Orion,” I said. “What are you going to do? Set your psychics on me? I’ve got my own psychic.” I pointed at Lillian, who didn’t look very pleased to be singled out, or pressed into service. “She’ll attack your nervous system with her dark thoughts, and she doesn’t even have to use her powers to do it. She’ll just tell you about her childhood.”

Lillian was not impressed by my intro. I would have gone with ‘Let’s get ready to rumble!’ but it’s copyrighted.

I walked over to the platform that took us down to the lifts and Lillian and Orion came with me. He looked tense but he didn’t try to stop me.

The platform lowered and we were met by another group of men. They looked just like the ones who had jumped to their deaths.

I looked at Orion. He waved them out of the way. I wasn’t sure what I would have done if they had tried to apprehend me, but my reputation was enough to stop Orion from taking any more risks. That or he wanted me to go into the basement where he kept his Anti-Colin Neutralising Ray (patent pending).

It’s so hard to get anything done when you keep second-guessing yourself. I entered the lift. Orion and Lillian came with me. Orion took out his phone and entered something. The lift began to go down.

It took a while. There were no floor numbers but it felt longer than the reverse journey. How far below the surface were we going?

Eventually, we stopped moving.

“This is at your own risk,” said Orion. “I want to be open and honest with you but I can’t guarantee your safety beyond this point.”

“You can’t guarantee my safety beyond any point,” I said. The doors opened.

In front of me was a huge hangar filled with machinery. Vehicles that looked like airships, but more modern than the ones back in Hindenburg times. I counted at least a dozen, all floating in the air. I looked up and couldn’t see a ceiling.

“You see, nothing to worry about,” said Orion. “Just some dangerous fumes we need to be careful of. No smoking, please.”

But there was always something to be worried about. Why keep airships underground? Why so many?

Duncan had said he wanted to send people over to Flatland, but by air? And not just a few, but hundreds, maybe more.

This felt more like an exodus. Or maybe an invasion.

90: Rise and Shine

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Kitchen 2F.

 

Gipper ate the blancmange — it would be a waste to just leave it to rot — and considered the message.

Surf ‘n’ turf.

It had to be meant for him, unless the blancmange was a fusion of fish and meat hitherto unheard of. It tasted like sugar and almonds. Not bad at all.

And who could have sent him this message but Trainee Ubik? The question was, why? Why send him a cryptic message via enemy catering drone when he could have just told him what he needed to know when he was standing right next to him?

Of course, there had been a number of Vendx people standing there at the same time. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities that Trainee Ubik didn’t want to reveal anything to them, but then, wouldn’t they be able to identify an unauthorised message going through the system?

Perhaps not. Without context, it would look like another order going to the kitchen. Could the kid be that aware of what he was doing? The impression he gave was the complete opposite — complete chaos and a phenomenal reliance on chance. But somehow these long shots kept paying off for the boy. It was starting to look suspiciously intentional.

Gipper licked the spoon. He would have to find the recipe and feed it into the ship’s galley. The Red Devil’s dessert menu was very lacklustre.

Surf ‘n’ turf.

If the message did refer to the establishment in Fraiche city, the one run by notorious criminal Terrific JonJo, what was Gipper meant to do about it? There were no follow up instructions. Not even a culinary clue. Gipper looked at the empty dish and hoped there hadn’t been an additional message inside the pudding. If there had been, it was now inside him and wouldn’t be available for several more hours.

No, the blancmange had been slippery smooth and he was sure he would have felt any foreign objects go down.

What could Terrific do for them? He was down on the planet’s surface and they were all the way up here with no way down.

Gipper had assumed the Vendx ship was the target. They would steal it and use it to keep the rest of the Vendx forces at bay. Once their presence became public knowledge, it would be much harder for them to clean up the mess they’d created without anyone finding out.

Now that he thought about it, that was a ridiculous idea. It had seemed ridiculous at the time but for some reason, when Ubik was leading the charge, there was no time to think rationally and even the most outrageous possibility seemed doable.

But Vendx were experts at covering up their messes and making it look like they had done nothing but maintenance on a problem not of their making. People were usually grateful for how little destruction had been caused, the potential for catastrophe made clear for all to see.

In many ways, they operated in a similar manner to Ubik. By comparison to what could go wrong, what did go wrong was a blessing. He would have to try that approach himself next time he got in trouble with the captain.

Contacting the Red Devil had also seemed a good idea. They couldn’t offer much assistance up here but perhaps they could help the people stuck in the Gorbol Academy. Why would Ubik want to help them, though? Now that he understood the way Ubik’s mind worked, he could see Ubik wouldn’t waste time on something so… unrelated to him.

One thing was for sure — whatever Ubik had intended for Gipper to do here, Gipper wasn’t going to do it. He’d had quite enough of being led around by the nose. If he was going to get out of this, it would be an escape of his own making. That much was obvious to him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in a tough spot. He had the training, he had the experience, and he had survived far more perilous situations. Well, equally perilous.

Gipper put his mind to work. How could he make use of this kitchen? Food and drones. And a connection to the ship’s computer that must have been disconnected by Ubik. It wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Surf ‘n’ Turf.

The words kept flashing at him from the drone’s communication strip. It was beginning to irritate him.

Terrific JonJo wasn’t just a restaurant owner, he was also a notorious smuggler. With levies and taxes on everything that went in and out of planet Fountain, a lot of money could be saved by taking a less official route with supplies. There were always clients looking for a better deal.

Smuggling meant ships. Good ones. The kind that were hard to detect and, if they were detected, hard to catch. Very useful if Terrific was in the mood to help. Gipper doubted he was. And how would you even make contact with him from here?

There was some noise as the drones began undocking from the wall. There hadn’t been any loud bangs for a while, which may or may not have been a good thing.

The drones floating in front of him beeped twice and then a voice said, “Surf ‘n’ Turf. Password?”

Gipper froze. How was he talking to someone through a drone? How was he speaking to someone in Fraiche City when the place was locked down?”

“Password,” said the voice more insistently.

“I… I forgot what it was,” said Gipper.

“Who is this? How did you get on this channel?”

“I want to order some supplies,” blurted Gipper. “Meat. Do you have any for immediate delivery?”

There was a pause.

“Actually, yes.” The guy on the other end almost sounded relieved. “Today’s your lucky day, sir. We’re undergoing renovations and need to move our entire stock. I can do you a once in a lifetime deal. How much do you want?”

“I’ll take all of it,” said Gipper. He wasn’t paying, so why not. “These are the coordinates. And I have a message that needs to go on the receipt, so they know it’s from me.”

This at least wasn’t what Trainee Ubik had planned. How could he have known Terrific’s organisation would be undergoing renovations and be ready to cut a deal with a stranger? No, this was all Gipper. He was going to save the day, his way.

 

***

 

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

 

Ubik shot through the corridors while standing perfectly still, his pursuers left behind. They had suits with automated venting run by efficient onboard computers, but Ubik had Grandma at the wheel. He could have closed his eyes and it would make no difference, other than the risk of smacking his head on some poor ship design. As he glided just above the roof, he couldn’t help but notice all the things he would have changed if he had built this ship.

Symmetrical corridors, for a start. It was a pain having to keep jumping every time there was a sealable doorway.

Doors that filled the whole corridor was another.

In space, especially when weightless, there was no up or down. You could walk on the floor, you could walk on the ceiling, same thing.

If you added gravity, you could choose to make any surface the one people gravitated to — what was difficult was changing that surface once it had been chosen. More than difficult, it was expensive, which was the greater issue. So most ships didn’t bother having more than one floor. They picked one surface and stuck to it, in both senses of the word.

A ship like the Motherboard, the flagship of the Vendx fleet could obviously create a gravitational field, but only when necessary. In other words, only when it was to impress potential customers. Otherwise, it was whatever floats your boat.

Which was why it was so dumb not to make it so you could designate any way as up. But no.

Ubik approached the chute to the upper decks and the magnetic force keeping the soles of his boots a fixed distance from the surface cut off. The drone in the ducts could take him no further. The air breathed in the upper decks was far too rarefied to share with common plebeians.

He would have to be a little more careful about security once he was up there.

It would have been a great deal easier if he could have taken control of the whole ship but even with all the cut corners, this was still a top-of-the-line vessel. It was constantly fighting him, rebooting systems he had taken.

Luckily for Ubik, it couldn’t do a full system-wide reboot, not while it was in service. There was a constant duel of snatch and give between the ship and Grandma.

Down here, where visiting customers would never come, it was all bare bones. The security was lax because the people were merely low-level staff. Most of the surveillance was done through the company implants which all employees had, and which Ubik did not.

Why would anyone not part of the staff come down here? Even if the ship was raided by pirates — an extremely unlikely event — they would hardly loot the have-nothings.

The VIPs who might be on board, however, were another matter. They had to be protected. Not just by the security agents, but by the cutting-edge technology Vendx were known for.

Not having to face that tech down here had been one of the reasons things had gone so well. So far. Now Ubik would have to switch things up.

In fact, overall, things had gone far better than he had expected. There were a lot of moving parts to this enterprise, and that meant a greater chance of at least one of those parts becoming unhinged.

If that had happened, well, Ubik would have adapted. You had to be prepared to change direction as soon as you saw the wall in your way.

But, surprisingly, that hadn’t happened. Everyone he had sent out on the slim chance they might produce the goods, had. More or less. At least, they hadn’t ended up dead.

Even if they had failed, they would have at the very least thinned the Vendx resources, giving Ubik a less cluttered field in which to make his next play. He had even spent some time thinking up alternatives so he would have something to try next — a couple of the last resorts would be quite spectacular — but now it seemed they would go to waste. It was a shame.

Everyone was in place, no one had messed up. Only he was left to come in at the end and save the day.

He would be the one who saved Fig. That was Ubik’s main goal. It hadn’t been originally, but that was one of the adaptions he’d made when he found out who Fig’s father was.

Ramon Ollo was a great man. An amazing inventor and engineer, mostly known for his work on organics. Ubik had little interest in that. He suspected Ramon Ollo didn’t really care that much about it, either. He had sold his discoveries to the highest bidders and made a fortune. Money which he had put into his true passion. He was building something, something even more spectacular than the sim-U.

Ubik had read all of Ollo senior’s papers, pored over every scrap of information available. There wasn’t that much, but what there was, was brilliant. And hiding something.

What it was, Ubik wasn’t sure, but he wanted in. He never thought he’d ever get the opportunity, but now he was close, and he didn’t intend to let the chance slip by.

Fig had offered him a chance to meet the great man. Ubik was going to do more than that. He was going to arrive as the guy who had saved his son.

It did require putting Fig in some danger, but that had been the easiest part of all. The boy had practically hurled himself into the heart of trouble the moment he arrived at the Academy.

There were some complications, but they would only serve to make the rescue all the more impressive. He just had to ensure Fig didn’t actually die. He would probably not get the full tour if he turned up with a coffin.

Ubik rose up the chute, all the way to the top. These systems were currently still under his control. If something happened between here and the top, well, he’d think of something.

The observation deck was for special guests and management only. Their simulation room wasn’t going to be big and cheap like the one down below. It was going to be pristine and have all the bells and whistles. Ubik had always wanted to try the Executive Sim-U. Supposedly, you could do things in there you couldn’t in an ordinary simulation machine. Which was handy, because what Ubik had in mind had never been tried in any simulation. Always a first time for everything.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty Three

The High-Father’s face was framed by the darkness, his eyes glittering, his lips curled into a warm smile that didn’t make Nic feel any better about the situation he was in. His appearance might have been that of a genial old man, a trim white beard, short grey-hair covering his scalp, but his presence was still very much that of the dragon he had once been.

“The story begins in a time before Ranvar existed as a singular nation, before the cities and the farms, when men survived using only the most basic tools, wooden implements being the norm, and rocks the most common weapon.”

“You were here, then?” asked Nic, wary of being tricked. Would he even be aware of it if he was? “That sounds like a very long time ago.”

The High-Father nodded.

Pinpricks of light appeared around him. Stars and worlds circling the two of them. Between Nic and the High-Father was the world Nic was now familiar with from all angles. It was a small ball no bigger than a marble, but it was easy for him to recognise it.

“I was here. I came to observe, to see how you strange creatures lived and what, if anything, I might learn from you.” The High-Father’s tone was soft and humble — not at all how Nic saw him. If this was an attempt to lull him into thinking he was speaking to a kindly uncle or grandpa, it would require a great deal more convincing.

“Your world was one of many I had visited, no more or less outstanding than the others. But on closer inspection, this world, this world was different. I watched a while, the men and women struggling to scratch a living from the earth with the tools they’d made with their own hands,” said the High-Father, sounding like a history teacher, although Nic had never been taught anything from this far back. “There was something about the people of this land, these hills and mountains you now call Ranvar, that caught my attention. They did not speak the language you speak now, they did not even look the same, their skin more pale and sallow. They looked sickly and ready to die if the hunting became scarce or the weather turned too cold. It would not be an exaggeration to say they were on the path to extinction, as a people. And they would not be missed.”

“Why do you say that?” asked Nic, feeling the need to defend his predecessors.

He had never heard the original settlers of Ranvar spoken of in such disparaging terms. They had always been considered wild and aggressive, but hunters and warriors who fought against great odds and great enemies to establish the first unified tribes under a single banner that would one day be called the Kingdom of Ranvar.

“Because your people were considered vermin.,” said the HIgh-Father. “There were neighbouring tribes, far stronger, far more advanced in their development. Better tools, better weapons. They had domesticated animals, kept livestock rather than relied on hunting. They were tougher and bigger because they ate well and kept themselves clean, free of illness.”

“And the Ranvarians didn’t?”

“No. They died quickly and often.”

“You make them sound like animals,” said Nic. “No, not even animals are that incapable of taking care of themselves. If they were so weak, how did they manage to survive?”

Nic was too interested in what he was being told to fear the situation he was in. What time was it? Already morning? Were the Librarium staff arriving for work? There were people searching for him, meaning him harm, most probably. None of that seemed very important right now. He was under the Librarium and no one was going to find him here.

“I wondered that myself,” said the High-Father. “Your people should have been long dead before I happened to come across them. Long dead and forgotten. But they were not. They were stubborn and persistent, tenacious beyond reason. They would not make allies, they refused to be told what to do. They valued their freedom above all else and ignored threats that could have wiped them out.” The High-Father’s expression was a mixture of admiration and also bewilderment. “To prefer annihilation rather than bondage… I had never witnessed such a thing. All societies value survival above all else. Slavery and tyranny are tolerated if it means a chance to continue living — but not with your forebears. It wasn’t even arrogance — they had nothing to be arrogant about. If they had been forced to fight, they would have lost. It helped that they occupied a land so rough and wild that no one else had any interest in taking it from them.”

“That’s who you chose them to give your power to?” said Nic. “Why? Because they were wild and reckless?”

“Not wild and reckless. Independent. They thought for themselves and made a point of taking the path others shied away from. I can’t say I fully understood it, but I was fascinated by it and wished to see where it would take me. And here I am, still.” There was a sense of wonder from the High-Father, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

“They lived in the mountains?” asked Nic. This is what he had been told in school about the first tribes of Ranvar, but maybe that wasn’t true, either.

“The mountains, yes. Inside them, in caves and tunnels. They came out to hunt and to forage. Their skin near grey from the lack of sun and their eyes squinting in even the weakest daylight.”

“And these were the people you chose to bestow power on?” asked Nic, finding the reasoning hard to accept. Why choose the most stubborn, unworthy, unjustifiably arrogant individuals who were close to extinction? Just to prove a point? Tempt them with power beyond their dreams and lure them into mindless servitude? It seemed a petty goal. “Did you think it would prove your superiority, to subjugate the most defiant people you could find?” He was, he realised, a little angry about it.

“No, not at all,” said the High-Father. He smiled wistfully like he was recalling a fond memory. “It was their perverse contrariness I valued. I wished to learn from it. You see, Nic, there are qualities that make no sense and come from unfathomable origins but they are all the more valuable for it. The universe is built on those qualities and learning to apply them can change everything.”

“Alright,” said Nic, not sure how to take in this information about the people he was descended from. “I still don’t see what that has to do with me. Or why you would want me to be your champion.”

The word felt strange coming out of Nic’s mouth. He was the one who had suggested the idea, to limit the war between men and demons that he could see coming to a much less destructive battle between two individuals. One representative for the humans, and one for the demons.

At least that way fewer lives would be lost, and the results would be known far quicker than a war between thousands.

It had been more or less an idle thought. A possible alternative that might be worth considering. He hadn’t expected the High-Father to suddenly appear and accept the proposition without hesitation. Nor had he expected to be named one of the two champions. And even more of a surprise was to be chosen to represent the enemy!

It was all very confusing. And now the High-Father wanted to make Nic a willing participant by recalling tales of ancient Ranvar.

“You are the obvious choice,” said the High-Father. “I believe you will come to the same conclusion, that you are the appropriate person to take on this matter on behalf of myself. If not, you are welcome to forfeit. It will be my loss.”

Nic shook his head. No sense at all. “You seem very confident that I’ll agree.”

“I am not,” said the High-Father. “That is what makes it so exciting.” He grinned, not at all maliciously. “The challenge begins with convincing you, and it only gets harder from there.”

“But you could simply make me do what you want,” said Nic. “You could even make me think it was my own idea.”

The High-Father raised a hand and waved away Nic’s insinuation. “That is how you have been treated so far, I am well aware of that. I would apologise to you, but it is not my place to do so. That was the approach taken by others — with my permission, admittedly, but not condoned.”

“What difference does that make?” said Nic. “If you allowed it, then you condoned it.”

“I allowed those who I am responsible for to act as they saw fit. It was always this way and for good reason. If I am to raise them to their full potential, they must be allowed to find their own way, to make their own mistakes.”

“Why?” said Nic. “What are you trying to achieve?”

The High-Father looked like he was about to say something but stopped to think it over, as though it was his first time considering such a question.

“You are doing well,” said a familiar if terrifying voice from the dark. It was the creature, who had been silent since the High-Father appearance. “You are asking the right questions.”

“Am I?” said Nic. “Have you asked these questions already? Do you know the answers? The real ones, I mean.”

“You think I would lie to you?” asked the High-Father, sounding slightly offended.

“It’s not lying if there are many truths and you choose which one to tell,” said Nic. “I know the power you put into your words, that you can recreate any reality you choose. It is what makes you so hard to understand — your lies aren’t lies because you shift reality to make them true. It isn’t very fair.”

“The truth isn’t fair?” said the High-Father.

“Not when you can change it at will,” said Nic. “Why do you even need us? You have so much power, you could do anything, go anywhere. Why waste your time with us?”

“Because infinite possibilities require fuel to power them,” said the High-Father. “Where I came from, there is nothing left to draw from.”

“And where was that?” asked Nic. There was no reply but Nic wasn’t going to let it lie. He might never get another chance like this one. After this, after he rejected the High-Father’s offer (or even worse, accepted it), he would probably be used like wood in a fireplace, the kind of fuel that gets burned up and floats away as smoke and ash. He could at least satisfy his curiosity first. “Where do you come from?”

Nic didn’t really expect an answer, not a coherent one. Maybe a vague allusion to a myth or fairytale that had no real meaning, or a hundred different ones.

The tiny lights around them swirled and the world he recognised was replaced by an angry red ball.

“I was created in a place that no longer exists. Here, there was a world where this cloud of dust now resides.” The High-Father passed his hand through a small dust cloud, making it shimmer.

It was a shockingly direct answer and Nic nearly forgot to follow up. If the High-Father was in the mood to talk, Nic wanted to get as much information out of him as possible.

“By whom?” he said. “Who created you?”

“Aini Ahlia. A man — not a man like you, not with two arms and two legs and a head with orifices, but something similar — only not. An existence living among many. Millions. Billions. They lived, they died, they loved and they reproduced, just like you — only not. Their world was a grand and magnificent globe of grand and magnificent minds. They were beings of incomparable capacity, always attempting to grow and expand their knowledge, their understanding, and their reach.”

“This man, Aini Ahlia, he created you?”

“He made a terrible and horrible discovery — he learned that a living mind could reshape space. Not just the space within its own imagination or in dreams, but in reality, in the space people existed within.”

“Why is that terrible and horrible?” asked Nic.

“Because the living mind had to be removed from the living being that housed it in order to achieve this shape-changing ability.”

“And he did that to himself?” asked Nic.

“No,” said the High-Father, shaking his head. “No, no. Not to himself, to others. To experiment on himself would have brought his work to a very rapid close. Although his experiments on others were also quickly ended, with his execution.”

Nic nodded. It seemed the appropriate punishment for a murderer.

“But they still had the minds,” said the High-Father.

“They weren’t dead?”

“No,” said the High-Father. “They were alive and transformed, and in immeasurable pain. But to kill them as an act of mercy was not something that was deemed acceptable. An unseemly fate for his victims. Death was a far worse fate, for them, and reserved for criminals and madmen. After the execution of Aini Ahlia, people continued his work and found the parts of the mind responsible for reshaping reality.”

“They continued his experiments on the living minds?” Nic was dumbfounded. They had killed the man responsible for what was clearly a horrendous act on innocents, but were apparently willing to continue his work once the initial evil had been committed.

“It would have been a waste not to, or so they believed. It may seem to you that it is as cruel to meddle with an enslaved mind as it is to enslave it in the first place — and so it is — but the people of that word drew a rigid distinction between instigating and perpetuating. To them, it seemed right and compassionate.

“And so it came to pass that the discovery of minds that could change the shape of existence led to the discovery that the minds themselves could be reshaped and bring into existence a new being.”

“You?” asked Nic.

“Eventually, yes,” said the High-Father. “But not at first. First, they had to sacrifice the minds and combine them into one. They coalesced and grafted and welded with heat and pain. Pain is a powerful glue that can bind things together for aeons. A torrent of discordant colours and textures flooded my senses when I first awoke, my screams went unheard but gradually the pain ebbed away until I was left trembling on its shore.”

Nic couldn’t help but be horrified. He understood that he was hearing about an entirely different culture to his own, as different as birds to fish or lizards to lions, but the idea of treating people as ingredients in an experiment, to be mixed and stirred, did not fit well with him.

“And you were the result?”

“Eventually, yes,” said the High-Father, taking pleasure in Nic’s discomfort, although perhaps he imagined that. “The minds combined had the effect of displacing reality altogether. The whole world became unglued and what was once a large bowl with a little bit of everything, turned into a soup. From which I slowly emerged. I had the memories and conceptual awareness of the beings that had birthed me, but there was so much else to learn. This was a very long time ago.”

The High-Father smiled, his story told. Nic didn’t feel the shift in perception that came with the other stories he had been told by demons. This had felt simple and unembellished, although perhaps that was because the storyteller was far more accomplished at subtle changes.

Nic wasn’t sure what to do with all this information. He had asked where the High-Father had come from and he had been given the answer. It had changed nothing. Perhaps he had asked the wrong question.

“And you were alone?” asked Nic.

“Yes. At first, my gaze was inward, wondering who I was, what I was, and then outwards, as I contemplated the silent stars. The joy of being, the pure unadulterated joy of existing, the beauty and grace I was surrounded by, it was enough, at first — when you listen carefully, you find the universe hums gently to itself. The novelty eventually wore off, and I began to explore.”

“How?” asked Nic. “How did you move from your world?”

“I didn’t,” said the High-Father. “I am still there. And I am here. It’s the distance between them that changed.”

“But the ship,” said Nic. “The place where you sent Winnum Roke, where the crea…” He stumbled on the word, not wanting to use such an anonymous term for the creature, but not knowing what else to call it.

“The ship enabled others to travel with me,” said the High-Father. “It is a fine vessel and very useful, able to cover unimaginable distances.”

“But you could change those distances with a thought,” said Nic. “Couldn’t you?”

He was struggling to understand what the High-Father was truly after. He seemed to be omnipotent, able to remould stardust into whatever he wished. So why was he here? What could he possibly learn from anyone?

“I could, but then what?” The High-Father waved his hand around as though the answer might be somewhere within the spinning stars surrounding him but their exact location was a mystery. “This into that, that into this. If you can change anything into anything, then everything is the same.”

Nic tried to piece together what the High-Father was getting at. Here he was, a being of limitless power and he was what? Bored?

No, that wasn’t it. He was searching for something, and he needed the help of others to find it. What could anyone possibly offer the High-Father that he didn’t already have or couldn’t conjure up with a snap of his fingers?

“You created the demons,” said Nic. “How? Are they a part of you?”

“As you are a part of your parents,” said the High-Father.

“And the All-Mother? Where did she come from?” Nic had only heard of the name, there had been no specific mention of who she was or what she could do.

“I created her and together we created our children.”

“And then you wanted them to grow and become like…” It dawned on Nic what it was the High-Father was seeking. “You wanted them to have free will, to make their own choices.”

The High-Father’s eyes lit up and his smile spread across his face. “Yes, that’s it. To be their own masters.”

“Couldn’t you just give it to them?” asked Nic. “Make them have it?”

“No. I could make them think their will was their own but they would simply be carrying out my instructions.”

“But they wouldn’t know any different,” said Nic.

“But I would.”

“So you do have free will. How?”

“Aini Ahlia was an intellect beyond reckoning. I have the collected memories of his entire world, but not his.”

“It’s a shame they killed him, then,” said Nic.

The High-Father laughed. “Indeed, a great shame.”

“I think I understand,” said Nic, “more or less. You want your creations to be able to think and choose for themselves. Even though they have enormous powers, they are still just an extension of you. You took them to various places so they could grow and learn. You brought them here and merged them with us, so they could acquire greed and desire and selfishness, or whatever it is that give us our desire to follow our own path. Aren’t your efforts already a success? The demon who came to me, she seemed very much to have her own agenda.”

“No,” said the High-Father, “I’m afraid not. She was carrying out my instructions, but in her own time and manner. It is not quite there, but close, very close. This world has brought me closest to my goal.”

“But Winnum Roke tried to stop you.”

“Yes,” said the High-Father. “But more than that, she wished to challenge me as an equal. And to do that she would need to create a being of comparable power.”

“How would she do that without…” Nic felt dizzy with the realisation that had hit him. “Without… she wanted to recreate the experiment that created you?”

“That is what she wished.”

“The minds of the people of this world?”

“Yes.”

“I… I don’t believe she would do that.”

“You could ask her yourself,” said the High-Father. “She won’t deny it. She sees it as the only path to victory. She may even be correct.”

“I am correct,” said a voice that had recently resided in Nic’s mind.

“You aren’t the real Winnum Roke,” said Nic, looking around the starry sky he was surrounded by.

“I know how she thinks,” said the disembodied voice, “and I know this is the only path we have left. It is not a matter of choice, it is a matter of having no other good options.”

“She made you,” said Nic. “A version of herself. Like how the High-Father made his demons.” Nic could see it now, the similarity between the two. Winnum Roke may have been appalled and disgusted by what the High-Father had done, but she was still willing to follow his example. Willing to go to whatever lengths.

“What do you think, Nic?” said the High-Father.

“I… I…” Nic didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want it to be possible. But what if it were? “You allowed this to happen. You gave them the task to defeat you by any means they wished. You wanted them to grow beyond you, and that’s what they’re doing. By destroying you, and us in the process. You want this to happen.”

“I do not want this to happen,” said the High-Father, “but I do want them to evolve. And evolution requires conflict. Winnum Roke was inspired to a new way of thinking, a darker way. But the cost is going to be very high, and very bloody. Will you stop her?”

Nic was at a loss. It was a lot to take in. Even if he did want to avoid the destruction of his world, how would he go about it? Winnum Roke was very nearly as powerful as the High-Father. And all Nic had was a very detailed map in his head.

“What about you?” said Nic into the darkness. “Do you want my world to end the same as yours?”

“It is not my choice,” said the creatures rumbling voice. “This is not my world. But if he isn’t stopped here, other worlds will fall to him, just as others have before. You are a single step on his journey to wean his children. There will be countless more before he is satisfied.”

It was a staggering thought. Winnum Roke had come to the conclusion that the only way to stop the High-Father was to create an equal and opposite force to oppose him, which made sense. And she was willing to sacrifice her own people to create that force, which didn’t.

“I still don’t see what I can do about any of this,” said Nic, feeling weary from the weight of so many impossible thoughts. There was nothing to cling onto, no rhyme nor reason. “What can I do?”

“I do not know,” said the High-Father. “Which is why I am keen to see what you will do.”

“Because I have free will?”

“Because you have your free will. Others have tried to mould you to their will, to use you as a convenient tool. I don’t think their ambition was any greater than that or you, but you have learned from the experience. The punishment they delivered to you was a great teacher. Your weakness forced you to take steps no one else would have, because they wouldn’t need to. With great power comes great complacency.”

“Aren’t there others who could challenge Winnum Roke?” asked Nic.

“Many,” said the High-Father. “But none who are powerful enough to defeat her, and all are too powerful to try any other way. And even if they did manage it, most likely they would only replace her. The path she has chosen leads to power far beyond what they have now.”

“It leads to you,” said Nic.

“Yes,” said the High-Father. “And who would want another me?”

“I think I’d like to speak to Winnum Roke,” said Nic.

“Again?” said the High-Father.

“No, not her. I mean the real one.”

The High-Father considered the request. Then he nodded and said, “I can arrange that but you should know that the moment she realises you are her prospective opponent, she is likely to remove you as a threat. Even if you have no intention of going against her, it will still be the safer choice for her. Are you ready to face her in that case?”

“No,” said Nic. “I don’t think I am. Can’t I just speak to her?”

“The door is closed. The only way is to open it and I have given my word I will not be the one to do so. Nor can I tell you how to go about it. And once you do open it, should you find a method, there will be no way to make sure she doesn’t attack you. How would you like to proceed?”

Nic wasn’t sure he did want to proceed. Leaving things as they were wasn’t much use, either. War was inevitable and he suspected the reasons behind the war were to do with the plan the High-Father had mentioned. A large gathering of people would be the ideal time to strip them of their minds and create a being to challenge him.

Nic wanted to speak to Winnum Roke directly and confirm what the High-Father had said was true. He didn’t think he was being lied to, but you didn’t have to lie to hide the truth.

“I can take you to her,” said the creature.

89: Surf's Up

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

 

Ubik had a contingency plan. To be more exact, he had several contingency plans, but he had the ideal one for this situation. The only problem was waiting for Grandma to get here.

Chukka had been quicker in finding him than he’d expected. If he’d managed to get out of the door, he would have been able to lose them, he was pretty sure. No matter how unlikely it might seem when faced with people holding guns pointed at your face, once the chase began, the odds quickly changed.

But the only doorway in or out of the small cabin was filled with Vendx security, and Chukka was right behind them, making sure there were no cracks for Ubik to slip through.

You had to be patient in these situations. Invariably, there would an opening — his job was to be ready to jump through it.

“What was that?” Chukka was shouting into her comms. “Bridge, update. Yes, I know what you said, now give me something that makes sense.”

Ubik couldn’t hear the other half of the conversation, but judging from Chukka’s face, she wasn’t pleased by whatever she was being told. Good to know. Ubik stamped his foot on the floor and patted it around, looking for a better magnetic connection.

“You,” said Chukka. “What was that noise?”

Ubik shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything.” There was a loud bang and the walls shook. “Oh, did you mean that noise?”

Chukka didn’t seem amused. The two guards, shoulder-to-shoulder in the doorway, raised their rifles to indicate they were ready to fire, which hardly made a difference since they had been ready to fire before.

Vendx security clearly didn’t have much practice with this sort of thing. Most of their duties probably revolved around looking impressive in their shiny battlesuits for visiting dignitaries considering buying an obscene amount of heavily overpriced equipment.

“If anything happens to this ship,” said Chukka, “you will be just as dead as the rest of us.”

It was a threat that managed to freak out the two guards, who apparently weren’t aware this was a suicide mission. Ubik tried not to smile.

“Shouldn’t you take me to the brig or the detention centre or whatever term the PR use. Complimentary guest room? You provide three meals a day, right? I did send out for food, but it’s a bit late. No tip for the delivery boys.”

“Oh, I’ve got a place saved for you in the Public Relations Hospitality Suite,” said Chukka.

Both guards sucked in air like they’d just seen someone get kicked in the groin.

“Sounds like fun,” said Ubik. He tapped the toe of his right boot in a semicircle. Where was it?

“It won’t be,” said Chukka.

There was another bang, another wall-shaking tremor.

Being weightless lessened the impact for them, but Ubik being attached to the floor made him vibrate along with the rest of the ship, giving his captors a nice visual cue to heighten their anxiety. That was definitely something Ubik felt he could work with while he waited for his ride to arrive. Grandma was apparently having some navigational issues.

“What do you mean you don’t know where it’s coming from?” said Chukka. “Look outside, there must be a ship or something. Say again? How can it be coming from the interior? We’d all be dead if there was an explosion that big inside the ship.”

There were some nervous glances over their shoulders from the guards. Hearing your superiors express their lack of understanding of a life-threatening situation did not inspire confidence in the leadership of your company, especially when it was your life that was under threat.

“Use the internal sensors,” said Chukka. The response produced a scowl. “They’re the most advanced sensors on the market.”

“Actually, they’re not,” said Ubik. “I saw the specs. They’re the basic series. External sensors are top-notch, but the internal…” He shook his head. “They probably didn’t expect to have to defend facing this way when they were installed.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Chukka, her voice strained. The pressure was getting to her, but she was PR Department, she would find a way to spin it into something positive. “I know what you did. I get it. You made the interceptor drones think the ship’s been hijacked and you made the ship think the drones are under external control. Well done, very clever, but we don’t fire on our own, it’s part of the core programming. Didn’t know about that, did you?”

“Everyone knows about that,” said Ubik. “It’s on the first page of the company prospectus, the Fool-Proof Safety Protocol. I mean, no one apart from me has probably read it, but it’s definitely in the public domain.” He looked at the guards. “I was going to invest in Vendx, so I was doing my due diligence. Decided to go in a different direction.”

“I’m going to enjoy wiping that smile off your face when I get you back to my office,” said Chukka.

There was another wince from the boys in the doorway.

“I’m not smiling,” said Ubik. “This is just my resting face. My lips go up at the corners without meaning to. Always gets me into trouble. People think I’m making fun of them and I’m like, no, that’s just how I look, but they never believe me. This is what my smile looks like.” He grinned at them like a mildly insane person.

“You two,” said Chukka to people outside of Ubik’s view. “Drag him out of there. And be careful, he’s a slippery one. You lose concentration for a second and he’ll rip you to pieces. Which won’t be as bad as what I’ll do to you.”

Ubik raised his hands to show he had no ill intent as the guards moved up and to the sides, and two more wearing much heavier armour came floating in, one behind the other — she’d called in a tank unit, which was flattering, or paranoid. They were trained for bomb disposal. Ubik lowered his hands, his arms sticking straight out in front.

Rifles were still aimed at him from the top of the doorway. An unnecessary precaution. Ubik had no desire to hurt anyone.

The two tanks grabbed an arm each, their mechanised gloves clamping down firmly. The one holding his right arm moved off first — they would have to exit in single file — and got only halfway to the door before he stopped. Ubik’s top half was pulled forward but his feet remained stuck to the floor.

The right-side tank vented a stronger stream of gas, but Ubik remained where he was.

The left-side tank let go and rotated so his large helmet was closer to Ubik’s feet.

“Delgados,” he said with a hint of admiration. “Locked down. Won’t be able to shift them.”

“Deactivate them,” ordered Chukka, “or I’ll tell them to cut your legs off.”

“Hold on,” said Ubik. “There’s a special sequence.”

“Now!” said Chukka.

“He’s telling the truth,” said the tank still checking out the boots. “You have to run a sequence of moves to unlock the magnets. I read about it in a periodical. I was thinking of investing in a pair myself.”

“I recommend them,” said Ubik.

Shut up,” said Chukka. “Five seconds, and then I want you to cut him off at the knees.”

There was a click and Ubik rose about six centimetres off the ground.

“That’s better,” said Chukka, looking pleased to be obeyed.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “I thought it would never get here. Grandma, let’s go!”

Ubik went zooming backwards. He wasn’t in a suit so he shouldn’t have been able to move so quickly. The left tank wasn’t holding on to him but the right one still had his arm, and came flying along.

Ubik was standing perfectly still, his feet more or less together, his arms rigid. He went backwards up the wall behind him, along the ceiling upside down and facing away from the door. He trusted Grandma to guide him the right way.

“How is he moving like that?” said someone.

“Just shoot him,” said Chukka.

“But Ferguson…”

“Shoot him! Shoot them both!”

So much for not firing on your own.

Ferguson had a look of panic inside his helmet. Ubik gave him a reassuring nod and leaned back, swinging the tank down and through the doorway. He smashed into the guards with their guns firing, hitting the incoming wrecking ball multiple times. The suit saved him but short-circuited.

Ubik had already opened the panel on the heavily armoured arm-section. Anti-bomb units had emergency ejects installed as standard. Ubik hit the button and was left with a glove stuck on his arm as the Vendx man went flying into his colleagues in the corridor.

Ubik snapped his heels and felt himself detach from the drone that was on the other side of the wall. The vents were too small for a person, but they could accommodate a service drone quite nicely. By modulating the magnetic frequency in his boots, he could stick to the drone instead of the floor.

He didn’t have to do anything but stay connected as the drone flew through the vents inside the walls of the ship, but he did have to jump the occasional obstacle, like the wall above the door. Or the wall beneath the door, as it looked from his perspective.

Ubik entered the corridor with momentum carrying him. He lowered his tucked feet and turned the magnets back on. The drone seized him and kept going.

There were more guards outside, but they were confused by seeing one of their own come crashing into the forward team, and weren’t expecting someone gliding across the ceiling.

“After him,” screamed Chukka from under her men.

The sounds of suits venting gas behind him were followed by shouts of confusion as they banged into one another. They would sort themselves out in a moment, but Ubik had a head start. Now he just had to get to the simulation room.

***

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Kitchen 2F.

 

Gipper liked the soup. He had tried the lobster bisque and hadn’t enjoyed it at all. Very tart. He wasn’t sure what was in the soup, but it had just the right amount of sweetness for his tastes.

The food on the Red Devil was mediocre at best. They used to have a chef back when Gipper first joined the crew, but he died on an Antecessor city ship. That man had known how to grow a steak, the ship’s garden had been full of them, ripe and juicy.

There was a loud bang and the galley shook. This had been going on for some time and Gipper was used to it. The kitchen drones were still remaining docked on the wall. There were numerous orders up on the screens, waiting to be delivered, but the drones were refusing to come out.

Someone would probably come to check on them when the alarms were no longer wailing and whatever was hitting the ship stopped striking every few minutes. In the meantime, Gipper would fill up on the daily menu. He hadn’t even started on dessert yet.

Another bang — they were more frequent now. Everything shook for a second and then quiet again. New orders appeared on the screen. Even when death was imminent, people still had an appetite. The ovens responded accordingly. The food would come out in a few seconds, but without the drones to take them away, it was left to Gipper to prevent any wastage. No one would be able to say he hadn’t done his part.

This time, one of the drones detached from the wall. It came floating across and took the dish as it was ejected from the oven. It came towards Gipper, the thin strip around its middle declaring the meal was: Surf ‘n’ Turf.

Only, it looked more like a blancmange.

The dish sounded familiar. No, not a dish, a restaurant in Fraiche City. What was he supposed to do? Order out?

Chapter 451

It’s always easy to tell who the bad guy is in a story. In a book or a movie, you have it clearly laid out for you. They snarl and hiss and say things only a villain would say.

It’s too late, the innocent must die.

They don’t have to explain why they want to blow up the moon or steal all the diamonds in the world, they just do.

Even if there’s a twist, you sort of see it coming. Oh, it was his best friend all along? The guy who was his mentor and taught him everything he knows? The girl he loved who seemed the perfect partner?

In reality, there’s no final boss. No mastermind behind everything.

And if you do get fucked over, it won’t be some viper in your bosom. No one you know is going to betray you because, as I’m sure you already know, they’re all far too useless to organise something on that level. They wish they could stab you in the back and sell your secrets to the highest bidder but, unfortunately, they still haven’t managed to work out what all the controls on the dishwasher are for. Contacting the Saudis to arrange your visit to their embassy for a chop-chop party is not something they’d be able to sort out. Maybe if there was an app.

The way people screw with other people is to cast a wide net. You lay your trap — your false advertising and unproven claims — and then you wait to see who’s dumb enough to fall into it. Many will. There are a lot of dumb motherfuckers in the world.

But if you want to target a specific person and get them to buy into whatever you happen to be selling, then that’s an altogether tougher proposition. Getting the team together one last time — the sexy chick to seduce, the limber Chinese guy to sneak in the window, the black guy who knows how to crack any lock — isn’t as easy as the average montage would have you believe.

There’s something quite flattering about being made the target of a lot of attention, even if that attention is bad. You must be someone special if so many people want you dead, right?

If there’s a competition for who can grab you and strap you to a chair so they can electrocute your testicles until you come clean (maybe a euphemism?), then you’ve sort of made it.

You are the special one. The one vile men want to do horrible things to. Me and pretty teenage girls, we had a lot in common.

“We can’t close it,” said Orion. He was looking back at his elite team of scientists, who were raising their hands while shrugging. “Who is she?”

I didn’t trust anyone at this dinner table. I still hadn’t worked out if I was the detective who was going to reveal the murderer by the time coffee was served, or Victim No. 1, who’s poisoned during the first course, and falls into his soup. Hopefully, it was gazpacho so I wouldn’t get a nasty burn.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Let me talk to her.”

Everyone on this side of the building (the inside) was leaning away, like they were ready to make a break for the exit if Claire suddenly sprouted bat wings or tentacles.

I understood their concern — when she came through the portal, she didn’t exactly pop out like she was back from her latest mission through the Stargate. She came through the blackness like it was a thin sheet of plastic, stretching with her as she walked, sticking to her body and face, pulling it out with her like elastic.

They would have you believe a change of hairstyle, a mask that puts circles around the eyes, is enough to hide your identity, but clearly that isn’t the case.

I recognised Claire immediately, just from her outline. Mostly the profile when she turned her head.

She was walking towards us, the black material that formed a barrier between worlds, growing longer behind her.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The voice also gave her away. She wasn’t even doing the gruff Batman voice to disguise it, just her regular gruff Claire voice.

I walked out to meet her before the elastic reached its limit and she popped out like Ace Ventura being birthed by a rhino.

No one tried to stop me from going. Nobody shouted, “Colin, no, don’t risk your life for us, we aren’t worth it.”

They all seemed very intrigued by this being from another dimension. Would she kill me? Eat me? The black outfit traditionally denoted the hero gone bad, and also the worst film in a franchise.

I think their first thought was to let the guy with the bad attitude deal with it. Story of my life.

I walked out just past the window. It was cold and windy and I didn’t fancy going skydiving without a parachute. I didn’t fancy it with a parachute, either.

“What are you doing here, Claire?” the last time I’d seen her, we weren’t exactly on the best of terms. She and Maurice were running things in Fengarad and had no more use for the likes of me, which suited me fine. Let them find out the hard way what it was like to be in charge of a bunch of ingrates.

“Maurice has been working out how to use the spires.” Her face was entirely covered by the black stuff, but it didn’t seem to impede her speech. I could hear her clearly.

“Great,” I said. “What are you doing here, Claire?” I enunciated it extra-clear to get it through to her.

She paused. Hesitating was usually a bad sign. No one ever hesitated before good news.

“I came to rescue you. Take you back. As a way to thank you for all the times you saved us.”

Now I knew she was bullshitting me.

People, in general, don’t like expressing gratitude. They’ll thank you at the time, give you the credit you deserve in front of witnesses, but once the moment’s over, they don’t rush off to work out how to repay you. They rush off to avoid having to look at you and feel beholden to someone.

It’s quite impressive how people can contort their recollection of events to justify them not owing you and not having to come through when you need a hand in return. You can get them to pay up, figuratively or maybe even financially, but only with a scowl and an edge to their voice as they make you feel bad for making them pay their debt.

“Here. Take it.”

That sense of relief and appreciation that often flourishes in the moment, quickly recedes and dies quietly in a corner, unnoticed. The art of thankfulness died sometime in the 70s or 80s. Fucking Boomers killed it along with everything else that was worth keeping alive.

“Why are you really here, Claire?”

“Where is this?” she said, looking around with her face covered in black.

“It’s Earth,” I said.

“Our Earth?” she asked. We were on a platform sticking out the side of a tall building, so it was easy to not recognise it.

“My Earth,” I said. “I don’t know what planet you come from. Actually, might not even be my one. It’s very strange here. Might be an alternative universe. The whole place is run by idiots.”

“How is that any different?” asked Claire.

“No, I mean really stupid people. They’ve started electing insane people and fascists, for some reason. It’s like a weird video game with comically bad villains.”

I got the sense she didn’t really understand what I was saying, which was understandable. You had to see it to believe it.

Claire reached out her hand. “I think you should come with me.”

I didn’t reach out my hand. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?”

“Claire, I think you’re forgetting who I am. Nobody helps me out of the goodness of their heart. No one has any goodness in their heart to start with. You and Maurice would be dead without me. Then you tried to get rid of me. And now you want my help but don’t want to ask or admit what a piece of shit you’ve been.”

There was a longer pause this time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry we outgrew you. We understood what you wanted and why, but not everyone wants to run away and avoid other people for the rest of their lives. We wanted a chance to try things our way.”

People who make a point of using ‘we’ and ‘us’ are usually trying to hide the fact they went out and did something dumb for reasons of poor judgement and flawed logic. If you make it sound like it was a group decision, then you aren’t solely to blame.

“I strongly suspect it was all your idea from the start,” I said. “Lady Macbeth to Maurice’s Batman. He wanted to build a cave under a big house, you wanted to rule the world. Well, you made your choice, it’s got nothing to do with me.”

Claire lowered her black-covered arm. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes. You outgrew me. You can’t outgrow people by becoming smaller and meaner and more rancid. You didn’t outgrow me, you jumped at the chance of deregulation, and like all people who say they can regulate themselves, you got greedy and vicious, and now… what? Maurice found himself another Catwoman?”

“Of course not,” said Claire. “You’ve got it all wrong. There’s just… He’s just… different since his transformation.”

Maurice had died — well, I sort of killed him — and came back transformed with wings and all sorts of new features not available in the old model. I wasn’t sure what Claire’s problem was, but maybe the new lead didn’t fit in the old socket.

“I’m sure things will be fine if you give it time,” I said.

“No. No, they won’t. He’s becoming obsessed. He won’t talk to me, won’t eat, won’t sleep.”

“He’s ignoring you? That’s what got your knickers in a twist?”

“Why can’t you just be a friend and help?” She was getting frustrated and irritable. It wasn’t so bad when you couldn’t see her face.

“You’re the one who told me you didn’t want me around. You outgrew me, remember? I have a very specific way of doing things, Claire. I don’t expect anyone to do things the same way as me, but if you want to impose on me, then you have to do things my way. You know that, Claire. I’ve always made it clear. Go and do your own shit if you want, I won’t stop you, but on my team, there is no equality, there is no democracy. I’ve seen how other people operate — no thank you. That includes you. You’re a fucking idiot. You always have been. The reason I’ve always been so much better than you and everyone else isn’t because I’m some kind of genius, it’s because you’re all so fucking useless. Oh, look at them down in the gutter while I’m on the kerb. Wish I was on top of that litter bin. Your standards are pathetic. I may not be up in the stars, but at least I’m on a rooftop.”

Claire put out her arms. “What kind of rooftop is this?”

It was windy and we were too high up to be comfortable. My analogy was tortured and confusing. I don’t think Claire was really paying proper attention, in any case. Too worried about her own problems and whatever Maurice was up to.

There was the sound of running footsteps from behind me, and then half a dozen men shot past, running down the bridge towards the portal at the end.

It seemed Orion had decided to make a move. Send in his boys, get them through the rift while it was here. This was what he had wanted, after all, a way to cross over.

Well, he probably should have waited a little longer. The men ran all the way to the end of the bridge and jumped. You couldn’t fault them for bravery or stupidity.

They hit the blackness and bounced off, sailing into the air and then down, down, down. No parachutes opened.

I was too startled to react. You’d think they might test it out with a long stick or something first. At least I wasn’t responsible for these fatalities.

“Did they just jump to their deaths?” said Claire.

“Yes,” I said. “I told you, the people here are a lot stupider than they used to be.”

Claire began sliding away from me. Her feet weren’t moving she was just being pulled backwards.

“Come with me,” she said, arm out again.

I reached out and took her hand. Not her actual hand but the black cast of it that was covering her real hand.

The black substance looked familiar to me and I wanted to see if it was what I thought it was — black goo.

The moment I touched it, I recognised the sensation. It stuck to my hand and as I pulled back, it stretched into thin black threads as Claire continued to recede towards the portal.

I stared at the goo stuck to my fingers. It was the same substance I used to stick things together when I was in the adjacent world. Had Maurice found a way to use it?

I grabbed it with both hands and pulled it apart. It sheared open like ripping a sheet and Claire appeared in front of me, although still going backwards on a black carpet. She looked confused.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please. Help me.”

“No, not right now,” I said. It’s difficult to turn down a genuine request for assistance from someone desperate, but I find if you remember all the shitty things a desperate person can find excuses to do, it becomes much easier. “If you want help, find Jenny.”

“Isn’t she here with you?”

“No. She’s in the void over the spire.”

“I can’t… I can’t go there. It’s too late.” Something in Claire’s expression told me the spires were not a good place to be right now. “Maybe I should stay here,” added Claire, which was even more troubling.

“Nope.” I let go of the goo and it slapped back together, shutting Claire back in. The good slid back into the portal which shrank to a dot and then disappeared.

I could have gone back, probably. Just jumped in and taken my chances. But there was something controlling the goo, and it wasn’t Claire. Maurice? Maybe. Someone else? Also possible. Until I had a better idea of who was offering me a way back home and why, I felt it was better to take my time.

I turned around and walked back into the building where Orion and Lillian were standing staring at me.

“Your guys jumping off the end of the platform like that,” I said, “that was pretty fucking stupid. If you were wondering why I don’t want to work for someone like you, that’s why. You’re an idiot, and the plans of an idiot aren’t really the best to follow, I find.”

Orion, to his credit, accepted the criticism without comment. Lillian looked like she wanted to say something. But she looked me in the eyes and decided against it. Maybe she was psychic after all.

88: Two Out of Three

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain .

VGV Motherboard (orbit).

Commissary 6C.

 

Point-Two was quickly coming to the realisation that he didn’t like people. Not any one person in particular, just people in general.

“The hell I will. You can stick your request in your suggestion hole.”

It wasn’t just the people who told him what to do — everyone had an issue with their boss or supervisor, that was normal — it was also people who were placed under his direction. Especially when they didn’t like taking orders.

“I’m no traitor. I won’t tell you anything. You hear me? Nothing.”

It had always been a struggle for him to organise a group of individuals into a cohesive team. Even when they cooperated, they were usually too incompetent to work together effectively. It took skill and effort to work as a single unit. There were people who were good at that sort of thing. Point-Two had never been one of them.

“Just leave me alone. Haven’t you done enough already? You broke my nose!”

The tall man, who was incessantly screaming his refusal to help, had blood still leaking from his face. It came out in small globules that jumped out with each snorted breath, and then raced backwards past his face to disappear into the cracks between drones.

Point-Two was tempted to threaten further breakages, but he decided that would only push the man further into a corner, and people backed into corners tended to behave irrationally.

“Tell me how to open the hatch and I won’t bother you again.” Simple, calm, clear. He was giving the twerp every chance to be reasonable.

“What are you going to do next? Kill me? Ha! Go ahead. You’ve already taken away my career. Do what you want, you crazy pirate bastard.”

No, reasonable wasn’t going to do the business here.

“Then I’ll just have to make sure I tell them your name when they get here,” said Point-Two. “You can be hostage number one.”

“How can you tell them my name when you don’t know what it is?” said the man. He wasn’t wearing his Vendx uniform, so his name wasn’t on his chest.

“That’s right,” said someone next to him. “Don’t tell him your name, Pike.”

“Ah, Pike,” said Point-Two, grateful for the assist.

“What did you tell him my name for?” screamed Pike.

“Sorry,” whined the accidental snitch. “It just popped out.”

There was a loud bang from above. It was getting easier to hear the multiple hits — were they getting further apart?

“You hear that?” said Point-Two. “It’s getting worse. I have to get to the simulation room or we all die. All of us.”

He had tried threats, he had tried cajoling. Bribes and promises hadn’t worked, either. Now he was attempting to appeal to their sense of self-preservation.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” said Pike, still wiping his nose and smearing the blood across his face. “It’s voice-activated, and the system turns off voice activation during a breach. They don’t want you opening doors when they’ve just sealed you off to die, do they?”

He had gone from enraged to indignant with a heavy layer of sarcasm. If there had been a lever to eject them all into space, Point-Two was about ready to pull it.

“What’s the voice activation?” said Point-Two, forcing his tone into the vicinity of civil. The outskirts.

“I won’t tell you, even if it makes no difference. I’m not your hostage. I’m stuck in here with a mad man, and I didn’t break even when you attacked me.”

Point-Two resisted the urge to point out he had been attacked first and only acted in self-defence. He doubted it would help. “You may be down there, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use you as leverage. I can say I’ll kill you if Vendx don’t do as I say, then you’re de facto my hostages.”

There was a gasp from one of the women. “You lied. You said you’d let us go.”

“I said I’d let you off if you didn’t get in my way. You are now getting in my way.”

“It won’t work, I tell you,” shouted Pike. “There’s no point, you bastard. Look.” He bellowed out: “Sigma, jay, nine, hatch 6C.” His face was even redder now, spittle flying out with the drops of blood. “See? Noth—”

There was a click and the hatch slid open.

“What the hell?” screamed Pike. “Why’s it working?”

“Thanks,” said Point-Two. “Don’t worry, I won’t mention your name.”

“Mention my name? They have my voice on record. I’m a bloody collaborator now.” His yelling had become pained and hopeless. The people nearest him tried to move away, not wanting to be associated with him.

“Hey, I can feel fresh air,” said Benkson, still clinging to the table by the vending machine.

Point-Two pushed away from the hole towards the open panel. He could feel it, too. The open shaft was pouring more air into the room, making the flow stronger and harder to resist. He only just made it to the hatch and grabbed the edge of the opening with one hand.

“What’s going on?” said someone in the hole, sounding panicked. “Something’s hap-p-p-p-ening.”

There was a mechanical series of clicks coming from inside the hole. Point-Two could enter the shaft and go up to the next deck. He could leave these people here — whatever use Ubik had envisioned for them, he was sure he could make do without them.

“Help! They’re opening, the drones are splitting up.” The rest was drowned out in screaming.

The suction towards the hole had increased markedly. Which meant the drones forming a barrier between the interior of the ship and the exterior of outer space were disassembling.

Why, Point-Two had no idea. Had Ubik programmed them to cease providing a barrier once another exit was discovered? Was this what he had wanted Point-Two to do?

Point-Two did not enter the hatch. Once inside, he could use the confined space to wedge himself against the pull of space. He wanted to. He wanted to leave all these annoying people behind but he just couldn’t.

in a shipwreck situation, there were always those who tried to save themselves. Usually, it was just panic, sometimes it was pure selfishness, but it was never okay. That was something ingrained into him since childhood. On the Garu, you squabbled, you fought, but when the ship was in danger, you worked together or you died together.

Without the ship, all you would be was debris floating in the void. Without the ship, you were lost. Always stay and fight to save everyone — there was always a way.

Point-Two let go of the side of the open hatch and went flying back towards the hole. It was easy and fast. He grabbed the lip of the hole and nearly wrenched his shoulder out of its socket.

The drones had detached from each other and the layers were separating into a lattice of diamond shapes, through which the stars were visible. The pull of the deep was strong and familiar.

“Drones,” shouted Point-Two. “Close formation.” He said it out of desperation, the first attempt in what he foresaw as a series of increasingly desperate ones.

To his surprise, the drones stopped drifting apart and began to move back. Voice activation — Ubik had given them his voice signature. It would have been nice if he’d mentioned it.

The people below, whimpering, holding onto one another, quieted as the suction ceased altogether. The drones had completely blocked off the hole. The crew members began to float freely, no longer stuck to the inside surface of the drone dome.

Some people started crying. They had been about to die and had accepted it — there had been no chance of avoiding their fate — and then a reprieve. It was overwhelming. They were still here, numb with shock.

“Okay,” said Point-Two, for some reason relieved this bunch of idiots hadn’t died. “Stay here and wait to be rescued. You aren’t hostages. Oh, you better come with me,” he said to Pike, who was floating towards him, his face streaked with tears. “You’re already compromised, nothing we can do about that now.”

Perhaps there was a way to make use of the gangly man in the shaft. Open the hatch on the other end or something.

Pike came out of the hole, nodding, no longer confrontational. A brush with death tended to have that effect.

He was followed by the others, all twenty-seven of them.

“Hey, wait, stay here,” said Point-Two. There were enough of them to rush him and pin him down if he let them get too close.

“We’ll come with you,” said the redhead.

“Tell us what you want, we’ll help,” said a dark-haired man.

They all came floating out of the hole, shaky and unsteady, all ready to do whatever Point-Two asked of them.

Point-Two didn’t want their help. There were too many of them, they would just get in his way. And their obliging attitudes would be replaced by the usual bickering once their gratitude wore off.

“What’s your name?” asked Pike, his tone almost reverential. Others voiced their support for the question.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Tell us.”

“Ubik,” said Point-Two. “Feel free to tell anyone who asks.”

“You want to go up to the simulation room, right?” said Pike. “Follow me. We used to do this as a prank all the time, scare the crap out of the techs. You can float straight up.” He pushed himself off the wall and headed for the opening into the shaft.

Point-Two did want to go to the simulation room, might as well ride this wave while it lasted. He followed Pike into the shaft.

It was easy enough to move. The shaft walls provided an easy way to propel upwards. Pike’s feet were above him. From below, he could hear the others following.

This was a bad idea. If they got trapped in here, there would be no way out. A bad, bad idea.

“Wait,” said Pike. “I just need to open the hatch.” He grunted, putting some effort into whatever he was doing. “You can open them without voice activation, I was lying about that. But it really should haven’t worked when I shouted. Must be a bug.”

He sounded quite relaxed now. At ease with his decision to betray his masters since being saved from certain death.

There was a click and the scraping sound of metal sliding, with some resistance, against metal.

“Who’s that?” cried out a voice.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot,” said another.

“It’s me. Put that down.” Pike’s voice got quieter as he left the shaft.

It could be a trap, it might not even be the simulation room. Whatever it was, it was almost certainly a bad idea, but there wasn’t really an alternative.

Point-Two pushed himself up and out through a similar-sized opening to the one below.

It was definitely a simulation room. The machines were much larger than the ones in the Academy, and there were three of them, along with a host of techs, and a man in a fancy battlesuit denoting a higher rank. He was holding a weapon in each hand, and several more strapped to his back.

The technicians all looked very pale, and the armed officer looked very alarmed.

“You,” said the armed man. “You’re one of them. You helped him.” The last part was directed at Pike, who was looking a little alarmed himself.

“Sir, I can explain,” Pike blurted. “We were going to die. It was our only way out.”

There was a large bang and the room shook and all the techs vented their pristine white spacesuits, scurrying away into the corners of the room. The noise hadn’t come from outside of the ship, though. It came from inside the simulation machine.

The officer was also backing away, but with his guns aimed at Point-Two, and then at the hole behind him as more people emerged.

Another bang, followed by two more in quick succession. It sounded very much like knocking.

“I think somebody wants to get out,” said Point-Two.

“I read the report,” said the officer. “You fools created some kind of feedback loop. If we open it, we’ll all go mad.”

Point-Two didn’t know what the report said, but he doubted it had said that.

“Open the link,” Point-Two said. “Those are your orders aren’t they?”

“Shut up,” said the officer. “How do we stop it. Make it stop.”

Another series of bangs shook the room. The additional people made it all the more perilous as people bumped into one another. Their faces suggested they were already rethinking their allegiances. That hadn’t taken long.

“We have to open it,” said one of the sim-U techs. “The stack’s going to overflow.”

“It’s just a simulation,” shouted the officer. “It can’t hurt us from in there.”

Point-Two realised the guns weren’t trained on him. They were keeping the technicians from doing their job. The officer was hysterical with fear.

There was no time to talk him down. Point-Two put a foot in the stomach of the person behind him and pushed himself forward.

He hit the officer in the stomach with one fist and took the gun in his right hand away from him. He used it to club the second gun out of his left hand and then spun into an inverted cross and kicked the bottom of the officer’s helmet.

There was a sharp crack as his head snapped back. Probably not dead, but he would feel it in the morning.

“Open it,” said Point-Two.

The technicians all rushed to their stations as another series of bangs started. Whatever was making the noise, the techs understood it couldn’t be worse than the machines in the room all exploding.

A screen on the wall flickered into life and a bald head appeared.

“Oh, it’s you,” said Fig. “I’m here.”

“Me too,” said Point-Two. “Now what?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” said Fig. Black tentacles appeared on either side of him.