V. Moody's Blog, page 33

Chapter 450

There was a presence in my mind. Nothing new about that. I had a lot of experience in having mental lodgers come and go — in one ear, out the other, as my mother used to accuse me.

The gentle reaching across the great divide that is our shared consciousness was warmly accepted by me, dragged inside and locked in.

Welcome, everyone, nice of you to visit. Shall we get started?

There was a struggle, of course, but these people were not practised in the art of breaking out. Sneaking in, sure. Having a good poke around, absolutely. But the click of the door shutting, the key turning, the bolts sliding into place, that they were not expecting.

They no longer had a way back to their own minds and the separation anxiety was hard to deal with in a calm manner.

If they’d calmed down and thought about it, they would have realised there was more of them than me, and they could put up some resistance. But idiots gonna idiot

For me, having interlopers in the head was familiar and not a big deal. But for people who didn’t have my kind of extensive time sharing skull-space, it was probably a surprise when the door they’d just come through slammed shut behind them.

The presence wasn’t quite like the ones I was used to. It wasn’t a distinct person with clear thoughts and ideas. It was more like a crowd, a mob. I couldn’t make out individuals or specific comments, it was a morass of impressions, like the murmur of an audience just before the curtain goes up.

It wasn’t that I was doing anything to them, but there was a sense that they no longer had control over their own minds. Maybe they would never get to go back to their bodies. It’s quite a terrifying prospect when you don’t know what happens next and there’s no one to turn to.

Think of it like peering over the edge of a really tall building. There’s an idea of what would happen if you fell, but it’s distant and unlikely. You’ve got a wall in front of you, your feet are firmly planted on the floor, your hands are securely bracing you. No harm in a quick peek, you think.

You’re just having a look, in the least risky manner possible. Most people would be able to handle something like that.

But then someone comes up behind you and shoves you so you’re leaning right over the edge. They’re holding onto you, they’ve got a strong grip on you, but you’re going to freak out.

Your hands aren’t supporting you. Your feet aren’t touching anything.

Maybe it’s just a prank, but that doesn’t mean they can’t lose their grip. And then down you go.

Or maybe it isn’t a prank, maybe it’s someone who enjoys making people shit themselves. Even if they don’t intend to let you fall, they can accidentally let you slip.

The point is, once your fate is out of your own hands, especially when you don’t know whose hands you’re now in or what they plan to do to you, it’s very frightening.

Sometimes you wish the person holding you over the precipice would just let you fall.

“What are you smiling about?” asked Lillian as we drove into the carpark. She seemed to be familiar with the layout and headed for a spot near the lifts so we wouldn’t have to walk more than necessary. She’d be handy for trips to the supermarket.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’ve never had this many people in my head at the same time. How many psychics do they have?”

“I’m not sure of the exact number,” said Lillian. “A roomful. Isn’t it overwhelming?”

“Not really. It makes a nice change to have people who want to get out rather than set up camp and never fucking leave.”

The myriad thoughts swimming around in my head were all doing the same things — looking for a way out. I could sense them searching for a door, the same way I had whenever I got stuck in the void. It was fun to see someone else flail around for once. I felt I’d handled it a lot better than these poor plebs.

I also pictured various images in my mind to try and get them to panic. I’d never been very good at using my imagination when I was inside my own head. Other people seemed able to conjure up furniture and various furnishings with ease, while I had trouble getting anything solid to appear. It was my mind, you would’ve thought I’d have some control in there.

But this time I focused on more general ideas rather than specific objects. A wall of flames, a drop of hundreds of metres, being pissed on by a giant. These were all things I had personally experienced, and now I was able to relive them for others.

They did not seem very appreciative, but then nobody really wants to see other people’s holiday snaps.

I probably should not have enjoyed torturing them, they were already in a fragile state being cut off from their physical bodies, the idea that they might be stuck in some kind of purgatory was cruel and unnecessary. Still fun, though.

Lillian got out of her dinky car, looking at me like she didn’t approve of whatever I was doing. Good luck making me feel bad via the power of disappointment. Mate, I was born in disappointment, moulded by it.

“They’ll know you’re here if you’ve let them in,” she said.

“Yes, but they can only report it if I let them out.”

“You’re going to keep them?” Lillian was doubling down on her disapproval.

“No, but it’ll be interesting to see how long I can keep them locked up. These are the strongest psychics on the planet, yes? Or do the Chinese have a secret facility where they grow super-psychics — twice as many for half the price, eighty percent of which stop working after a week?”

If there were psychics in the world, there had to be others who had rounded them up, too.

“I don’t know. I haven’t detected any,” said Lillian, opening the tiny boot of her car. “But I haven’t been to China.”

She took out a smart jacket with a laminated ID card attached to the lapel. Once she put it on and tied back her hair, she looked like any other office worker.

“Won’t I look out of place without one of those?” I asked.

“It’s my last day,” said Lillian. “I resigned two weeks ago.”

“Because you’re psychic?”

“Yes. And also, it’s really boring working here. We’ll just say you’re my boyfriend and you’re here to help me pick up my stuff. Hopefully they won’t find that too hard to believe.”

“That I’m your boyfriend or that I’ll be able to carry your stuff?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Both. It’s okay, though. They’ve always thought I was a bit odd.”

The lift doors opened and we stepped in. The walls were mirrored and the two of us did look an unlikely pair. She was smartly turned out and very well groomed. I wasn’t.

Then again, me next to anyone had the same effect.

She pressed the very top button. None of them were numbered.

I could still feel the crowd rattling around in my head. I hadn’t sensed Little Me since I’d gotten back, but if he was still in there, he wasn’t going to be happy about the noise. Serve the little shit right.

“You haven’t asked what to expect once we get up there,” said Lillian.

“No. I’m sure it’ll be obvious.”

“How? You aren’t psychic.”

“I don’t have to be,” I said. “Don’t worry, I’ll just wing it, should be fine. No point wasting time learning the details when this is probably a trap and none of it will be relevant.”

“You think I’m leading you into a trap?” She sounded offended. “Why would I?”

“How do I know?” I said. “I’m not psychic.”

There was a moment of silence. There was no way to tell how far there was to go without a floor indicator. It was a very minimalist lift.

“You think this is a trap, but you’re going along with it anyway?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yep. Imagine if some knob thought he had the better of you, lied and misled you to get you to be in a certain place at a certain time, just to fuck you over. And you went, walked right into the jaws of the bear trap he’d set up for you. Iron teeth clamped to your leg, blood everywhere. And you just ignore it. Carry on walking like nothing happened. Imagine how the guy’s going to feel then.”

Lillian arched an eyebrow. “You want to show off how much better than them you are?”

“It’s got nothing to do with showing off,” I said, slightly irritated by her choice of words. “I’ve realised since I’ve been back that people here use very basic methods to mess with each other. Money, violence, advertising. It’s all crap. It only works if you care. You can’t tempt someone with something they don’t want, and you can’t threaten them by taking away something they don’t have.”

“You’re some kind of monk?” asked Lillian. “You have no desire?” There was an implication that I was sexually impotent which I ignored. “You think you’re better than everyone?”

“I desire a lot of things, just not the stuff they’ve worked so hard to convince me I want. Unlike you, Lillian, I was never gullible enough to buy an iPhone. So yes, I do think I’m better than everyone.”

Was I really that confident? No. My real strength wasn’t in believing I couldn’t lose, it was not caring if I did. And if you fail, no one really cares what nonsense you said. On the other hand, if you do manage to eke out a win, if you acted full of yourself and like it was skill rather than luck, then others will piss themselves next time you turn up. It’s just the way people are conditioned. If he did it once, he can do it again. Whereas in reality, if I did it once, I probably won’t be able to do it again for the next ninety-nine attempts.

“Good for you,” said Lillian. “But this isn’t a trap and I haven’t sold you out, although I still don’t see what Jenny sees in you.”

“Yeah, well, if you find out, let me know.”

“Once we get to my office, I’ll be able to use the equipment I’ve got stashed there and get in touch with her. We can ask her. And if you could keep from being so much better than the rest of us until then, I’d appreciate it. The security people get touchy when someone looks down on them, especially when they look like you.”

Her assessment was a little harsh, but far from unfair.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Orions was standing there, flanked by large men wearing headsets like they’d just come from a Halo LAN event.

“You’re here,” said Orion, sounding pleased.

I looked at Lillian, smiling. “Yes. You were expecting me?”

“This has nothing to do with me,” said Lillian.

“But you’re psychic,” I pointed out. “How could you not know?”

She looked a bit flustered. I let her stew for a bit. Orion seemed happy to wait.

I turned to him. “I guess you have more psychics held in reserve, blocking people like her.”

He nodded. “If you don’t mind, could you release the ones you’re holding?”

“Or what?” I asked.

“Nothing, it wasn’t a threat. I was hoping you would do it as a kindness. They’re becoming quite agitated.”

I wasn’t really achieving anything by keeping them trapped in my noggin. I’d made my point, I felt, so I opened the doors of my mind and let them go. I felt quite light-headed as they all rushed away from me.

I stepped out of the lift and the men with Orion backed off. I was the scariest guy in the room, which was an odd feeling.

The floor was filled with desks with people sat behind each one. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds.

“Hey!” I said to the room. “Let’s just be clear. I’ll give you a pass this time, but if any of you try to get in my head again, I will brain-fuck you until there’s nothing left but jelly dripping out of your ears.”

I had no idea how I would do that, but I felt like I had the upper hand, and the best way to use it was to make sure they didn’t try again. If they thought they had no chance against me, that was as good as it actually being true.

The room stared at me without making a sound.

“Ah,” said Orion. “These are just the support staff. Mainly clerical duties.”

I had just threatened to brain-fuck a bunch of strangers who had no idea who I was. It takes a special sort of person to introduce themselves to a busy office in such a manner. They would definitely avoid sitting next to me in the company canteen, so… mission accomplished?

Lillian was staring at me with her mouth hanging open. I turned my back to her.

“So, the psychic portal to Never-Never Land? This way?” I pointed towards the far end of the floor. I was here now, might as well see what their set up was like.

“This way,” said Orion, pointing behind me.

To the side of the lift doors was another door. Orion led the way, with the big guys bringing up the rear.

Through the doors was a corridor leading to stairs, up to a platform. He stood on it and waited for the rest of us to join him. Once we were all on, the platform rose up, about ten metres, and we entered another floor.

This one was bathed in blue light and was entirely covered in large pods, bullet-shaped and about the size of Lillian’s Smart car.

“There are sensory deprivation tanks,” explained Orion. “Each contains one psychic. We find it helps them focus.”

“Very humane,” said Lillian. “Are they naked and smeared in Vaseline?” I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic.

“This way please.” Orion led us through the pods, which were making a soft bubbling noise, towards a raised control area with computers and consoles and half a dozen people in lab coats.

“Open it up, please,” said Orion.

The white-coats went into action, pressing buttons and keys and what have you.

The wall behind them was mostly a circular glass window looking out into the wastes of East London ( I say wastes, mainly I mean Dagenham). The window began to separate and open, the panes of glass disappearing into the walls. Outside was a platform stretching out from the side of the building, like a bridge going nowhere.

“This is the Nexus,” said Orion. It was windy and hard to hear him. “From here we can go to your world.”

It looked like from here you could take a running jump to your death.

“It isn’t active, yet,” said Orion, “but with your—”

There was a loud buzzing noise and a black circle, a couple of metres in diameter suddenly appeared at the end of the bridge.

“What’s happening?” shouted Orion. His people were rushing around, checking readings, calling up data, sending memes to Elon Musk and whatever else it was scientists did these days.

“Something’s coming through,” shouted one of the speccy twats.

“Shut it down!” screamed Orion. “Shut it down!”

“Why?” I said. “Don’t you want to see what it is?”

“This portal connects to an infinite number of dimensions. It could be anything. It could be the worst evil in the universe, coming here to destroy us.”

I felt he was being a bit over the top.

“We can’t,” said a panicked boffin. “It’s coming, we can’t stop it.”

We all looked at the end of the bridge. A figure appeared through the hole in space and time. A smallish, female figure.

“I found you,” said Claire.

“You were right,” I shouted at Orion. “Shut it down! Shut it down!”

87: Passenger

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain .

VGV Motherboard (orbit).

Commissary 6C.

 

Point-Two had won over four converts out of a possible thirty-two. Not the greatest conversion rate but it wasn’t like he had any idea what he needed these people for. If he needed them at all.

He had decided, for reasons he would be hard-pressed to explain, that Ubik had a reason in sending him here. Something more pressing than picking up a sandwich. Part of Point-Two’s brain was also aware that there was no actual evidence backing up this assumption, but he was ignoring it.

If it were the case that a trip to the cafeteria was Ubik’s way of increasing the chaos on the ship to keep the crew busy, then there wasn’t much point in Point-Two doing anything other than to sit around and help himself to snacks. At least Ubik’s diversions came catered.

But Point-Two wasn’t going to sit around, whether it was the best course of action or not. He was going to go up to the simulation room and find out if there was something he could do in regard to helping Fig.

Fig, he assumed, was as much in the dark about Ubik’s strategy as he was, and if nothing else, the two of them could help each other survive whatever it was Ubik was intending to put them through. The Ubik Survivors’ Support Group — membership applications would be flooding in soon enough.

Point-Two had come to the conclusion that both Ubik and Fig had a better grasp on the situation than he did. They had skills and abilities that he didn’t, and frankly, it would probably be best if he just stayed out of the way.

He had his own problems to contend with, even if he did manage to get off this ship in one piece. He still had people who wanted him dead, and not for any grand reasons like a galaxy-changing discovery. They wanted him out of the way, too. It was becoming something of a theme.

“Listen,” said Point-Two, “I’m going to get the four of you out of there in a minute. The rest of you, if you try to get in the way, I will not only tell your supervisors you were my hostages, I will say you were my co-conspirators and helped get us on the ship.”

There were some shocked gasps from below.

“You lie,” yelled out one of them.

“Yes, but do you think Vendx will care if it means not having to pay you off?” He was resorting to harsh measures but it seemed the best way to keep these people in line. They were scared enough of their employers to risk doing something stupid just to climb out of the hole they’d found themselves in, metaphorically speaking, so he would use that same fear against them.

“If you just stay where you are,” said Point-Two, “you can tell them you put yourselves somewhere where I couldn’t get to you, so I wasn’t able to use you as hostages.”

The offer was to appease them. In truth, Point-Two had no idea what Vendx would do when they found their employees stuck in their own personal gravity well, and he didn’t really care. As long as they stayed out of his way, he was happy to leave them be.

There was another loud bang from somewhere above. What was Ubik trying to achieve? There was already a hole in the ship right here. Was going up to the next deck really a good idea?

“Okay,” said Point-Two, unwilling to step aside, “the four of you, try to move to the edge. Just push the furniture out of the way.”

There were tables and chairs in the dome along with the crew members. Point-Two had released them from their moorings on the walls to prevent any of the crew using them to stay out of the hole, and they’d ended in there together.

“This side, roll over anyone in your way,” instructed Point-Two. “You don’t have to help them,” he said to the crew who weren’t willing to take up his offer to aid and abet the enemy, “just don’t try to stop them. Be neutral and no one can blame you for anything.” Again, he was speaking with no idea if what he said was true, but the crew seemed to go along with his suggestions.

The four people who had accepted the deal squirmed and pushed and rolled over grumbling colleagues to get to the edge of the group. No one tried to stop them and only a few bothered to give them disapproving glares.

The general feeling, as far as Point-Two could tell, was a belief that they would be better off once Point-Two and the traitors were gone. They didn’t really believe the intruders had a chance against the ship’s security forces and defence protocols. Their logic was a little flawed since the same security should have never allowed Point-Two and his fellow pirates onto the ship in the first place, but if they were happy to offer no resistance, Point-Two was happy to leave them to Vendx’s mercy.

Once the four people were on the far right, lying on their backs Point-Two said, “Okay, line up head to toe and grab the ankles of the person above you.”

There was a little manoeuvring required but the four of them did as instructed, forming a human snake.

“You on the end… no, the other end. Yes. Raise your arm. Good. Now hold it like that. I’m going to come around and grab it. No one let go or you’ll be left behind.”

The move Point-Two was going to use was pretty simple although it did require good timing. The vacuum suction would help him build up speed and was gentle enough to not pull him back once his momentum was high enough. Or so he hoped.

With a push, Point-Two floated towards the vending machines. This time he did a tuck and roll, and then kicked off the machine to fire himself back towards the hole.

He picked up speed and entered the hole fast enough that if he didn’t do something about it, he would smash his face into a wall of drones.

Now that he was inside the dome, he noticed how the drones were all interlocked. They were the basic cleaning and maintenance drones that were attached to the exterior of any large ship. Clamped in place until needed, they kept the hull clean, checked on any small marks or dents that invariably came with space travel, and they also painted the ship when required. A fresh coat of paint could improve the efficiency of interstellar travel manyfold, depending on what the paint was mixed with.

There wasn’t just one layer of drones forming a bubble around the hole in the side of the vessel, there were several — at least three that Point-Two could glimpse between the cracks — three layers of drones sitting on top of one another.

The structure allowed for a very regulated flow of air out of the commissary. It could be a completely solid wall preventing any air loss, or it could be an open hole if the drones detached themselves. And anything in between.

The Liberator Garu had similar maintenance drones dotted all over its outer hull, used in a similar fashion. Like these ones, they weren’t used for major repairs, that was left to larger, specialised drones which would be kept inside the ship. They were expensive and you wouldn’t want to leave them where they might get damaged. Unlike these smaller drones which got knocked off the hull all the time.

No one had ever thought to use them like this as far as Point-Two was aware. If a breach occurred, the larger drones would be sent to seal it and recover the bodies, even though these smaller ones would already be on site.

Point-Two tumbled, his feet landing on the drones. The sliver of gap between them was enough to provide his feet with some purchase, the suction applied directly to the soles of his feet, and he was running across then. The suction pulled him down into the dome so it felt like he was sprinting downhill.

Faster and faster. Once he reached the lowest point and had to run out, the suction would work against him, but with enough momentum, he would be able to slingshot out the other side, theoretically. If he built up enough speed. If he didn’t lose momentum running across drones. If, if, if…

As he reached the bottom of the dome, one of the Vendx crew — the tall man who had been so vocal earlier — stuck out an arm and tried to trip him.

He probably thought if he could trap Point-Two in here with the rest of them that it would put him in credit with his bosses. It might even be true, if Point-Two was unable to get out. Or if he allowed himself to get caught in the first place.

Point-Two stepped to the side and back, dodging the arm and landing his heel in the man’s face. There was a satisfying crunch as the man’s nose broke. He screamed as Point-Two used the extra friction of his face to push himself forward. The diversion had actually helped.

Point-Two was running back up to the dome wall now. He passed the four volunteers, three, two, one… and grabbed the raised hand.

There was a momentary jerk, which Point-Two had been expecting, and then it was a matter of momentum versus inertia. Only one could win.

Point-Two put in the effort he’d been holding back until now and surged forward. The suction through the drones under his feet kept him grounded, while the suction from everywhere else clawed at him to fall back.

With an almighty lunge, he managed to get his foot onto the lip of the hole, and then he flexed every muscle in his leg, using the training and technique he had been immersed in for most of his life aboard a ship endlessly gliding through the emptiness of space.

As he emerged from the hole, the train of four people clinging to one another head-to-toe, came flying out with him. Their stunned faces suggested they had no idea what was happening.

Point-Two sent them hurtling towards the vending machines, and then turned over as he was sent flying backwards, placing his feet on the wall next to the hole, and pushed off as hard as his exhausted muscles would allow.

The four volunteers had let go of one another by this point, and were doing their best to grab something before they were drawn back into the hole.

Point-Two came up behind them and gave the ones at the rear a shove.

“Grab the table over there,” he called out, guiding them to the right-hand side.

They flailed and grasped wildly in a way that would make it harder rather than easier, but they managed to cling onto the table Point-Two had indicated.

“Where’s the service hatch?” asked Point-Two. If they were going up, they might as well do it in the quickest way possible.

“There,” said Benkson, letting go of a table leg with one hand to point, and then quickly grabbing it again. He was elongated like a flag on a mast on a windy day.

He had pointed at a panel on the wall, only slightly different in colour to its surroundings. It was easily big enough to squeeze through.

“How do I open it?” asked Point-Two.

Benkson shrugged. “No idea, I don’t work in catering.”

Point-Two looked at the other three — a dark-haired, athletic woman, a squat man with thick arms, and a thin woman with big, fearful eyes. They all shook their heads.

“So who is in catering?” said Point-Two, regretting not having asked this earlier.

“Of the people here?” said Benkson? “Only one. The guy whose nose you broke.”

Point-Two took a breath. Why did everything seem to fall into place for Ubik, and nothing ever went right for him. He had travelled across the galaxy for an education and all he’d learned was how to rely on others.

“Fine. Wait here. I’ll go get him.”

As he let go of the vending machine, there was another bang from above. He could tell it was multiple hits very close together. It sounded like someone knocking insistently to come in, tired of being ignored. He knew the feeling.

TGS Schedule Adjustment

Not going to post The Good Student today, will post it next week, but then I'll have a buffer, so there won't be any more delays.

August 2019 Update

Hello and welcome to the midsummer update. I am melt. Still writing, though. 

86: Breathless

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

Figaro pushed Destri down the corridor. The Vendx employee had started off mumbling and complaining and making pained sounds but had become more cooperative once he realised his air was limited and death by suffocation, even if it was simulated, was not something he was keen to experience. Maybe he was even curious how Figaro intended to survive in a suit that was no longer producing air, in an alien environment that wouldn’t support human life.

He wasn’t the only one.

The short-term solution was to use the suits of the other Vendx employees — the dead ones — which had a small amount of air trapped inside them.

It wasn’t the most elegant of solutions, but as Figaro’s father always told him, survive any way you can, worry about how it looks later. His father was a pragmatist, while his mother was somewhat spoilt. Her organic ability made almost any situation survivable, usually in quite some style.

The suits had tubing that could attach to one another, making buddy-breathing fairly simple. Six of the suits had survived the encounter with the Antecessor droids intact. Six bags of rather foul-smelling air.

Figaro had used the tubing to attach the suits into a train of floating sarcophagi which were now trailing behind him. Weightlessness had its advantages.

Destri was on the verge of passing out, which also helped keep him docile. Figaro gave him a short blast of air every few minutes to stop him dying and was equally frugal when giving himself a burst. Strict rationing might be enough to see them to the bridge — that and some controlled breathing to keep his oxygen intake as low as possible. It helped that the rank tasting air from the suits was unpleasant to inhale; there was no temptation to gulp it down.

This time, the secret doorway hadn’t opened for him. He had managed to get out of the room through the regular portal which had activated with a push of the panel on the wall.

Figaro knew full well that the ship could have locked him in the room, making it difficult and time consuming to proceed, but it hadn’t. Even though he was confident of finding his way out, the increase in energy consumption would have used up his limited air supply.

But there had been no attempt to direct him towards his previous destination, and no attempt to block his path to the forward compartment of the ship.

He knew the ship was aware of everything he did. The white marks on the wall were keeping up with him as he moved further into the ship. They didn’t try to communicate with him this time. Perhaps that only occurred in the other place he had been taken to, or his mind had been taken to.

The Antecessor way of doing things was still a mystery, even to someone as immersed in it as his father. What was known was mostly guesswork, and often ended up being contradicted when a new site was discovered. It wasn’t even clear why the white lines that were usually the first to detect intruders didn’t immediately call in droids to remove them.

There was always (nearly always) a period of investigation and observation, which was what allowed the intruders to establish a base and start mapping the area. Little by little you could work your way in deeper and deeper. Until you reached a point much more heavily defended, and then it became much harder, sometimes impossible.

There were some who thought the white lines represented a separate entity, independent of the main controlling system. A symbiotic relationship but not one with a fixed purpose. A human defence system might have sensors to detect, reporting to a central processing unit that would send out interceptors capable of dealing deadly force. Antecessor technology didn’t seem to be so strictly regulated and could change their approach on a case by case basis.

Ramon Ollo was not one of those people, though. He believed everything you encountered in an Antecessor site was part of one creation. A hand, an eye, a mouth, but all part of the same body. If they acted in ways that made no obvious sense to the human body, then that was only because they weren’t human.

Figaro’s father was obsessed with the Antecessors, not just their technology but also their culture and language. He had spent the majority of his life trying to decipher their way of life and had made only very small inroads. Figaro’s discoveries inside this simulation were probably on par with what his father had taken a lifetime to discover. He was eager to see what his father would make of it all, assuming he could find a way out. A way out of the sim-U and a way out of the Vendx siege the guild was currently under.

Figaro gave himself a burst of stale air and took a slow sip until his lungs were moderately inflated. He held his breath.

He gave Destri a longer burst. The Vendx organic had stopped moving, on the edge of consciousness but still alive. His heartbeat was still reasonably strong — strong enough for Figaro to be able to feel it through the suit.

Bringing him along wasn’t so much a necessity as a hunch. An EMP ability was bound to come in useful, he had decided. It was something that had been tried before but it came with its own problems, not least of all the one Destri has so clearly demonstrated — it didn’t just shut down their tech, it shut down yours too.

Sending in an automated version attached to a drone didn’t work, either. The Antecessor sensors were able to identify what it was and take steps to counter it, and after that the whole facility would be on full alert. No one would be able to go in without facing a full assault.

Organics with the ability Destri had could get in undetected, but then what? If they took out their own team as well, that would be no use. And if they went in first and fried the system on their own so a second team could come in after them, they would need to make sure they got the whole site in one go, which was very unlikely. Sections were shielded and on separate circuits, just as the circuits in this corridor were.

And if you had access to the whole ship already, why would you need an EMP device?

What was strange was that the ship was not reacting to the EMP the way he had been told it would. Things were very calm and Figaro wasn’t facing every droid in the ship rushing to rip him to pieces.

He gave himself a little more air and checked the train behind him wasn’t caught on anything.

It was interesting to note that despite his suit now being dead, that didn’t make it inoperable. These basic suits had a lot of mechanical features — the valves and tubing he was using to connect the suits together, for example — that were unaffected by the EMP. If there had been no tronics at all, perhaps using tanks of oxygen to breathe, then it might be possible to only take out the Antecessor tech repeatedly, one chamber after another.

He would mention it to his father, who would no doubt have a dozen reasons why it wouldn’t work.

But Figaro felt he could make use of this idea through Destri’s ability. He just had to keep him alive and then convince him to use it at the right time.

He also had to keep himself alive. He was already feeling a little light-headed, even with his controlled breathing technique.

No more droids so far, for which he was both grateful and concerned. The ship had to consider him a threat. He knew it didn’t treat him like other people, but his elevated status might also make him worth capturing. He didn’t plan to lower his guard.

There were several portals on the way that probably contained interesting items. Figaro would have liked to have explored the ship properly, but now was not the time. He had to find the bridge and the white light accompanying him on the wall seemed to be showing him the way.

The bridge was where Ubik had wanted him to go but there was no way he could have predicted any of this. Could he? It was one of Ubik’s talents that he could make you believe almost anything about him. For all Figaro knew, Ubik was an Antecessor himself, hiding for the last ten thousand years among humans.

Figaro laughed to himself at the idea and then regretted it as the rush of dizziness made him feel slightly nauseous.

There was a large portal at the end of the corridor. He had got here without incident, no attempt to intercept him and his entourage at all. This was definitely not normal.

The door opened ahead of him without any influence from Figaro. Through it, he saw a large chamber bathed in red light. And six floating droids waiting for him.

They were bigger than the ones he’d encountered so far, bigger than any he had ever seen, more fluid with gently undulating tentacles. The red light came from the sigil behind them.

The droids were unlike any he had ever seen. Each was taller than him, black with white lines of light zipping across their surfaces, a conglomeration of who knew how many smaller droids. Either that or a new kind of droid altogether. It was fascinating. They began moving.

Were they a threat to him? Did they intend to take him away? He only knew that he was supposed to reach the bridge where he would receive further instructions. The Vendx people were trying to access the sim-U from their ship. They could theoretically open a line of communication but it wouldn’t be through the suit, not unless they had a way to rewrite the simulation code on the fly. Even his father wasn’t capable of that.

How would they do it? How would Ubik do it?

The droids had moved to the side. One came forward, but it wasn’t coming directly towards him, it was targeting Destri. They knew Destri’s ability now, were they removing him to prevent him using his power again?

Figaro held onto Destri, pulling him closer, somehow sure his loss would put him at a disadvantage.

The droid reached out two of its six limbs towards Destri.

“Stop!” said Figaro, the word coming out instinctively.

The droid stopped, its limbs still extended.

Figaro was dizzy again. He tried to pump in more air but there was a thin whistling sound as the valve tried to draw on nothing.

“Oxygen,” said Figaro. There was no reaction.

He pulled out the tubing and let the final dregs of air come fizzing out.

“Oxygen,” he repeated, feeling he was about to pass out.

The droid grabbed the tube in black pincers at the end of its tentacle-like arm, and inserted it into its body. The red light from the sigil changed to green and Figaro was pushed backwards. He was caught in an airstream.

Figaro opened the front of his helmet and took a deep breath.

***

Fourth Quadrant

Gideon Worm Hole

Central Authority Vessel Nirvana

 

“Priority communication, Guardian.”

“What now, Janx?” said Tezla. She had been in flight for several hours, reading reports and preparing her projections and recommendations for the Central Authority.

None of it made much sense and more than likely the whole thing was a hoax. Who would declare war in such a ridiculous fashion? Someone was wasting her time and the only reason she was willing to go through with this charade was to teach them a lesson.

The drone hovered next to her at eye-level, its lights flickering to indicate it was in the middle of downloading a message.

“Come on, out with it. Has someone else started fighting? Is it an epidemic?”

No planetary warfare in a hundred and fifty years and then two at the same time, that would be the way it would happen, just to annoy her more.

“Please wait, Guardian. Processing more incoming data.”

Now she was interested. Incoming data that could keep the drone this busy was no small amount. What was going on?

“Stand by. Still receiving…”

“Just stop and tell me what you’ve got so far,” she snapped. If the Central Authority had a fault, it was trying to gather as much information as possible before making any moves.

“Reports are coming in from Antecessor sites across the galaxy. There’s been an environmental change. They are producing oxygen. Breathable air.”

“What? Which ones?” Antecessor sites contained poisonous atmospheres. Every attempt to change that had failed.

“All of them,” said the drone.

449: Pro-Am Event

“So… you’re psychic?” I said to Lillian.

She peered up at me through the window of her tiny clown car. Probably also stolen, although why the fuck you would steal a dinky piece of shit like this, I had no idea. Maybe Lillian was playing 4D chess, stealing a car no one would ever think was stolen

“Ye-hah.” she said like it was a dumb question. “I think I already confirmed that. Are you getting in? The police are looking for you.”

I didn’t get in. The car also struck me as a bit of a metaphor. It sort of looked like a lady’s purse, and I was being invited to put my balls into it for safe-keeping. That’s how they get you. Offer you a handy place to put them and then they never let you have them back again.

“I’m fine, thanks. The walk will do me good. I’m used to long walks, you know, with monsters chasing me. Kind of my daily constitutional.”

“You don’t want to see Jenny?” asked Lillian. She made it sound like a threat, like she would be happy to pass the message along.

It was a nice try at psychological domination. Not a superpower, of course. Just regular girl shit. Good thing I’d been inoculated against this kind of thing at an early age. Always get your shots, kids.

“Does that mean you don’t think you can talk to dead people?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Lillian. “But I can foresee things and sense people’s thoughts.”

“Oh, can you sense my thoughts right now?” I said.

“Yes, and without using my ability. What is your problem, Colin? I’m trying to help.”

“That’s my problem, Lillian. You thinking you’re qualified to help me. Very presumptuous of you. Why don’t you take that giant roller-skate you’ve converted into a two-door piece of shit and fuck off.”

I was in a bit of a mood, in case you hadn’t noticed. Ever since I’d returned to my lovely home planet, I’d accepted my retirement from the crazy life that had been thrust upon me. It was a weird world I’d been dropped back into, but it hadn’t been that great before, so I was fine with it.

As horrible as things were, my policy was to shut up and keep my head down. As long as people didn’t bother me, I was willing to let it go. There was probably a AAA video game I’d missed while I was gone that I could pass the time playing. Not by EA or Blizzard or Bethesda — I wasn’t willing to sell my soul for a terrible experience and poor optimisation, I wasn’t that far gone — but there was bound to be something to keep me busy.

But no, here they were again, the needy and the greedy, crawling out of the woodwork to make me their assistant in whatever evil experiment they’d cooked up. The eternal Igor, that was me.

“I don’t get you at all,” said Lillian. “Why are you being like this?”

There’s something about attractive, confident women that really pisses me off. It’s not their attractiveness or their confidence — a strong, powerful woman is absolutely no threat to my manhood, you can’t threaten something that doesn’t exist — what pisses me off is their absolute certainty you will give them what they want.

I don’t want to come off petty — I know I am petty, but I prefer to keep it hidden — but I really don’t want to be part of the entourage of someone who I consider utterly worthless. It’s not just women who do the whole ‘I’m going to do you a favour by letting you suck my dick’ routine (yes, I know how that sounds, it’s still accurate). There are also guys who play the God’s gift angle, and do very well out of it. YouTube is full of the twats.

Hey, guys. Today I’ll be showing you how to tell the difference between your arse and your elbow. Stick around.

My aim in life isn’t to stop them or even point them out, it’s to leave them alone and hope for the same kindness in return.

Chance would be a fine thing.

“I consider you to be untrustworthy,” I said. “Jenny may have given you her seal of approval, but so what? She has terrible taste and judgement — she’s in love with me.” I felt there could be no more damning indictment.

“She did mention you had issues with trusting people. Especially women.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, goth. It’s got nothing to do with gender. It just looks like that to self-centred people. If I’m having a go at you, it must be to do with your sex since you’re a girl, but your sample size is unscientific, Madame Curie. If you spent enough time around me you’d see the people I look down on come in all penises and vaginas.”

“I’m not a goth,” said Lillian. This was the part she had taken exception to.

“Yeah, you are. You want to put on heavy eyeliner and make your hair stand up so Daddy notices you.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. Would have made more of an impression if she’d worn more mascara.

“Okay, fine,” she said. “You’re very good at being mean to girls. Well done. That’ll teach us. Now, do you want to go and see your unfortunate girlfriend? I can take you to her, and then I can leave you both together, alone.”

She made it sound like the ‘alone’ part was what she was most looking forward to.

Having said my piece, she did have a vehicle while I didn’t. She also seemed to know where to go next, which gave her a two-point advantage.

“How can you put us together if she isn’t even on this planet?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lillian. “I’m just following Jenny’s instructions, and regretting every minute.” She gave me a forced smile.

It was good that we both understood where we stood. I didn’t actually have anything against the girl, but I strongly suspected she had her own agenda. Not that I had any evidence, I was just on a roll with people turning out to be shitty backstabbers (not a euphemism) so why break my streak now?

“Hey, you! Stop!”

I turned to see who was shouting and saw AJ running. He was being chased by the two policemen I’d spoken to earlier. Two overweight London coppers chasing an athletic black man — it seemed things hadn’t change that much while I’d been gone after all.

I got into the car with Lillian. I am not a tall man but even I felt cramped in the dinky vehicle.

“Couldn’t you have stolen a bigger car?”

“What do you mean? This is my car.” She hit the accelerator and we noiselessly pulled away from the kerb.

“Where are we going, then?” I asked.

“You met Peter Orion earlier, yes?”

“Yes.”

“We’re going to his head of operations. It’s in Canary Wharf.”

“Okay.” Sounded plausible so far. “And your psychic powers, are they telling you anything about how this is going to go?”

“Yes.”

There was a long pause.

“And?”

“If I tell you, you might change it,” she said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

She joined a busier road and began driving too fast. I started doing the phantom leg thing where you involuntarily press the imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side.

“How often are you wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, all the time. It isn’t an exact science. I mostly wing it. If I’d had a mentor growing up, you know, to teach me the ropes, I think I would have figured it out a lot quicker. Won a few bets, made some money, that sort of thing. Wouldn’t have to be running around saving the world.”

She was tossing off her resume very casually, like she was good at something that wasn’t really very useful, like juggling.

“And you don’t get a sense of satisfaction from helping people?”

“Fuck no. I usually get a headache if I don’t act on my visions. It’s a pain, really.”

Now that we’d got past the initial distrust we were getting on a lot better. Don’t get me wrong, after the initial distrust came the secondary distrust. But her ability was like a real superpower, in a world where that sort of thing was very special. I would have given anything to have an ability like hers when I was a kid.

“This psychic ability, were you born with it?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “It only started to manifest when I was seven. My uncle raped me and I think the trauma forced it out of me.”

On the other hand, perhaps I wouldn’t give anything to have the same power as her.

She seemed okay with it, though. Not that she was grateful, I mean she seemed to have survived the experience intact. I decided I should back off with the daddy-issue jibes.

“I have no idea what to say to that,” I said.

“That’s alright, I wasn’t expecting you to say anything. Maybe you could get me a card. Something tasteful.”

I got the impression she enjoyed using her horrific past to torture people with. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

The silence became awkward, so I broke it with: “Just the once was it?”

Not my finest moment, but I was a little thrown by her candidness.

“Yeah. I killed him after that, so it was hard for him to come round anymore. Mum was mad.”

I was deeply regretting getting into this line of conversation but I was sort of stuck going downhill with no brakes.

“Her brother?”

“No, my dad’s brother. Her lover. She was a horrible bitch, my mum. Joan Crawford but without the shapely legs.”

If I could have worked out how to open the door, I would have jumped out, no need for her to slow down, even.

“You killed him when you were seven — did you use your psychic ability to do it?”

“Sure, made his brain explode. Boom, splat.” She laughed. “Don’t be stupid. I can’t do anything like that — I wish! I got a kitchen knife and cut his throat when he was sleeping. Made a terrible mess. I got into a lot of trouble — it was in the papers and everything. They called me Child J, sealed everything. He was a policeman, so they hushed up most of it. I got away with a slap on the wrist. Well, from the law. I got the shit beaten out of me by Mum.”

I thin it was the jolly tone she used when telling me all this that was really disturbing. She was clearly insane.

“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not insane. I just choose not to let my past overwhelm me. I don’t trust people but I still decide to help them when they need it, especially when they’re up against people far stronger than them.”

Her rationale did make sense, but maybe it made too much sense, too neat and tidy of an explanation. Perhaps the whole thing was a lie designed to win my sympathy. Perhaps Jenny had coached her to appeal to my innate sense of justice and righteousness. You can be as cynical as you like but read enough comics growing up and you can’t help but have a deep-seated need to see the good guy win.

We were already halfway across the city. Canary Wharf was a weird little island of office buildings in the middle of nowhere, far out in the East End. It was just office workers during the week and deserted at the weekends. I couldn’t even remember what day it was.

“It’s Saturday today,” said Lillian. She was starting to freak me out. “There won’t be many people there today, so we can sneak in unnoticed.”

“Don’t they have security.”

“Loads,” said Lillian. “And their own psychics, so they’ll see us coming.”

“Then how are we going to sneak in?”

“I have a pass.”

“You do? How come?”

“I work there.”

“You work for Orion?”

“Yes, but not as a psychic, as a researcher. I work in the bioengineering department.”

“They don’t know who you are?”

“Nope.”

“Not even the psychics?”

“Nope. I can block them. They’ll probably be able to read you though. We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Tin-foil hat?”

“If only it were that easy. You’re going to have to make your mind blank. I can teach you, just takes a little practice.”

“Don’t worry about it, I think I’ve got this.” I was confident I could deal with the local talent. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

“You think so? Do you think you can stop me probing you?”

Used to be getting probed had its upside. You got to meet ET or given an Oscar-winning part in a Weinstein movie. These days, all you get is the support of a lot of people on Twitter, which is worth absolutely fucking nothing.

“I don’t mind people getting in my head,” I said, “it’s their own fault.”

She gave me a curious glance but didn’t press me on what I meant.

The car’s GPS went from showing us on a multicoloured map of London streets to a triangle (us) on a blank canvas. This wasn’t due to some metaphysical jamming by the psychics we were heading towards, it was because there was a new road layout ahead and they hadn’t got around to updating the maps. London was full of these geographical black holes.

The tall glass buildings of Canary Wharf were just ahead of us. Some evil buildings let you know there’s some kind of debauchery going on inside them. They had spires and gargoyles or weird red lights and menacing outlines with Monsanto written on the side, but most are just anonymous and bland.

Lillian pulled into the carpark entrance of one with a sign that read: Orion Pharmaceuticals, A Family Business.

A common attempt at using the wholesomeness of the word ‘family’ to soften an otherwise brutal corporation. What they don’t tell you is the family in question is the Manson’s.

As we came up to the dark mouth that led into the underground carpark, Lillian flashed a card at the sensor and the barrier went up.

A sharp pain hit me in the temples.

“That’s them,” said Lillian. “Try to—”

I put up a hand to stop her, and also because I knew it would annoy her. Just because you had a traumatic childhood didn’t mean you got a free pass. We all have our demons.

I relaxed and closed my eyes and let them in. I let them all in. And then I shut the door.

“Why do I hear screaming?” said Lillian. “What are you doing to them?”

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just showing them some home movies.”

We all have our demons, but I’d spent a lot of time with mine and picked up a few pointers. Lillian parked the car while I kept my guests entertained.

85: Fork in the Path

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Commissary 6C.

 

Point-Two looked up. The impact that shook the ship had come from directly above the commissary.

Why had Ubik sent him here?

Normally, you wouldn’t try to take over a ship via the cafeteria. Not even if you were peckish.

Point-Two finished his sandwich, released his foot from inside the vending machine’s mouth and floated across the room. No effort was required on his part, the vacuum of space was doing all the work for him.

Normally, this would be something to avoid.

The devices Ubik had given him had done a remarkable job of cutting through the ship’s hull. What kind of substance could cut through heavy-duty polymer plates that easily?

Point-Two removed his footwear as he pondered the strange technology Ubik had access to. The boots were the ones given to him by the guild and not that great for traction in zero-G. Not enough grip in the soles. He slipped them off and then threw them to redirect himself towards the edge of the cleanly cut hole.

He had lived long enough under the threat of being whisked away into the endless nothingness of space to show due respect to any venting ship, especially one where it was very unlikely anyone would come to his rescue.

The ship had just abandoned its own crew and declared them its enemy, so it went without saying that it wasn’t going to look too favourably on him.

In this case, however, he had created the hole in the side of the ship — something he could be executed for back home (and quite probably here, too) — and Ubik had plugged the hole with just enough drones to control the suction of space.

This was not a normal situation.

The crew, who had been notified of their pending unemployed status, were not taking the news well. Point-Two could hear them arguing and complaining and, in some cases, crying from inside the improvised blister on the side of the ship.

Their precarious position, separated from death only by a wall of drones, seemed to be less of a concern than their loss of earnings.

“But we haven’t been taken hostage. No one’s holding us here. Not a person.”

“Guys, listen to me.”

“Yeah, we don’t even know what’s going on. We were ordered in here. We’re here under orders.”

“Guys, I have an idea.”

“What if we say we’re prisoners? Isn’t that covered under the Extenuating Circumstances Clause?”

“That’s for serious injuries.”

“What if we injure ourselves? If we’re already hurt, we can’t be considered valuable enough to be hostages.”

“Read the small print. It doesn’t matter if we’re hurt, only if we’re dead. Dead people can’t be hostages, anything else is classed as us being compromised.”

“Guys, listen, we can get out of here if we—”

“Shut up, Benkson. Just stay put and don’t move. We’re still employees of Vendx if we aren’t literally under the control of the pirates.”

Point-Two reached the lip of the hole, which no longer had a human-lid on it, and put his feet on the surprisingly-thin edge and one hand straight up. Did Ubik know how thin the walls would be here?

By bracing himself in a three-point position, Point-Two was stuck in place. Had the hole been fully-exposed to space, it wouldn’t stop him being sucked out — a smaller hole and all four limbs would be required for that to work, and only as long as the air lasted — but the drones plus the added smear of people on top had greatly reduced the force to only partially irresistible.

“Any of you hungry?” asked Point-Two. “I could get you some food. It’s free.”

There was a pause as everyone stopped their bickering and looked up at him. They had managed to spread out so they weren’t all on top of each other, lying on their backs apart from a couple who had gone in face first and couldn’t turn around.

“We don’t want anything from you,” said a red-headed woman. “We aren’t your hostages.”

Some of the others voiced their agreement. Point-Two counted thirty-two in total. The dome they were lying inside was barely big enough to contain them all.

“Who are you?” asked a tall man who was getting a lot of annoyed looks from the people next to him.

“I’m from the Free Volunteers Guild,” said Point-Two. “We’re the ones you’re attacking down on the planet.”

“You must have done something to deserve it.”

“Shut up, Benkson. We aren’t attacking anyone. You don’t want to be on record saying we are.”

“We found a bug in the sim-U the guild bought off you,” said Point-Two. “Seems like it’s quite important no one finds out about it, so you sent in your clean-up crew. We all know what that means, right? But we decided we wanted to renegotiate our contract.”

“If you signed it, you have to live by it,” said the tall man. “That’s what legally binding means.”

“I didn’t sign anything,” said Point-Two. “And I don’t think your employers are acting in good faith. Sorry, your ex-employers.”

“Are you taking us hostage,” said a worried-sounding woman.

“Don’t do it. Please. Just kill us,” said another woman. “At least our families can claim compensation that way.”

“You’d really prefer death over losing your job?” Point-Two couldn’t help but be a little surprised.

“We lose all our benefits if we get taken hostage. Everything. Our families get nothing.”

There were some uncertain faces down there, some fearful ones, but no one was begging for their lives. No one thought there was any point to just trying to make it out alive.

“Why did you even sign on if the conditions were this bad?” asked Point-Two, genuinely curious about these people. He had lived a fairly sheltered life, the galaxy too vast to appreciate fully from a ship on a permanent orbit of two suns, but he had been to enough planets, seen enough cultures to think there were opportunities for people out there.

Maybe he was wrong and what he’d seen was the exception. Maybe in the rest of the galaxy people were desperate for work and would take whatever they could get, willing to give up their rights to decent treatment in exchange for a guaranteed wage.

“Kid, you’ve got no idea,” said the tall man. “No one offers benefits like Vendx. Medical, dental, implants at cost price, eye surgery after only one year’s service. I applied to all the big shots, Rigogo, Fentway, Neswam — some of them might pay more up front, but no one gives you the kind of full cover Vendx gives you right out of the gate.”

“They make all the medical machinery,” said the redhead. “Means it costs them a lot less than the others. I got my arm replaced for practically nothing.” She waved her hand which looked real until you looked closely.

The others were all in agreement about the advantages of joining Vendx and were momentarily distracted from their panic by the good sense it had made to sign their draconian contracts. The drawbacks were evidently worth it, as long as you were careful and didn’t fall foul of any of the punitive fine print.

“By the way,” said PointTwo, “what’s in the decks directly above here?” He pointed over his head.

No one said anything. Some nervous looks were exchanged.

“What if I declared all of you my hostages?” said Point-Two. “Would that make it easier for you?”

A burst of enthusiastic ‘No’s blasted him from below.

“How about this, then?” said Point-Two. “What if you’re not my hostages, what if I’m your prisoner?”

The faces all turned confused.

“I’ll give myself up to you if you just answer my questions. They can’t fire you if you overpower me. You might even get a bonus. ”

“They won’t believe you’re our prisoner just because you say it,” said the tall man.

“Okay, hold on,” said Point-Two. He pushed off the wall and shot across the room. By the time he reached the condiment station next to the vending machines, he could already feel the pull drawing him back. He grabbed some cutlery in both hands and went floating back.

He twisted and turned so he ended up in almost the same position as before, and tossed the cutlery at the Vendx crew.

There were knives, spoons and forks, all made from some sort of fibrous material, barely strong enough to cut through overcooked vegetables. They had similar utensils on the Liberator Garu, at least in the public areas. They could be broken down into cellulose blocks, and then reconstituted once they’d been sterilised.

The crew grabbed at them as they floated towards them, just about enough for one each, two for a lucky few.

“What are we supposed to do with these?” asked a man who had managed to snag three, one of each.

“Technically,” said Point-Two, “you’re now armed. You can take me prisoner by threatening to stab me.”

“With a tiny fork?” asked the tall man.

“Depends,” said Point-Two. “Could you make a case for it if your contract went to arbitration?”

The point wasn’t if they could overpower him with cheap disposable eating utensils, it was whether they could use them to defy the contractual stipulations they’d agreed to follow. If they could prove they weren’t hostages, they couldn’t be fired, at least not without some sort of recompense and their benefits intact.

Point-Two raised his hands in the air. “See? I give up.”

“How are you doing that?” asked a slightly chubby, curly-haired youth. “How are you standing like that without getting sucked in?”

Point-Two put a hand back onto the wall and looked down at his bare feet. “Pressure from the insteps. You have to angle it right, but you can create enough friction to stay in one place. So, what do you say? You’d hold onto your benefits. Maybe discuss it and take a vote?”

“No,” said the tall man very firmly. “We can’t engage in collective bargaining, that’s prohibited.”

“Isn’t that just in negotiations with Vendx?” asked Point-Two. He could easily imagine the company, like most companies, having a zero-tolerance policy towards any sort of unionisation, but they weren’t dealing with Vendx now.

“I wouldn’t want to risk it,” said the tall man, throwing away his spoon. “They take that sort of thing very seriously.”

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” said the curly-haired youth.

“Benkson, no!” shouted someone.

“I can do what I want,” said Benkson. “You never listen to me anyway. You think I care. Do you know how much in debt I am to the company already? If I get fired, I might lose my benefits, but they can’t dock my wages anymore. It doesn’t even make sense — I work for them and I owe them money. The whole thing’s a scam.”

“Shut up, Benkson. They can hear you.”

“Is he right? Can we clear our debts this way?”

People started babbling all at once.

“I don’t care,” said Benkson. “Above us is the simulation room. I can take you there if you want. There’s a service hatch to send the technicians food — they don’t get lunch breaks.” Some of the others were shouting at him to be quiet, trying to reach over and grab him, but he shouted over them. “It’s horrible working in there, it’s always operational, always busy. The only break from reality any of us get. You promise to take me with you when you leave this ship and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

The simulation room was directly above them. Point-Two was sure that wasn’t a coincidence. That’s where Fig would be, or at least his sim-U avatar.

“Okay,” said Point-Two, “I’ll get you out of there. Anyone else?”

Hands started going up.

448: Slam Dunk

People like Duncan rule the world, they always have. They don’t run governments or even control politicians — I don’t think they really care what the rest of the world gets up to. They have their own world, a compound somewhere with high walls and high-tech security where even the police have to make an appointment to get in.

And then they come out to hunt. Their fun is making money and beating their competitors. It’s a grand tour, sailing the world looking for sport, riding in the prow of a whaling ship, looking for a spout of water to aim their harpoon at.

The rest of us, we’re how they can keep score. Our choices matter. Coke or Pepsi? Nike or Adidas? We get to decide the winner. Other than that, we don’t matter at all. We’re interchangeable, our money all looks the same.

“The girl, as you call her,” said Duncan, a little smug in having won me over so quickly, “is trapped in another dimension, as I’m sure you know.”

“Okay,” I said, unwilling to confirm anything. I wanted to see where this was going. If he wanted my help, eventually he would have to tell me what it was he wanted me to do. The way he was prevaricating, the way everyone had avoided coming straight to the point, suggested two things. One, it wasn’t going to be something I liked. And two, they had no real idea how to tell me what they needed without making it obvious I didn’t need them.

“There was a time when we could see beyond this dimension, to the world beyond, but then we couldn’t. There was only darkness. But now there’s the girl.”

He kept saying the word dimension with added emphasis, like he was conveying some new meaning of the word.

“She’s blocking you?”

“No, I don’t believe so. But her appearance may allow us to unblock the way.”

I was pretty sure unblock only had the one meaning, but he was probably trying to instil a sense of urgency and importance to what he was saying. Personally, the only way to get me fired up about a mission is to have the words kebab and extra chilli sauce in the briefing. I’ll put together an away team in under sixty seconds.

“And you know this how?”

“Lillian was able to piece it together,” said Duncan. He sounded like a proud father.

“Right. Lillian. Who’s dead. Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t appear very cut up about her loss.” I looked over at AJ. “Neither of you do. Why is that?”

The two men exchanged a knowing look.

“The thing with Lillian,” said Duncan, “is that she always comes back.”

I waited for the rest of the explanation but he seemed reluctant to give me more details. Story of my life. Well, I’d had just about enough of that shit.

“What do you mean? She’s a vampire? She regenerates from a drop of blood back to full health? Bullets bounce off her impenetrable skin?”

“I don’t know,” said Duncan. “I have no idea how she does it. I’ve even seen her corpse and personally buried her, and then she appears the next day as though nothing happened.”

Suddenly this was sounding rather familiar. Was Lillian something similar to Richina? That didn’t make any sense.

“How long has she been able to do that, the coming back to life thing? I mean, how long have you been aware of it?”

Duncan frowned and pursed his bottom lift. “Maybe… a year.” He looked over at AJ who was nodding. “Around that. She may have been doing it a lot longer, of course.”

“And is that all you know about her?” I asked. “She turned up one day and you put your complete trust in her and didn’t ask any questions?”

“It’s not that easy to get any answers out of her,” said Duncan. “She can be very evasive. But useful. Very useful. You don’t just turn someone like that away because they have a few secrets. We all have our secrets.”

No arguing with that. “Do you not think that maybe, just maybe, she’s using you to get whatever it is she wants, and after that, she’ll kill you and feast on your dead bodies? Random example.”

“That’s an oddly specific random example,” said Duncan.

“No,” I said, “not where I’ve come from it isn’t.”

“I realise you don’t trust me,” said Duncan. “I knew it the moment I set eyes on you. That boy, that man, he’s seen a lot of crazy shit, he knows the kind of people who’re out there and what they’re like, and he will never, never believe anyone who offers to help him out. Right?”

“Sure,” I said. “You don’t need to be a psychic to figure that out.”

“I’m not,” confirmed Duncan. “But I’ve been around people like you long enough to know I can’t force you to do what I want. I can’t threaten you and I can’t bribe you. You don’t really need me.”

“Okay,” I said, not at all sure where this was going. “So… I should see myself out?”

“Just because I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to, doesn’t mean you won’t see the sense in what I’m suggesting.”

“Rounding up the toffs and trust-fund kids and shipping them off to Fantasy Island? To be honest, Duncan, I don’t think it’d be fair on the poor bastards who live over there. They might be a bunch of primitive weirdos with no respect for life or liberty, but they still don’t deserve a stream of rich twats descending on them like Spring Break in Miami. It’s a pretty fucking dumb idea, Duncan. I don’t see myself joining in.”

I had reached a point in my development as a man where I could tell a rich and powerful mogul that he was an idiot. You’re not supposed to talk to your elders like that, but those rules were formed when elders actually gave a shit about the rest of us. Nowadays, they’re only interested in funding research into longevity drugs so they never have to let go of the steering wheel, so why bother passing along any of their wisdom? They’ll be in charge forever.

“Now, give me a chance,” said Duncan. “Whatever you may think of my ideas, you’ve got to admit the other guys aren’t going to make things any better. A lot worse, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not sure there’s any difference,” I said. “I’m still not convinced you aren’t working together. Make me think I get to choose one side over the other when it’s all the same side. You or them — honestly, who gives a shit?”

“You really don’t care?” Duncan looked shocked. He had expected me to at least want to be on the winning side, even if it wasn’t his.

“I don’t see any advantage in helping either of you. I’ve always found the problem with getting what I want is the people I end up stuck with to help me. I’m sure there are some quality personnel doing good work out there, the sort of people you thank at awards ceremonies, but I’ve never been teamed up with them. In my case, one brain has always been better than two. And way, way better than six. It’s just really hard to stab yourself in the back, especially if you’re not very flexible in the first place.”

Turning people down is its own art. And very enjoyable when the offer is from someone who thinks they’ve got what everyone is after. It’s what they want, after all, so it’s insulting when you reject it. In reality, you’re rejecting them.

“What I have,” said Duncan, not particularly fazed, “is resources that you will need. No matter what you plan — unless you intend to hide under a rock somewhere — you will need specialised equipment and people who can follow orders. I can provide them. And if, later on, you decide you don’t want to help me reach my goal, that’s fine, just walk away. No strings.”

“Really?” I said. “You expect me to believe you’ll do what I want on a ‘pay what you think it’s worth’ basis?”

“It shows I have great confidence in my plan, doesn’t it?” said Duncan.

“Yes,” I agreed. “You believe you’re brilliant. And you’ve done well for yourself, so maybe you are. But a lot of deluded people make money. They just cheat and lie and have good lawyers.”

“True,” said Duncan. “But I can’t force you into doing what I want. And if I had you killed, assuming I could, what would that get me? Some petty satisfaction? I’m not a vengeful man, Colin. I make deals. I sell ideas. I think I can sell you on what I’m planning, and I think you’re the only person who can get me close to my goal. I’m willing to bet on you. All you have to do is whatever you were going to do anyway. And when the time comes, as you said, pay me what you think my help is worth. If you don’t believe it’s a good idea, what am I going to do?” He shrugged like he couldn’t think of anything.

He did have resources that might come in useful. The bank of psychics upstairs, for a start. There were bound to be things they could enable me to do, like allowing me to talk to Jenny again. This time I might even pay attention to what she was trying to tell me.

“So, I can do what I want, and decide whether I want to help you right at the end?”

I watched him closely as he confirmed the deal, looking intently in his blue eyes for any sign of duplicity. He looked like he was lying through his teeth but then that’s what he looked like all the time, so not very revealing.

“There are some small issues we’ll have to deal with,” said Duncan.

“Oh, yes? Like what?”

“The problem,” said Duncan, “is that I came into the game late. By the time I was aware of any of this, the top people, the vital resources, all of that was already in the possession of others. We have only a few psychics, and they have limited energy. The best and brightest are employed by our competitors.”

“Their psychics are better than your psychics, are they?”

“Simply put, yes,” said Duncan, “but we plan to amend that. We are going to take their psychics.” His chest was puffed out and he was all fired up.

“You’re going to kidnap their psychics? You know they have ex-army types and what-not, right? I don’t think they’ll let their psychics go that easily.”

“We have ex-army types, too. And we have you.”

“That’s going to be a pass for me, dog.” Easiest no of my life.

“You don’t know the plan, yet,” said Duncan.

“A hard pass.” Firm but polite, the trademark Colin move. “I’m leaving. Let me know when Lillian comes back, I’d like to talk to her.”

Duncan raised his hands. “Alright. Just think it over. AJ is at your disposal. He’ll take you anywhere you need to go, arrange whatever you need. Once Lillian returns, I’m sure you’ll have a change of heart.”

It sounded like AJ’s job was to babysit me. And as for Lillian, I still wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Thanks, but I’ve had my fill of being driven around. I’ll get a taxi. It was nice meeting you, Duncan.”

“What about my train? Don’t you want the tour?”

“Another time.” I backed out of the room. The door opened for me. He was showing me how agreeable he was and how it was all my own decision. Like I was going to fall for that old chestnut.

AJ escorted me back up to ground level. He didn’t say anything but he had a knowing grin on his face, like he knew how this would turn out. I’d agree to Duncan’s deal, everyone did, I’d come around because everyone did. At least, that was the vibe I was getting.

Nov was still where I’d left him and his psychics were enjoying whatever was showing on the inside of their helmets. The screen on the wall was blank.

“Did it go well?” asked Nov.

“Wonderfully,” said AJ.

“Do you think I could try talking to the girl again?” I asked Nov.

“Our psychics will be available again once they’ve had a little rest.”

“How long?” I asked.

“A week,” said Nov.

“Right. See you later, then.”

“Are you sure I can’t give you a ride anywhere?” asked AJ.

“No thanks.” I walked away and he didn’t follow.

I exited the building and took a deep breath. I had managed to come out of the meeting without getting involved in a mass kidnapping plot. I saw that as a win.

If the game depended on how many low-level psychics you could round up and stick in a blender, I wasn’t really interested. I planned to have a chat to Cheng about what alternatives there were.

Then I saw the police.

There were two of them, male, plump (of course), in white short-sleeved shirts and standing next to the car AJ had stolen earlier.

I could hear them talking on the radio asking for verification of the number plate.

The obvious thing to do would be to turn around and walk the other way. Nothing to do with me, officer.

But I was in a bit of a tetchy mood. Why should I have to do anything to avoid getting involved? I was just a passing member of the public. I confidently strode past them.

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of them. “Is this your vehicle?”

“Er, no.” I smiled and turned my head to face the direction in which I was innocently walking away.

“Could I take your name, please?”

“Er, what? Why?”

“Just a normal check, sir. Nothing to be alarmed about.” He gave me a reassuring smile.

“I’d rather not get involved,” I said. I could have just given my name, or even a false name, and been on my way. But being asked for my papers like this was some kind of military dictatorship really rankled.

The whole point of defending our freedoms is so that we aren’t subjected to this sort of bullshit. Yes, it makes life slightly harder for cops and government types, but that’s the price we pay for allowing people to do what they want without the need to justify it.

“Your name?” he insisted.

“No, officer, I’m not going to give you my name or show you my ID or answer any questions. It’s not my job to help you, it’s your job to find whoever stole that car. It certainly wasn’t me, so do me a favour and leave me alone. Take me in if you have a reason and I’ll call a lawyer. Otherwise, please get out of my way.”

I doubt the old me would have had the balls to talk to someone in authority with this kind of forthrightness. I was being confrontational, but the police — and I think this goes for pretty much any country — are full of twats who like to bully people. My days of being bullied were well behind me.

Constable Dipshit stopped smiling. “How did you know the car was stolen?”

The car was parked outside the church like any car might be. It looked clean and in good working order. No broken windows.

“Because,” I said, “you were just reporting it a minute ago when I was standing right behind you. They’re called ears, you clown. This isn’t an episode of Columbo where the first person you see is the murderer. Where did they train you? A passing circus?”

His partner, who had said nothing so far, was smirking by the car.

“I simply asked for your name,” said the officer, slightly red in the face. “It’s hardly an abuse of power.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” I said, continuing the conversation when I should have found a way to be on my way. I had only recently had a run-in with the police, so I didn’t actually want to be taken in for being an unnecessary pillock. “You can’t just inconvenience the public because you feel like it. Why not go the whole and go ask that black dude if it’s his car.” I pointed at AJ who had emerged from the church. “I mean, black people steal cars as much as white people do. I’m sure he won’t mind answering your random, shot-in-the-dark questions. Probably never gets to help the police with their inquiries.”

As I said it, I realised it would have been useful to set them on AJ so I could give him the slip, but I’d said it with such sarcasm, I could see the copper recoil from the suggestion.

“It’s fine, sorry to have troubled you. Have a good day.” He backed off towards his partner, who was enjoying the show immensely. Lucky for me, the British like nothing more than seeing each other in massive discomfort. I set off.

When I turned the corner, there was a very small Smart car waiting on the kerb.

“You better get in,” said Lillian, not looking very dead.

“How did you not die from the poison gas?” I asked her.

“I’m not immortal, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m psychic. I changed the gas last week when I saw what a klutz you are. Let’s go. You don’t want to keep Jenny waiting.”

84: Extended Clause

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

Commissary 6C.

 

When the collision siren went off for the second time, Point-Two thought it was another false alarm and ignored it. Alarms had been going off since he took up position in the commissary and nothing had happened, so it seemed unlikely this one was going to be any different.

He had his own problems to contend with, namely trying to get food out of the vending machines. He didn’t have the necessary ID chip implanted in his wrist to pay for anything, and nothing came free on a Vendx ship.

And then the alarm stopped and the vending machine spat out a sandwich. It was the one he had tried to order but had been refused. And now here it was. Which meant the ship was now under emergency orders.

Once a ship was deemed to be in distress, all foods and drinks were required to be made freely available. This was spacetime law and punishable by death in the most severe cases. Humanity had managed to survive in the merciless expanse of outer space by obeying some basic human laws and not even Vendx could contravene them. A marooned ship could not withhold its stores from the crew. Which was why corporate warships rarely declared an emergency, except in the most dire situations.

It could only be because of Ubik.

Point-Two’s guess was that Ubik was using the alarms to cover for what he was really up to, and putting the ship under emergency orders was also part of it, along with placing Point-Two in this commissary and blowing a hole in the wall. These things required diversions and what better diversion than to make people think the ship was about to be hit by a passing asteroid.

It still wasn’t clear to Point-Two why he was in the commissary or what the emergency was, but there had to be a reason for all of this. Possibly to also provide another diversion. Ubik’s preferred form of chaos was multi-layered.

The members of the Motherboard crew who had been in the commissary now formed a sort of wall — more like a human cobweb — that covered the hole, and behind them a host of drones prevented them from flying out into space, but the whole thing had a very impermanent feel to it.

The structure could fall apart at any moment and the people in the web knew it. They could have let go and allowed the drones to catch them, but they seemed to know that they would then be in an even worse situation than their current one. And the current one wasn’t great.

The small gaps between the drones drew air out of the room and pulled everything else along with it. The furniture which Point-Two had unbolted was caught up in between the people, making things even more awkward for them.

It had been an interesting thing to watch from the perspective of bystander and student of all things Ubik, as Point-Two now considered himself.

At first, they had simply tried their best not to get sucked out into space and their reactions had been what you might expect — grabbing onto things, grabbing onto each other, trying to avoid getting hit in the storm of limbs and furniture headed for the sudden hole.

Some people had tried to help others, some had fought their colleagues to gain a better chance of survival, some had given up or were in shock and just let themselves be drawn towards the gaping hole.

Then, as they were caught in the opening because of the clogging effect of everything not being able to fit through the hole at the same time, they had a little more time to figure out what was going on.

They couldn’t figure it out completely, of course — not even Point-Two could do that, and he was part of the team causing it (perhaps ‘team’ was too strong a word) — but they saw the drones preventing them from complete annihilation, and they saw Point-Two, watching while eating a sandwich.

It was the flavour of sandwich Point-Two guessed Ubik would enjoy the most, and he planned to eat as many as the vending machine held, even if it made him sick. Petty but satisfying.

Some of the crew had spotted him earlier, had seen him releasing the furniture and sending those people clinging to chairs and tables to join the rest, and had surmised that whatever was going on, he was in some way involved. Those who had tried to confront him directly had not come off well.

They weren’t wearing their Vendx suits — which made Point-Two think they were off-shift when they had been ordered here — and weren’t comfortable being in a zero-G environment without them, at least not when it was thrust upon them without warning.

From what he had seen, Point-Two guessed maybe half a dozen of the crew had some sort of training or previous experience (probably sports when they were younger) in zero-G suitless mobility.

Chaos was the real enemy. No one could think straight with so much going on at once and death seemingly looming from the void. It was an unusual way to gain control over a room full of people — by giving up control entirely.

Point-Two had his foot caught in the front flap of the vending machine. It was a convenient way to hold his position without effort, just hook your toe under the flap and you’re anchored, floating a little from side to side but otherwise held firmly in place. Even if the hole in the side of the ship was fully opened, Point-Two wouldn’t get sucked out.

Once the alarms stopped and some equilibrium had been achieved and the crew felt a little less in danger, they started squabbling. This was due to there not being a leader among the group, at least not an officially recognised one. Everyone was low-ranking and not used to giving orders.

“What the hell’s going on?

“We’re going to die, we’re going to die.”

“Stop crying. Your shaking is going to make me lose my hold.”

“How do we get out of this?”

“They’ll send a team.”

“What about these drones? Why are they just sitting here?”

“Listen, everyone, shut up and listen to me. We have to—”

“You shut up, Benkson. No one cares what you think.”

“Just listen to me, will you? I have—”

“No, I won’t, and neither will anyone else. We all know what you did last assessment and appraisal. Screw you.”

“You’d rather die than listen to me?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“No one’s going to die,” said a firm voice, someone who had been thinking things over while being a human cork. “It’s him. Over there. He’s doing this. Hey, you!”

They all looked over at Point-Two. He ignored them. He had a lot of sandwiches to get through.

“What department’s he with?”

“Look at his clothes. He isn’t one of ours.”

“Then how is he eating from our vending machine? Those things won’t give you a crumb without paying. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Emergency orders. We’re under emergency orders.”

“We’re going to die, we’re going to die.”

The realisation all of this had given Point-Two was that he did not like having his life dictated by others.

It was a strange realisation since that had been his experience since childhood. Whether it had been his sister or his brother or System, someone was always laying out his path.

He got to choose his pace, make decisions about how to proceed, but the overall direction had always come from someone else. And he had been fine with it. He was always given an explanation, shown the reasons why this was the best of all the available options, and given encouragement and motivation. Working together towards a common goal. What was right. What was best.

Only now was he starting to see how ridiculous that was. These people were one part of it. The way they fought and struggled to not die, they would do anything they had to — work together, fight one another, lie and cheat and betray each other. People did what they had to in order to get what they wanted.

They might try to do what was right, what was best, but in the end, a desperate situation threw all that out of a window, or out of a crack in a wall. How people saw themselves under the best conditions was not commensurate with how they acted under the worst.

Ubik didn’t bother with any of the niceties, any of the soft manipulations you needed to convince, to persuade. They acted how he wanted them to act because the alternative was to risk death. They stayed put, they didn’t bother anyone, they played no part in the proceedings while Ubik did… whatever it was Ubik was doing.

As galling as it was for Point-Two to be in the same position as these flailing people of no consequence, there was something far more galling on Point-Two’s mind. This was how he had always been treated, he just hadn’t seen it. While doing his damndest not to be used by those he saw as the opposition, he was being used all the same by those he saw as his allies, as his family.

Perhaps that was how life was meant to be lived, as a cog in a machine you had no real control over. Work your way up the chain of command and you could get to be a more important cog, get to have a say in proceedings. In the meantime, do your best to prevent the cogs in the other machines from getting in your way.

Was that really what life amounted to? He found it a disturbing thought.

This was all going through his mind after the second alarm went off, the one he ignored. The crew panicked for a second and then grabbed onto one another more tightly, braced for impact. They eased slightly when the alarm stopped. And then lost their minds when it hit.

Whatever it was, it shook the entire ship. People screamed and lost their grip. They tumbled out through the hole, getting caught in the drone wall like it was catcher’s glove. They were all piled on top of each other in a jumble, but they were unharmed. For now.

The impact had felt like one solid strike somewhere towards the top of the ship. Point-Two knew what it was like to go through an ion storm. He had been through an asteroid field. He had been inside a ship during a meteor shower. Each felt different, each had its own signature strike pattern.

What had just happened to the ship had not been a single hit. It had been a series of smaller impacts coordinated very carefully. A weapon of some sort.

Point-Two’s first assumption was that Ubik was responsible, but where would he get the weapons from? And how would he organise them to hit the ship without the ship defending itself? There had even been a warning alarm.

Then the speakers came on and an automated voice said, “Warning. Crew of the Vendx Galactic Vessel Motherboard. Warning. This ship has been seized by hostile forces. Systems have been compromised. Warning. In accordance with spacetime piracy laws, this vessel has been classified as a hostile entity. Warning. Any attempt to aid the hijackers will cause you to be designated as an enemy combatant. Warning. Accepting hostage status is considered aiding and abetting the enemy. Accepting hostage status is a breach of contract. All hostages are exempt from bonus payments, including death severance pay. Warning.”

The message began to repeat from the beginning.

The crew had stopped screaming and were very quiet. They had just been fired with all benefits removed for being taken hostage. But more than that, Point-Two was starting to see Ubik’s plan. He had convinced the ship to attack itself, like the body’s immune system turning on itself to fight off an infection.

Point-Two was familiar with spacetime piracy laws. If the ship was declared a hostile entity, the original owner could attack it without concern of reprisals, in particular legal ones. The crew couldn’t sue the company for attacking them because they were now considered members of the boarding party. They were all pirates.

The thing was, though, Vendx were not here to attack their flagship. Only Ubik was here. He was using the ship’s own defence drones to attack the hull from outside to trigger the legal safety clause.

Why would he do that if he already had control of the ship?

The renewed shouting of the crew members told him the answer. They had just been let go of in the most brutal way possible, released from their contracts to be cannon fodder. They would be looking for employment, assuming they didn’t die. Preferably as crew of a large ship. And it just so happened Point-Two knew of a ship that had a few vacancies.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty Two

There was a single, unassuming wooden door at the back of the Librarium. It was small but looked solid and unlikely to be open. The rest of the rear was stone and brick, with tall thin windows that started high up the walls.

This was probably where the staff entered from in the mornings before the Librarium was open to the public. 

It was late and dark with not many people around. The soldiers Rutga had saved Nic from had seemed happy to hand Nic over into a superior’s care, not even bothering to check the shack he had emerged from. The warning that there would be vomit inside probably informed that decision.

Rutga went to the door and put a key into the keyhole just below the brass handle.

“You have a key to the Librarium?” said Nic, surprised. Here was a man who was capable of all manner of subterfuge and espionage, but the idea that he had his own key to the Librarium was by far the most shocking thing Nic had observed from him.

Rutga looked over his shoulder at Nic, the smile on his lips barely visible. “No, lad. They don’t trust the likes of me with something that precious. What I have is a key to every lock, at least, every lock not specifically prepared for people like me.” 

There was a soft click and Rutga opened the door. Nic looked from side to side, his body stiffening at the very idea of what he was about to do. It wasn’t like he hadn’t broken into a library before, but this wasn’t just any library. On top of which, there were things inside the Librarium which might not take kindly to intruders.

“Quickly, now,” said Rutga, holding the door open. “You don’t want to get caught out here.”

Nic didn’t want to get caught in there, either, but he pushed through his hesitation and entered the dark interior.

The smell of the Librarium was instantly familiar to him and helped calm his nerves. It was the reassuring scent of books and paper that had kept his company for most of his childhood, although there were some other scents mixed in with them.

The door closed and Rutga let out a heavy breath. “That was close.” 

Nic didn’t move as he waited for his eyes to adjust. There was enough light coming in from the thin windows either side of the door to be able to make out black shapes, but no more than that.

Rutga pulled something out of his pocket which turned out to be a tinderbox. He lit a wick in the box’s corner and held the small flame aloft. 

They were in a small room, an office with a desk, but with an unusually high ceiling. There was another door that presumably led into the Librarium.

Rutga moved towards a lantern on the desktop and lit it. The room immediately revealed itself, sparsely furnished and with shelves and cabinets brimming and overflowing. Much work was done here, Nic could tell.

Rutga blew out the flame and put the box back in his pocket. Then he took off his jacket, with its braids and ribbons, and turned it inside out. The reverse was the more mundane uniform of a Secret Service agent. He hung it off the back of the chair and sat down behind the desk. 

“Phew. We can take a breather now. No one will bother us until morning.”

“You must have an extraordinary tailor,” said Nic.

“Yes,” said Rutga. “I have excellent taste in tradesmen despite my lowly background.” He grinned mischievously and looked around the room. “This is the senior clerk’s room. He’s responsible for the accounting and keeping the place running smoothly, fiscally-speaking. A good man. Hard-working.”

“You’ve been here before?” asked Nic.

“Sure, many times. I like it here, surrounded by books. I find it calming. And it’s a very handy place to hide in the city at night. No one thinks to come in here to look for anyone. It has something of a sacrosanct reputation that comes in very handy, I’ve found.”

It did feel like they were breaking some sacred oath by being here, but Nic had assumed only he revered the Librarium in such a fashion. Him and maybe a few librarians. Perhaps it was a more common effect than he had realised.

“You just come in here to hide?”

Rutga put his feet up on the desk, which made Nic uncomfortable. 

“Hide, think, collect myself before whatever it is I need to do. Sometimes I even meet with people to get my instructions for some job or other. It’s a very versatile location. Why don’t you take a seat, there.” He pointed at the chair next to Nic. “We should have a little chat, you and I. About this and that, the meaning of life and so on and so forth. Don’t you think? A mutual exchange of information is what I propose.”

Nic sat down. Rutga was being jovial and handling the situation in a very casual manner, which Nic was sure was an act. He wanted to put Nic at ease so he would be more likely to answer questions, most probably. Which was fine. Nic was happy to tell him whatever he wanted to know as long as he got some answers in return.

“Do you mind telling me where you were going to take me?” asked Nic.

“My instructions came from the Ministry for Instruction, rather aptly.” Rutga smiled, amused at his own wordplay. “Your removal from the school was more or less a precaution. No one really thinks of you as a threat, as far as I can tell — I may not be the most well-informed person on such matters — but they do think of you as a bit of a nuisance. From the reports I’ve seen, you do seem to crop in the most odd places.”

“There are reports about me?” said Nic, his mind already looking for ways to access them, possibly using his ability.

“Certainly. Quite a large dossier, although I don’t know how much of it is factual and how much conjecture. I would have bet quite a lot on mostly the latter until tonight. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Outside,” said Nic, “you said everyone was wrong about me apart from you.”

“Well,” said Rutga, “perhaps I’m flattering myself, but even though it did seem unbelievable, what they claim you’ve done, they also have this idea that your actions are likely being controlled by others. I didn’t believe that part.”

“That part may be the only thing that’s true,” said Nic, rather glumly. “I don’t know why so many people want to influence my actions, but I seem to have become a popular target. I don’t even know if my own feelings are real half the time.”

“No, my boy, don’t you believe it. Your father’s greatest quality was his ability to think for himself. Some would say it was also his greatest fault. I see so much of him in you, I can’t accept for one moment that you would succumb to domination by another, no matter how powerful they might be.”

Nic was a little thrown by this man’s faith in a mere boy’s fortitude under such extreme pressure. “I’m not sure why you would think that, but I don’t think you’re right. You can’t be. I’m constantly being forced to do things I don’t want to.”

“Ah, that isn’t what I meant,” said Rutga. “We all find ourselves having to make compromises and doing things we regret. The sign of a free will is when you realise that. The mark of the weak-willed is when they allow themselves to be convinced what they are doing is correct and decent.”

“What difference does that make if you still end up doing it?” said Nic.

“More than you can possibly know. But you will. In the meantime, it’s important for you to be able to carry on, I feel.”

“Carry on with what?” asked Nic.

“I can’t rightly say,” said Rutga. “With whatever it is that brought you here when you could have easily run back to safety. Why did you follow me?”

It was a fair question. When you escape from someone attempting to abduct you, the normal reaction would be to get as far away from them as possible.

“I… I wanted to know who it was you were working for. I mean, really working for. But I’m still not sure. You say you work for the Ministry, but then you should be taking me to Minister Carmine right now. And you seemed to be in league with the people from Gweur, but you wouldn’t hand me over to them.”

“Yes, I can see why you would be confused,” said Rutga. “There are some parts I don’t understand myself. But of this I’m sure — you are part of this for good reason. Your decisions will affect the outcome and, I think, for the good of all of Ranvar.”

Nic wasn’t sure how to respond. It sounded utterly preposterous to him. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“True, it would be hard to prove. But in my line of business you sometimes have to let go of what you know and rely on what you feel.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” said Nic.

“No one expects you to be sure,” said Rutga. “A time will come when it’ll be obvious. That was how it was for me, and for most others. You have to be a little patient.”

“And you let me go on that basis?” said Nic.

“Ha, not quite. You did have a little help from our Gweurvian friends. This isn’t exactly how I envisioned us having this conversation, but sometimes you also have to let go of what you planned.”

They sat there, opposite one another, in the yellow light of the lantern. From outside, there was the occasional shout or rumble of a passing carriage. The soldiers in the streets had been preparing for a fight, for dragons and an invading army, but none had materialised. Now they were restless and finding ways to ease the tension,

“Are you just going to stay here all night?” Nic asked. There was no indication Rutga had any other plans. No indication that he intended to take Nic anywhere, either. But Nic had a feeling the old man was here for a reason.

“Yes,” said Rutga. “Until I receive orders otherwise.”

“How will they know where to send them?” asked Nic.

“Ah, you’ve stumbled onto my clever ruse. They will find me when I’m good and ready. That’s part of the problem with being good at your job — people always want to give you more work. They’ll take it away from others who they think aren’t doing it well enough just to burden you a little more. You’ll have to watch out for that as you get older, Nic. It might seem alright at first, you might even agree with their reasoning, but the more you take on, the more they’ll keep giving you. You have to know your limits and then you have to impose them on your taskmasters.”

“I’m not sure I’ll get the chance,” said Nic. “I suppose it will depend on what I’m asked to do.”

Rutga raised a hand to stop Nic. “I speak only as an ignorant soldier, someone not qualified to question the intelligence of my superiors. This is the biggest difference between you and I, Nic. I’m just someone who faithfully carries out orders. You, you’re someone who always has to ask why.”

“But you aren’t carrying out orders,” said Nic. “You’re sitting here.”

“I carried out my orders to the best of my ability, which is what I was chosen for. No one can achieve something they aren’t capable of, after all. You can’t order a man to fly and expect him to flap his arms and float into the sky.”

Nic was getting the impression Rutga wasn’t being entirely honest with him. He was happy to keep Nic here, but not willing to tell him why. 

“I think you’re going to get in trouble with Minister Carmine,” said Nic.

“That’s alright,” said Rutga. “It’s very hard to discipline a man you’ve trained to withstand all sorts of torture and punishment. Frankly, you only have yourself to blame.”

“What if they take it out on your family?”

Rutga took his feet off the desk. “There is that. Fortunately, I never found a woman I wanted to spend the rest of my days with. Lucky for her. I would have quite liked to, it’s not that I enjoy the solitary life, but it never happened. Your father, now there was a man who found the perfect woman. He was always talking about how wonderful your mother is, how lucky he was to find her, you know, all that lovey-dovey nonsense. There were times I thought he was just doing it to aggravate me, but I think, honestly, he was just young and in love, which can make a man extremely annoying to be around.”

Nic found it odd to hear someone talk about his father in such terms. He rarely heard anything about him other than what a fine soldier he had been, and then only because what else could you say about a dead soldier?

“I did look you know, for a wife, I mean. But I wasn’t going to settle for just anyone. She had to be the person I saw myself with.”

“You had a specific person in mind?” asked Nic. “Someone you knew?”

“Not exactly. I had a picture of her in my head.”

“You dreamed her?” asked Nic. He hadn’t expected Rutga to be such a romantic.

Rutga nodded. “All the time.” He stretched in the chair and repositioned himself to be more comfortable. “I can see her quite clearly, even now. A girl — she remains the same age even as I get older — a girl so pure and delicate, nothing around her can contaminate her. But it can all harm her. Yes, everything around her can hurt her! She must be protected, cared for. You have to be willing to pay any price to shield her from a cruel and menacing world. I... I would… ah, I’ve got a clumsy tongue. I can’t say anything clearly.”

“She’s Ranvar,” said Nic.

“I suppose she is now,” said Rutga with a laugh. “You’ve seen through my self-delusion as I only occasionally do. I had no girl to call my own, so I took on the biggest girl I could find. Some men are like that, they have particular tastes.”

Nic smiled at the image of a large, nation-sized wife.

“But the girl I love needs someone better than a mere grunt like me. She needs someone…” He sighed. “When I was a young man, there were leaders to look up to. Fearless men willing to sacrifice everything, including themselves, if that was what was required. They had unshakable principles and only cared for the well-being of their people. Not individuals, not family members — although I’m sure they were included — but every citizen, even those not yet born. Especially them… Such a shame.”

“What happened to them?”

“The same thing that happens to all great men. They grew old. For them, dwelling on the past and looking to the future became insufferable burdens, and since they were powerless to do anything about the present, their only option was to live out their waning years without thinking about anything. They lost interest in the only thing they ever cared about.”

“Isn’t that the way it always happens?” asked Nic. “Someone else comes along and takes over, don’t they?”

At this, Rutga, suddenly grew excited. He motioned for Nic to draw closer, and lowered his voice, as if afraid that someone would overhear.

“Yes, I ‘m happy to hear you say it. I think the same. It’s just a matter of finding him. Or her. You never know. Someone whose faith is rock-solid, who’s farsighted and takes the action required when necessary, and acts with calm resolve. Precise and serious, but when there’s a need they can go outside the lines and take extraordinary action.” Rutga sighed again. “That’s the sort of person we lack.”

“Don’t we have great generals and battle-hardened warriors who will step up when the time comes?” asked Nic.

“The time has come and gone,” said Rutga, shaking his head. “An old soldier without faith in victory is a sad sight to behold, is it not?”

Something in Nic’s mind caught fire. “You’re not thinking I might be this person, are you? Because of who my father was? Because I can assure you—”

“No, no, lad. I’ll know him when I see him.”

“Or her,” said Nic.

“Indeed.”

They sat there for a while, Nic not knowing why he’d come. It was something of an anti-climax. He was lost in his own thoughts for a while, and then looked up to note that Rutga had fallen asleep in his chair. The key he had used to gain entrance to the Librarium was on the desk.

Nic leaned over and picked them up, his eyes on Rutga, ready to apologise, a list of excuse running through his mind. Rutga didn’t wake.

The Librarium was cool and dark, with squares of light occasionally rushing across the walls as the lanterns on top of passing carriages illuminated the skinny windows.

Nic couldn’t shake the feeling he was doing something wrong. He crept through the bookshelves on tiptoe, his breath held in case someone heard him. He knew no one was here and there was nothing to hide from, but that didn’t stop his heart racing.

People didn’t sneak around in the dark for good reasons, generally.

He reached the central staircase and made his way up. Each wooden step creaked far louder than any other time he had climbed them, he was sure.

When most people behaved in a dubious manner, they justified it by exaggerating the importance of their goal — the ends justified the means. Nic would probably do the same, if caught. Wasn’t the fate of Ranvar at stake? 

But in his heart, he knew that was nonsense. He was just playing the part of important person in world-changing events. He had always avoided the school drama club and now here he was, vying for the leading role. It wasn’t a vocation he was qualified for.

He remembered back in school — his old school — a teacher called Mr Kavensky who had taught him for high arts and monuments, a particularly subjective subject. His advice for exams where there was no correct answer was: decide what you’d like the answer to be, and then draw out the evidence that makes it true. 

The lesson had served him well. Not only did it allow your examiner to evaluate the kind of person they were dealing with, it also provided an opportunity to convince them you were something other than what you truly were. 

A well-worded essay answer could be utterly baseless and still paint you in an impressive light.

A subjective question wasn’t looking for a correct answer, it was looking for a demonstration of character. It didn’t have to be yours.

Presenting yourself as something impressive and laudable was meant to be a good thing. Put your best foot forward, show yourself in a good light, first impressions count. No one ever suggested you should present an accurate portrayal of yourself. Even when they said, “Be yourself,” they meant the version of you suitable for public consumption.

Nic reached the top of the stairs, the sixth floor of the Librarium, and his anxiety eased a little. Being this high above street-level made him feel more secure, less likely to be heard or seen through a window. Not unless it was by someone flying past. That thought made his start fidgeting again.

He moved quickly through the shelves, old and musty. Few people came up here during the day so it stood to good reason there would be even fewer around in the middle of the night. The deeper he went, away from the windows, the safer he felt.

The door he was looking for was up ahead, simple and unassuming. Nic took out the key Rutga had given him and put it in the keyhole.

It didn’t seem to fit at first, too big to even go all the way in. But then something seemed to give way and the key shot forward, making a loud metallic clang. It wasn’t actually very loud, it just felt like it. Nic froze for a second, listening for what? Rushing footsteps? He turned the key and the door opened.

Inside the small chamber, it was pitch dark. Nic stepped inside and closed the door. He’s had enough of his paranoid imagination and decided to get on with it. If there was a party waiting to ambush him, so be it.

Even though he couldn’t see anything, he remembered where the other door was. The room wasn’t big enough to get lost in and he found the other door handle easily enough. The second keyhole took some feeling around to find, but there were only so many places doormakers put them.

The second door opened and light flooded into the chamber blinding him for a second. He rushed in and shut the second door behind him, afraid some light might find its way out through any tiny gaps between door and doorframe or maybe through the keyhole. Even with the precaution of double doors it felt like someone might see a golden glow emanating from the top floor of the Librarium.

The room was full of books in glass cases, but Nic ignored them. The glow was coming from them, providing enough light to see by. Nic scanned the floor for the trapdoor leading down to the creature’s lair.

He had been here before, seem the LIbrarian open it, could visualise where it had been, but finding it was trickier than he’d anticipated. He was considering poking the key into every discernible crack until it somehow miraculously fit in one of them, but then he stopped and closed his eyes. He had the ability to be shown whatever he asked to see, so he asked to see the lock he was looking for.

It took a moment for his mind’s eye to settle inside the room, and then he could see the hole in the floor like it was made of white light. With his eyes still closed, he inserted the key and pulled open the door.

It was heavy but there seemed to be a mechanism installed that helped make it easier to lift. Once it was open, the dark stairwell dropped away beneath him. A minor adjustment and Nic could see the steps clearly. He started the descent, eyes closed, no fear of losing his footing in the dark. If nothing else, this ability had given him excellent night vision. 

Nic hurried down to the bottom and arrived at the large archway that led into the white room where he had encountered the creature. He opened his eyes and the white walls ahead of him showed an empty room.

He peered into the room, what he could see of it. The white light from the walls was bright and easy on the eyes but nothing like sunlight and more stark than anything from a lantern.

“Hello?” said Nic, voice low. There was no immediate response. He was reluctant to go in uninvited and also wary of raising his voice. He might not be heard from outside, but there were other people who might hear him. “Hello?” He stepped forward, as far the archway without entering the room. “You said it was alright if I came back.”

Everything went dark.

“Yes,” said a voice in his head. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Nic was tempted to say it probably would have taken him longer if he knew what it was he was supposed to do, but he kept it to himself.

“I’ve been getting used to the power you gave me,” said Nic.

“Yes,” said the creature, its voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. “You have changed since we last met.”

“I have? In what way?”

“In many ways. You have flown shadow dragons. That isn’t something most people are capable of. It isn’t something you were capable of.”

“It wasn’t that different from flying regular dragons,” said Nic. 

“I assure you it is very different,” said the creature. “To think they are the same shows how far you have come in so short a time. Good. You have already exceeded expectation.”

“What was your expectation?” asked Nic. “What is it now?”

“My expectation was for you to remain uninvolved and disengaged, but you are here, of your own volition.”

“Not really,” said Nic. “I was sort of abducted and got away and then followed my would-be kidnapper here. I stumbled back here by accident, to be honest.”

“No,” said the creature. “That is only how it appears. You chose to come here, and you chose to confront me.”

“I wouldn’t say this is a confrontation.” Nic fervently hoped it wasn’t.

“You want to know what you are meant to do now, do you not?”

“Yes,” said Nic. He couldn’t deny that was true, it was just that he didn’t think anyone would tell him, so he didn’t see it as his goal. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Yes,” said the creature. “You are meant to do whatever it is you decide to do.”

Nic’s heart sank a little. More vague answers that had no real meaning.

“On my world, the one the High-Father destroyed, the one the High-Father used me to destroy… On that world, the people were already far in advance of this world even before the High-Father found them. They were proud of all they had accomplished, and they believed they were guided by a superior power that would not allow them to fail.”

“A superior power?” said Nic. “They worshipped a deity of some kind?”

“You could think of it like that,” said the creature. “Pastor Grey had a vision. Of death and destruction and a saviour that would come. He believed he was ordained to build that saviour, that he was being directed to create life, to become the image of his own creator by creating something he would breathe life into, and so he made me. Things did not work out as intended.”

“Pastor Grey?” said Nic. “He made you?”

“Yes. He received a divine visitation and received instructions, this was the world into which I was born. The great mages of my world were not unlike the ones here, people of immense power and ability looking for ways to utilise their gifts. They lived mostly in the coldest regions, where their power was kept in check. Pastor Grey’s efforts produced so much residual heat, the snow-covered area around his home was in perpetual spring. Flowers grew on every patch of grass, and within walking distance there would be tall banks of snow.”

“What were you created to save them from?” asked Nic.

“No one knew when my plans were first drawn. They didn’t need to know. Their faith in me was total. Their faith in themselves, likewise. It was to be their undoing. When the High-Father arrived and offered them more power, they considered those that accepted to be heretics and had them killed. But others took their place. The most powerful rejected what they saw as temptation to lead them astray, but the slightly less powerful were ready to be promoted — they always are.”

“He set them against each other,” said Nic. It was an old tactic you didn’t need to be a demon to employ.

“And it worked very well, for a time. But they were not so foolish that they couldn’t see the danger. But they still refused to change their ways. Their confidence made them inflexible. They believed their higher power would intervene to save them, that I was the instrument sent to protect them, and so they became obstinate in their ways.”

“You’re saying their faith in themselves was unfounded?”

“No, it was perfectly justified. It wasn’t enough, though. The High-Father never let them realise how hopelessly outmatched they were until it was too late.” The creature’s voice had a lament to it.

“Do you think things will be any different this time?” asked Nic. 

“I thought not,” said the creature. “For the longest time I was satisfied with being a disinterested observer. There was nothing I could do to prevent other worlds from falling, it made no difference. But Winnum Roke convinced me otherwise.”

“How did she do that?” 

“By suggesting something the HIgh-Father would not be able to resist. A challenge he would accept because there he finds so few challenges. It took a mage from the mages and a demon from the demons and a human… you… from the mere humans. One of each. And then left to their own devices, he would allow them to prepare for the battle, unimpeded.”

“I don’t understand,” said Nic. “Why me? I’m not special among my kind. I don’t stand out. Surely there are others who are more qualified.”

He had returned countless times to this question, looking at it from different angles, leaving it to sit in the back of his mind in the hope an answer would emerge from within. But try as he might, the reason he had been chosen refused to appear.

“Perhaps, but you were chosen from many. You were the one who did stand out. The quality you possess that none of the others had, that my entire world didn’t have, is the ability to change your approach as required. You learn quickly, Nicolav Tutt.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough,” said Nic.

“No,” said the creature. “Probably not.”

The darkness came to life. Below him, or so it seemed — in truth he felt the room still under his feet —  was Ranvar, the world, dark but still visible.

“Here we are,” said the creature. The city lit up, it’s already bright outline emphasised. “And here are the Ranvarian troops.” Dots of light appeared around the edges, thousands of them. “The Gweur troops. The allied nations’ troops. The hidden armies waiting to pounce, once they see which side is winning.” 

Lights of different colours kept appearing across the map. The many factions involved, from the small rebel groups to the huge armies. It went on and on until the map was covered in swathes of colour.

“Why are you showing me all this?” said Nic.

“For you to see what there is,” said the creature. “What you do with the information is up to you.”

Nic looked at it. The different colours butted up against each other, a mix of paints on a canvas, pieces on a board.

“It’s a game to him, isn’t it?” said Nic. “The way it’s so well balanced. That can’t be by accident. He wants it to be like this. He doesn’t want an advantage, he wants to make it hard for himself.”

“Yes,” said the creature. “He is tired of winning too easily.”

“Then why doesn’t he remove his advantage completely?” said Nic. “He still holds the reins. He only allows us to be his equal. If he really wants to prove himself, let him choose a single champion, and we do the same, and let the victor claim the spoils. Not that he’d agree to it.4

“I agree,” said a new voice. The High-Father stood next to Nic. “I agree to your terms. Who would you choose?”

“You do?” said Nic. “Okay.” His mind was already racing to think of a champion for his side. Winnum Roke seemed like the ideal pick, but would he allow her. “Winnum Roke?”

“An excellent choice. I agree.”

“You do?” There had to be a catch. “And who do you pick?”

“Why, I pick you, Nic.”

A catch, always a catch. “Can I forfeit?”

“Yes,” said the High-Father. “But before you do that, let me show you what you’re championing. Let me show you the world as it really is.”