V. Moody's Blog, page 35

78: Mentally Prepared

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain (orbit).

VGV Motherboard.

 

Hollet 3.2 had started out with a plan. A clear strategy that would get him to his goal by the most direct route. Point-Two liked to keep things simple and straightforward. He sighed nostalgically for the good old days when only his enemies tried to kill him, and kept an eye on the door. Any moment now, armed Vendx security personnel would burst in and slaughter all of them.

Everyone except Ubik, of course. Somehow, he would dodge every bullet, make one of the drones his new best friend, and ride a passing comet to safety.

“He’s fine,” said Ubik, sitting at the console with his knees under the desk to keep him in position. “Might take him a little longer to get to the rendezvous point, but he’ll be fine. I have a lot of faith in the kid.”

The screen was black. A moment ago, it had shown Fig dealing with eleven experienced organics like they were novice grunts on their first day of boot camp. He had a little assistance from the Antecessor droids, which in itself was astonishing, but they were just as much of a hindrance as a help. The kid, as Ubik called him, was extremely impressive, but in a methodical way Point-Two felt he could understand and maybe even learn from.

The same could not be said of everyone.

“Not sure what happened there, can’t seem to get the connection back. Any luck, Grandma?”

“Ooh, no,” said Grandma. “Not through the suits. All dead. From the primary simulation machine, maybe.”

The suits worn by Fig and the others weren’t real. They were digital constructions that could be changed to a different type, a different colour, whatever you wanted. But they were real within the simulation. When the suits went offline, the hack Ubik and his granny had put into the simulation via the internal comms (going in through the actual sim-U would have been too easily noticed) also went offline.

“Let’s see what they’re up to on the bridge,” said Ubik.

The screen flickered and then showed the bridge, the crew members strapped into their chairs, wires plugged into their helmets and directly into their head ports in some cases.

There didn’t seem to be much going on, but it always looked like that from the outside. Each person on the bridge was dealing with multiple inputs, a balancing act of, if not global, then hemispherical proportions. The Vendx Galactic Vessel Motherboard was controlling every piece of infrastructure on Planet Fountain. The infrastructure Vendx had installed.

Gipper, who was lying on the bed — floating just above it, really — turned his head a little so he could see. “Are they launching anything?” He sounded a little depressed. He hadn’t actually said anything, but Point-Two could tell he was expecting this all to end badly.

“Nope,” said Ubik. “Just getting ready for the next push. I’m going to enjoy seeing their reactions when head office calls in to check on them.”

“What?” said the woman huddled in the corner. She hadn’t said much since entering her cabin to find three strangers in it. Ubik’s indirect threat to make her responsible for the hack into the ship’s mainframe had completely shut her down. She wouldn’t give her name and kept one hand over the tag stitched onto the breast of her uniform in an attempt to keep from being identified. The name on there was Chukka, as they had all seen when she first came in, but she refused to answer to it. “Why would head office… it’s only been a few hours.”

“Come on, Chukka, you know the score.” Ubik grinned at her, which made her flinch. “Big job everyone thinks is going to make them rich, all the execs come out of hibernation coffins to get their bite of the pie. Where’s the commissary, by the way.” He turned to Gipper. “We should eat something before things get going.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” said Gipper. “I have an affinity for spotting patterns, you know — it’s why I don’t have an organic, they’re the hardest ones to find — but I don’t need any help to see where this is headed.”

Gipper had slowly been getting more anxious since they arrived on board the Motherboard. He had been fine when they were on the move, but sitting around made him nervous. He was the sort who liked to have a plan to work with. Point-Two could sympathise.

Point-Two’s own plan had taken several years to put in place.

Leave the Liberator Garu under a cloud of his brother’s devising so as not to be considered a threat. Learn everything he needed to know about working with organics at a small out-of-the-way facility. Slowly gain experience of Antecessor technology and start exploring some of the smaller, less popular sites. Eventually, gain access to a compatible organic augmentation and return to the Garu as a fully-fledged organic.

Hollet One had estimated it would take five years, but his brother had always been a bit of an optimist. Within ten was probably more realistic.

Point-Two had mentally prepared himself for a long, slow slog. There might be opportunities for quicker advancement, and he would make sure he was ready for them, but it was by no means a given. He had to be prepared for many years of hard work to make his way towards his ultimate goal.

The problem with having a plan was that other people also had them, and theirs often got in the way of yours.

This was something you had to take into account. When Point-Two’s departure from the Garu turned out not to be an effective way to convince the other families that he wasn’t worth bothering with, Point-Two hadn’t been taken by surprise. He knew there was a possibility this would happen and that he would need to find a way to deal with it. Which he did. More or less.

As you shift your strategy to counter the obstacles you face, so too do your opponents. He hadn’t expected them to send ex-Seneca soldiers after him. The expense was a little flattering, but also showed how serious people were taking the future leadership and direction of the Garu. His home was under threat of being usurped by the most overbearing and intolerant factions, setting the tone for the next who-knew-how-many years.

If past regime changes were anything to go by, once the huge effort to switch paths was made, the force required to change it back, or to something else, would take several years to build up. Decades, in some cases. Everyone would put everything into this moment, win or lose, because they knew this would be their last chance for quite some time.

There was nothing wrong with this. It was just how things were, how they’d always been. Not just on the Liberator Garu, but throughout human history.

But you came into it with certain expectations.

You trained and fought and tried your best knowing the other side was doing likewise. When the obstacle you had expected changed into something else, you quickly identified the new stratagem and devised a countermeasure. Your changes would provoke a response from the other side, and you would likewise respond to that. Experience brought with it a store of knowledge so you would gradually be able to predict a reaction, recognise an approach, and be able to swiftly make adjustments. That was how Point-Two had been trained. For the most part, it had proved to be effective.

And then came Ubik.

It made Point-Two wonder if he had been wasting his time. Under analysis, there was no way Ubik should have been this successful with his wild, seemingly off the cuff approach to every problem.

Sure, once or twice he might get lucky and pull off a surprise win, but they were on a battlecruiser in orbit around a small planet that quite frankly had funny-tasting water, a sure sign of a stagnant culture. People living in this environment shouldn’t have been able to overcome the quadrant's most advanced entities so easily. Or at all. And from what he had picked up about Ubik’s past, the planet he came from was even more backward than this one.

There had to be more to it. Something Point-Two wasn’t seeing. Fig had noticed it too, was just as captivated by it. Not an organic, that much he was sure of. But then what?

“Hey,” said Ubik, “you gonna spend all day daydreaming or you gonna help.”

Point-Two looked at Ubik. “What do you want me to do?” It came out sounding a little defensive, like he wasn’t expecting it to be anything he would happily volunteer for. Which was an accurate representation of how he felt, but he was usually more adept at hiding his feelings.

“Take it easy,” said Ubik, “nothing crazy.”

“I absolutely guarantee he’s going to ask us to do the most insane thing ever suggested on board a battlecruiser,” said Gipper. “We’re on a Vendx ship with no way to get off and hundreds of people who are going to want to kill us.”

“We aren’t all murderers,” said Chukka, her words tense and brittle.

“They’ll probably put a kill-bonus on our heads,” said Ubik.

“How much?” asked Chukka, not quite so indignant.

“Crazy is the only possible answer,” said Gipper. “We have no other choice.”

“I don’t necessarily agree,” said Ubik, “but I like the way you think. First, though, we need to get hold of someone from Public Relations.”

“No, please no,” said Chukka, showing signs of panic for the first time. “I’ll do whatever you want, I won’t tell anyone you were here. Please, don’t involve PR in this. Please… just let me go.”

“Door's right there,” said Ubik.

“I can leave?”

“Sure. Just choose your words carefully when you report us. Don’t incriminate yourself.” Ubik’s face was a picture of cautionary concern.

Her face dropped again as the hopelessness of her situation struck her anew. She was well aware of her own company’s policy in matters such as this. She was far too convenient a scapegoat to be let off the hook.

Ubik was at his best, if it could be called that, when he was reminding people why they needed him. It helped that Ubik had made himself the cause of, and solution to, every problem.

“What do you want me to do?” asked Point-Two. He might as well get it over with, whatever it was he was going to be asked to do.

“No big deal,” said Ubik. “Just take these and place them in the cafeteria or the canteen or whatever they call it.” He tossed a string of shiny buttons towards Point-Two.

“We call it the commissary,” said Chukka. “You already knew that.” She was starting to sound suspicious, like she was being toyed with. A common reaction.

“Oh, is it? Lucky guess. Put them on the outer hull.”

Point-Two caught the buttons as they drifted towards him. “Why in the commissary?”

“No reason. I just thought you could pick up some sandwiches on the way back. Gipper’s looking a bit peaky, low blood sugar. Take FCP Chukka with you, she’ll know where it is.”

“How did you know my rank?” said Chukka.

“Another lucky guess,” said Ubik. “Hurry it up, though. Fig will be done soon.”

“You sure it’s a good idea to take her?” said Point-Two.

“Yeah, of course,” said Ubik. “I think she likes you, actually.”

“No, I don’t.”

“First date jitters,” said Ubik.

Point-Two looked at the buttons in his hand and made a decision. “Okay, let’s go.” He pushed off the ceiling and rolled into a ball. He straightened up as he reached the door.

Chukka also seemed to have made up her mind. Probably that it was best to get away from these madmen. Why exactly Ubik wanted him to take her, Point-Two didn’t know.

They entered the corridor and the door closed behind them.

“Which way?” said Point-Two.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And I don’t want to blow up the ship.”

“The ship will be undamaged, I promise you.”

“How do you know? That guy’s nuts.”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t damage a ship he intends to steal.”

Chukka laughed for a moment, and then stopped. “Wait, are you serious?”

Point-Two nodded. He could completely appreciate the look of utter disbelief on her face. Another common reaction. She would get used to it.

TGS week off

No new chapter of The Good Student today. Back next Sunday.

77: Defend Yourself

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

Facing eleven opponents was not a position Figaro would have chosen to be in. He had been trained to deal with multiple adversaries, but the training was mainly based on not getting himself into this kind of situation in the first place.

On top of being outnumbered, they were all organics. In addition to which, he had no idea what kind of abilities they possessed. If his instructors back home could see him now, Figaro was certain their response would consist of heads shaking slowly and eyes rolling exaggeratedly. If there was one thing the teacher of a capable student loved, it was to remind them of how far from the finished article they were. 

What he should have done was spent the time getting here casually learning what qualities each member of the Vendx team possessed. Not just their organic augmentations but also their general combat competence, situational awareness, tactical intelligence, and level of stamina control. Basic stuff.

The problem was that he had chosen to play the role of the non-human tour guide. To be fair, the role had been thrust on him, but he was the one who had decided to go with it. A mistake? Possibly, looking at it in hindsight.

It had given him the easiest way to remain in the group without raising questions, but perhaps he should have encouraged them to turn on him. It would have been the quickest way to ascertain their individual skills and power-levels. It would have been a little harder to then get them to work together with him, but not impossible. His mistake, he now realised, was in accepting convenience over raw data.

Someone like Ubik, he was sure, would have forced out each person’s strengths and weaknesses immediately, and then found a way to make them reliant on him to get any closer to their goal. Figaro’s approach had just made him the easy scapegoat, more valuable as bait than team member, let alone team leader.

It was both galling and embarrassing. His tutors were lined up in his mind, frowning and clucking their tongues. 

Figaro’s self-admonishments flashed through his thoughts as he threw the Antecessor droids at the Vendx team. He was impressed by how quickly the Vendx assault team reacted, spreading out to make themselves a harder target.

He assumed they had been well-drilled and were acting as they had been taught, although it could just as well be self-preservation and a strong desire not to die before they got their bonus pay.

The droids, which had been linked together, let go of each other and headed in different directions. They were more than capable of adjusting their trajectory and return their attention to Figaro, but they seemed fine with their newly assigned tasks — take care of the intruders. 

Figaro put his own suit’s thrusters into reverse so as to avoid getting involved in the melee, and observed carefully. He might as well try to learn what he could about the Vendx team, even though the knowledge would probably be a lot less useful to him now.

“What is this suit? How do you even—” One of the suits vented too much from one side and slammed into one of the large vats of liquid. The glass wall didn’t crack, which was good, but the attack on the ship’s infrastructure caught the attention of all the droids.

The other members tried to get organised and assist one another, but they were having similar problems with mobility. They were used to the most up-to-date equipment that had assisted steering and onboard computer safeguards. You didn’t have to worry too much about dodging and correcting your angle of elevation, modern suits did all of that for you.

Moving in a straight line or down a chute had been fine, but being in zero-G combat had put them to the test. They were not getting very high marks.

Two droids clamped down on the Vendx employee who had collided with the vat, one at the feet and one on the head. The one down below wrapped itself around both boots, while the one above formed a chain around the base of the helmet. The eyes inside the helmet lit up blue. That meant a low to moderate ability, usually not an offensive power.

The two droids twisted in opposite directions. Whatever the person’s organic was, they had no chance to activate it before their head was ripped off their body. 

The two parts drifted away from each other, fat red blobs emerging from the neck stump.

“What the hell?” Shouted someone over comms. “Why are they hyper-aggressive? This is supposed to be a level one map.”

There was a lot of panicked chatter filling Figaro’s ears, making it hard to hear what anyone was saying, but the gist of it was easy enough to work out. This kind of droid-behaviour was generally associated with a much higher level of Antecessor facility. The most lucrative sites were also the most ruthlessly defended. If any of the people here had been at a level where they could deal with this kind of engagement, they probably wouldn’t be working for Vendx.

“Stay calm,” said Destri. “This is a simulation. No one’s going to die. Nero isn’t really dead, he’s just stuck in the sim-U buffer until we get to the evac point. Get frosty and use your training.”

Destri had turned out to be a good choice for interim leader. The group was in danger of falling apart without a strong voice in command.

The two droids that had made short work of Nero unwrapped themselves. The other three had taken up positions so they could cut off most of the room, keeping the ten remaining members of the Vendx assault team in one corner.

“These suits, these useless, stupid suits. We don’t even have any weapons. We’re screwed, we’re screwed.”

“Be quiet,” said Destri.

“You be quiet. This is your fault. You’re the leader.” The sarcasm and general unhelpful behaviour weren’t helping. Figaro would have immediately shut that down — one man less was better than one man more to spread panic and disorder.

“Harrald,” said Destri, “I’m giving you a preliminary citation. Two more and you get a reduced share.”

Harrald stopped complaining immediately. There was something to be said for making your people value their pay over everything else.

“There’s just five of them,” said Destri. “We can do this. Team one, take front. Team two, cover.”

“We don’t have Nero,” said someone. “He was our immobiliser.”

“You don’t need him,” said Destri. “Take them down quickly, two to a droid. Pick and stick.”

“Which pairs?” said Harrald, wanting to say more but resisting the urge. 

“Odds and evens. Come on, people. We’re in a simulation. Stop overthinking it. Even if they’ve gone hyper, there’s only five. Five! It’s not even an issue. Let’s do this.” Destri was trying to get everyone geed up. He was right, they should have been able to handle something this straightforward with ease. 

But they weren’t used to having to run maps. Their primary function was to manage other human beings. People much less powerful than themselves. Normally, this map would have also been a lesser threat, but this map hadn’t been the same since Figaro unlocked the hidden area. This was no longer a level one encounter, that much was clear.

The droids were now floating in formation, five points evenly distanced from each other. They seemed unsure if they wanted to deal with Vendx or Figaro first. 

“What about the guide?” said someone.

“Forget about him,” said Destri. “He’s just following his programming. Looks like his job isn’t to just make this a walk in the park for their trainees. Let’s not get tripped up by their training program, okay? We’ll deal with them first, him next.”

Figaro wasn’t sure what that meant, but he was happy to take a back seat and let them thrash it out with the droids first. He wanted to see what organics they had, and what they were capable of doing with them. If he had to choose a winner at this point, he would probably bet on the droids. They had shown behaviour Figaro had never seen before, and an ability to adapt that was unprecedented. 

“Go,” said Destri. 

The remaining ten members shot forward in pairs. Figaro could feel the organics activating through his suit. The droids didn’t move.

The first person to take action slapped his hands together, sending a shockwave towards the nearest droid. The droid burst into pieces, small black strips floating in every direction like toy bricks. Then they stopped and began returning to their original position like video being run in reverse.

The shocker’s partner was already moving in. He put both hands forward, closed fists glowing red through the gloves. The heat was enough to make the people near him swerve away.

The droid closed in on the two fists, encasing them in a black ball. The heat was gone, at least outside the casing. The owner of the hot hands shook and trembled as he poured in more energy. 

The black manacles turned and tightened. The man’s arms were twisted but his whole body followed, turning him upside down. The shocker came up behind and placed his hands on the droid. Between them, they heated and vibrated, cooking up a storm. 

The other four pairings were also engaging with their droid opponents. There was another shockwave user — a hard-to-control ability in confined areas and virtually useless in a vacuum — working with a strongman. 

An analytic who was calling out structural details of the droid he was dealing with, for his partner, a kicker of some sort, to aim their foot at. Weightlessness did not help.

Two others were both strength-based and were taking the direct route via dismemberment, even though the droids were capable of self-assembly. 

And the last two were Destri, who was hanging back, and Harrald, who turned out to be able to fire intense light energy from his eyes and also to be unaware of the lack of frequency modulation in the glass visors of older suits. 

His lasers bounced back off the inside of his helmet and burnt out his eyes. He screamed for an instant and then hung limp.

The heat and vibrate combo exploded their droid, sending shrapnel in all directions. Figaro saw it coming and took up a position behind the second shocker. Fragments tore through him and his partner. Another piece pierced the back of the kicker’s helmet, and flew out the front in a red streak.

“Look out,” shouted his partner, using his ability to point out the projectile far too late. The distraction was enough to allow the droid to wrap itself around his waist and squeeze. The too-late warning ended in a gasp, followed by silence as legs and torso separated.

Four droids were still active and ready to deal with intruders. One had been blown apart into tiny fragments, but was now slowly reassembling itself. 

The only Vendx operative left was Destri, who hadn’t done anything so far.

“We never had a chance, did we?” said Destri, ignoring the droids closing in on him and looking at Figaro.

“You always have a chance,” said Figaro, “it just isn’t always at winning. What does your organic do?”

“Electromagnetics. You aren’t computer generated?”

“No,” said Figaro.

Destri nodded, then turned towards the droids. He raised his hands and showed them his palms.

Figaro felt the EMP go off. His suit went dead as did the droids.

It was obvious now why Destri hadn’t used his ability. Knocking out the droids also knocked out the suits. Without the suits, you had no air.

Destri turned to look at Figaro. “Guess we both suffocate now.” His voice didn’t come over the dead comms, it barely reached across the thin alien atmosphere that filled the ship, but Figaro could read his lips. Destri was smiling like this was some kind of victory.

Figaro took a breath and held it. He still had to get to the bridge. There wasn’t enough air in the suit and the systems weren’t just offline, they were fried. He wouldn’t even have enough time to think of a way out of this before he ran out of air. He would have to improvise and hope for the best. His tutors most definitely would not approve. Prepare, evaluate, have a contingency plan and countermeasures. All very well if you have the time and the oxygen.

Figaro grabbed hold of a body, only the lower half it turned out, and threw it behind him. He floated in the opposite direction.

“Want to tell me who you are?” asked Destri, adjusting his position to keep an eye on Figaro as he approached.

Figaro put a finger to his lips, or where his lips were from outside his helmet. Talking took up air, and Figaro needed him alive. 

“Hey, don’t you think—”

Figaro punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Destri folded into two, making a high-pitched sucking sound. That would keep him quiet for a bit. Figaro started to gather the other bodies, but only the whole ones.

Chapter 443

Lillian was a mess, tears dripping down her face making her mascara run, hair all over the place, her expression one of confusion and loss. Actually, that was pretty much how she’d looked when she got here. 

“This is the happiest day of my life,” she bawled through snot bubbles coming out of her pierced nose.

I was holding the helmet I’d taken from one of the guys who’d smashed down the door. I thought it would have a mic in it and I’d be able to hear them talking to each other, but there was no sound coming out of it. These brilliant ideas always work out in movies. It’s almost as if they just make shit up.

“Hey, if you need some time to work through some issues, feel free to go home. I’ve got some stuff to take care of anyway. Got to get a new door, for a start.”

There was a mean draft coming down the hallway. Where do you even buy a new front door?

“It’s real. It’s all really real. I’m not insane. I’m… gifted.”

“Okay,” I said. “Good for you.”

“I can help you. I can help you find your way to the light.”

She was convinced I was a ghost, which I thought would make her run away. Nope.

“Thanks, but I’ve already been. Not as impressive as you’d think. Really long queues.”

“You have some unfinished business to take care of before you can leave?”

She’d seen too many movies about life after death. She’d be setting up a pottery wheel next.

“Look, I’m sure you mean well, but I don’t really need any help right now. Not unless you know a local 24-hour door repairman. Just because you want to help someone doesn’t mean they want your help. Especially if your own life is a mess. You are not qualified, that’s the plain honest truth. Sorry.”

She sniffed loudly and stopped being emotional. “You really are an obnoxious twerp.”

“Yes,” I said. “I find it’s the only way to get people to leave me alone. They get to feel all superior and I get to not have them bothering me. It’s a win-win.”

“I want to help you so I’m going to, accept it. This is the greatest discovery in human history. Ghosts are real! There’s no way I’m leaving here until I get some answers. Those people who broke in, who were they?” 

I had a feeling it was the first in what was going to be a series of penetrating questions. Fuck my life.

“They were here for you, maybe you should go ask them.”

“But you’re a ghost,” she said, ignoring my suggestion. “You’ve seen what happens after we die… there’s so much I want to know. I need to get in touch with my father. I need him to forgive me.”

“Great — I can see you’re very excited about all of this — but how is that interesting for me? I’m not here to help you resolve your personal problems. We don’t have that sort of time. Just go home and don’t attract any attention or you’ll find out about life after death the old fashioned way.”

“No, I can’t leave, not yet.” She stood up, wiping her face with her black lace fingerless gloves. Not a goth my arse. “Would you give up an opportunity like this if our roles were reversed?”

It was a reasonable point, or would have been if I hadn’t already experienced this kind of situation multiple times. 

“Yes, I would. I have. As amazing and wild you think this is, it’s not a big deal. I’ve seen far freakier shit. You don’t need to know what happens when you die to have a happy life. Your life will be shit regardless.”

As a motivational speaker, I like to think I give people what they need, not what they want or deserve or have paid for.

“You’re a ghost!” she shouted into my face and grabbed my arm. Her black-painted fake nails dug into me.

“Ow. What the fuck?” Where was my insta-heal power when I was being viciously attacked?

She let go of me and jumped back, startled. Then she grabbed my arm even harder and pinched and poked me some more. “Why are you so hard and solid?” Not something many women have said to me.

“Because I’m not really a ghost, obviously.” I shook her off. “Do you really think I’d be hanging around here if I could walk through walls and go wherever I wanted?”

She tried again, touching and patting me on the shoulder and back.

“Get off!” I slapped her hands away. “No consent. No consent.” I wanted to make sure if this came to court, it was absolutely clear I hadn’t been playing hard to get and I didn’t like it rough. I know how these sexually aggressive types operate, I’ve seen Law & Order: SVU. 

“I saw that man fall through your body. I saw it.”

“You didn’t see nothing. Now go home and if Jenny contacts you again, tell her I’ve gone down the pub and I’ll come back when I’m good and ready. Go on, this is none of your business.”

“It’s late and this isn’t a very nice area,” said Lillian, which the broken door and recently departed commandos sort of confirmed.

“Well, I’m very sorry. We can’t all live in the house on the hill from Psycho or wherever the hell you come from. Is that what happened to your dad? Sitting in a rocking chair wearing a wig?”

She looked shocked, then upset.

Maybe it was going too far. Maybe I didn’t give a fuck. Whatever her problems with Daddy, there was no reason to share them with me. What is it with people that makes them think if they have a legitimate reason to be angry then they’re entitled to make everyone else’s life a misery, too? 

“You know nothing about my father,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No,” I replied, also through gritted teeth (because it was the latest craze, apparently — who knows what’s hot and what’s not if not the goths?), “I don’t want to know anything about your dad, but here you are forcing your paternal infatuations down my neck. Keep that shit to yourself. This is England, we don’t speak about such things in public, only behind people’s backs.” I would have knocked out a couple of verses of Jerusalem to underline my point, but I hate karaoke, especially the kind they do in church.

“He died because—”

“Shut up,” I interrupted before she got to the part where I had to help her right a wrong or heal a wound or whatever. “I don’t care. And tell Jenny not to call again unless she has something helpful. No one ever comes to my rescue, it’s always what I can do for them. Tell you what, you save my life and then I’ll consider helping you.”

“How can I save your life? You’re already dead.”

“Don’t make excuses. You delivered your message — thanks, appreciated — now begone, goth.”

“I am not—”

“Don’t even.” I pointed at the passage leading out. And was irritated to see Jack walking down it. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What now? Round two? You’re making it very hard for me to not kill you, you know?”

I had said next time I saw him, that would be it. Go time. Curtains. The dance of death. I tend to make these sorts of threats on the understanding I won’t be seeing that person again. If I’d known he’d be around later, I’d have shook hands and made nice with the massive musclebound twat. That is the English way of dealing with these things.

“Sorry for coming in unannounced,” said Jack with a thin smile. “It was open.” He had two goons with him, their heads on swivels as they scanned the perimeter or checked their six or whatever it is they say these days to justify murdering unarmed civilians. 

“Have you come for her, too? Because you can have her.”

Jack shook his head. “Those guys weren’t ours. We saw them leave as we got here, nothing to do with us.”

“They were American,” I said.

“A lot of people are,” said Jack. He was sticking to his story, but that didn’t mean much. 

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

“To make sure you’re okay. Even if you’re not interested in working with Mr Orion, he still wants you safe.”

“Then go chase the guys who broke down my door. I’ll feel a lot safer with them in one of your safe houses where you can torture people because you’re not on US soil, which is how morality is defined, by geographic location. I think that’s how it’s explained in the Bible — thou shalt not kill, except on a black site or in international waters.”

“We have no idea where they went,” said Jack. “Looked like they had an extraction point. Probably special forces, but not working for us. Hey, I’m not lying.”

“Sure.” I raised the helmet to my mouth and spoke into it. “Hello, hello?” I kept my eyes on the boys, my plan being to hear my voice coming out of their communications devices, thus proving they were connected to my intruders. Brilliant, if it had worked. 

The boys just looked at me. I lowered the helmet and then casually dropped it behind me.

“Anyway… I’m fine, thanks for the concern. This soft side of you is very touching, like those war movies where the soldiers are really nice to the locals and only sleep with the ones who are into it.”

“It never ends with you, does it?” Jack was starting to get riled by constant insinuations that the American army was populated with rapists and psychotics. I made it look easy, but it actually took a lot of work.

“No, it never ends. This is Lillian, by the way — not a goth. I know, but don’t say anything, she might bite you and turn you into a goth as well. I believe that’s how it spreads, although I might be thinking of Hepatitis C. Those guys you saw earlier? They were after her, not me.”

“Her?” said Jack, pulling down his mouth and giving Lillian the once over. “Why?” 

“Want to tell them?” I asked Lillian.

“No,” said Lillian. “It was a mistake. They thought I was with him, wanted to use me for leverage, which is crazy. Obviously, he wouldn’t care.”

“Obviously,” agreed Jack.

“Speaking of crazy,” I said, “Lillian’s a psychic and can talk to people in other worlds, if you catch my drift.” I gave Jack a knowing look. He gave me a clueless one in return. “She can contact Peter for you.”

“Really?” said Jack, suddenly much more interested. “She can… over there?” 

I nodded. “Throw her in your van and take her to the nearest holding facility. What are you using nowadays, hamster cages full of stinging nettles? Or is that just for the under fives?”

Jack would have said something, but the room was suddenly awash in flashing blue. I went to the window — there were two police cars outside. Someone had called 999, which was quite amazing. Londoners don’t usually give a shit about anything less than a tower block on fire. Ironically, the London city officials only care if it’s less than a tower block on fire.

“Police are here,” I said. “I hope you aren’t undocumented, you might be forced into a bed and breakfast while they review your paperwork. I know, barbaric.”

“You better come with us,” said Jack. “They’ll be asking some awkward questions.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, “but take her. She’s not good with father figures, probably try to get a policeman to adopt her.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Lillian, just as a bag went over her head and she was thrown over a shoulder. Feminists would not have been happy. I was quite relieved.

“I’ll keep the cops busy, tell them it was some young ragamuffins. They love to chase down youths on a council estate.”

Jack turned around and the boys legged it. I had possibly sold Lillian into white slavery — since she was a goth, the whitest slavery possible — but I was fairly certain she’d be okay. Like, sixty percent.

I leaned out of the window. “Hey, there’s a girl being kidnapped by three guys, round the back. They look Eastern European.”

The policemen, who were just milling around on the street, probably discussing which far-right candidate to vote for in the upcoming elections, looked up in a panic. 

“She’s a white girl,” I threw in, to help them get to a quicker decision.

The cops were off and running.

I took the opportunity to leave, too. No point hanging around here. It was getting very drafty. 

There was a back way out that was only meant for emergencies, but not getting caught up in any of this nonsense seemed fairly urgent, at least to me. I’d just wanted to watch the footie and have an Indian, but no. I would be a lot safer from these constant interruptions back at Cheng’s place. I could decide what to do next from there. It was handy having someone to rely on for once in my life, even if it came with Mandy.

The station wasn’t too far and there was a taxi rank outside it. Time to use some of that cash I’d been given. Chauffeur-driven from now on, the smell of kebabs in the back and bhangra music on the radio, that’s the way to travel when you’re feeling flush.

I jumped in the back of a Mercedes with a taxi logo on the side and gave the driver the address. The other door opened and a girl got in. It took me a moment to recognise her without the makeup and wig.

“How did you get away from Jack?”

“That amateur?” said Lillian. “Gimme a break.”

“What do you want? You can’t come with me.”

“I don’t want to come with you,” she said. “I want you to come with me.”

The doors opened again and a big guy got in next to me, another in front. The one beside me looked familiar. He was the one who had broken down my door.

“He with you, is he?” It was starting to look like a stitch up.

“Yes. Don’t be mad. Jenny said you were special, that I could test you if I wanted. So I did.”

“Passed, did I?” I wasn’t happy. Was this a rival bunch to Orion’s lot? Or working with them to make me think I had options? It was suspicious how this small girl managed to get away from Jack and his men.

The driver turned around. He was a black guy, very dark skin, very white teeth. “You don’t want to upset the lady,” he said in a heavy African accent. “She can be very mean.”

“So can I,” I said. Kill everyone now? Would make it hard to get out over the corpses. I could phase through them, if I could figure out how to do it on command.

“Jenny said a lot of other things about you,” said Lillian. 

“Like what?” 

“Why not ask her yourself. You can talk to her.”

“What are you going to do, mind-meld with me?”

“We have a machine,” she said. “My boss will show you how to use it.”

A trap? Probably. But it would mean getting a bunch of them in one place. Save time getting rid of them all at once. “Okay, let’s go.”

76: Extra Guidance

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

 

Things had started off so well. Figaro’s role as a guide generated by the simulation was considered a breaking of the official terms of service but, other than that, perfectly plausible. 

The reaction of the eleven Vendx employees had been a mixture of complete understanding that such a modification would be useful to trainees entering a sim-U for the first time, and general scoffing that they would need that kind of hand-holding to get through what was considered one of the most basic Antecessor sites known.

They didn’t appear to be too concerned about the legalities of the matter as that wasn’t their responsibility.

“I’m glad it’s this ship,” said one of them as Figaro led them out of the airlock and towards the next portal. “If it had been one of the city ships or deep shaft facilities, we could be stuck wandering around for days.”

There was a murmur of agreement over the open channel. They were happily chatting, unconcerned about being trapped in here. It was a simulation, after all. They couldn’t die. And their ship had already contacted them to let them know they were still on-mission. Which meant they would get paid.

“This is Creed, can you hear me?” 

“Yes, Commander,” said Destri. “We’re on route now.”

“Good, good. I’ve been authorised to award a punctuality bonus if you can make it to the evac point in under an hour.”

Chatter filled the comms.

“That’s unusual, isn’t it, sir?” said Destri, not sounding as enthusiastic as the others.

“Yes. This is important. Don’t screw it up. Creed out.”

Their commander had sounded nervous. Was he under pressure from his superiors? His nervousness had sounded more excited than fearful. Anticipating a big reward for a successful mission?

“You heard the man, let’s double-time it.”

“No,” said Destri. “They wouldn’t have authorised a bonus if there weren’t additional risks. They aren’t telling us something.”

There was a lull on comms as they thought about what Destri said.

Figaro had decided the best way to not raise any suspicions was to say as little as possible and keep moving. He was their guide, he just had to show them the way.

He was prepared to act like an AI, but a simple mistake might give him away. This kind of pretence was not something he was accustomed to. Which probably meant this would be good practice for him, but he had to remember he was with eleven organics who would be very hard to handle if they turned on him. Their powers would work the same in here as in the real world.

Ubik, he was sure, would have approached the task very differently. Constantly talking and provoking all eleven in a display of carefully orchestrated bedlam, getting them to lose discipline and focus, so that if they did figure out the truth, they wouldn’t act in concert.

It was a strange experience trying to fathom the workings of an Ubik plan when nothing Ubik did followed any kind of logic or reason. You couldn’t follow the Ubik blueprint because no one could tell what he was doing or why, not even him. It was fascinating to watch, though. Fascinating and horrifying at the same time. Figaro was quite looking forward to seeing what his father would make of him. Figaro had never seen his father stumped before.

Figaro’s own approach was pretty much the opposite of Ubik’s — keep a low profile and don’t attract any unnecessary attention — but he was still in an Ubik-arranged situation, so it was hard not to think in Ubik-terms. Which basically meant expect things to get worse before they (hopefully) got better.

“Can you hear me?” said Princep Galeli over the comms. Figaro had taken care to keep his channels split so no one else would be able to listen in on his link with the guild.

“Yes. Have you heard anything?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” said the princep. “Anything happening on your end?” 

“I still have time before we get to the front of the ship, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do once I get there.”

“Well, ah, do your best. You haven’t actually succeeded getting past the midsection so far, so it could be Trainee Ubik isn’t expecting you to go to where he told you to go to.”

Princep Galeli seemed to be having as much difficulty predicting Ubik’s intentions as Figaro. If the game was to keep everyone from guessing what he had in mind, Ubik was doing an excellent job. 

“I’m going to assume he wants me to deal with any issues in whatever way I see fit. There seems to be very little to gain from allowing the Vendx people to take over the simulation and we don’t have the processing power to reverse the connection and take over their ship, not from down here, anyway.”

As he said it, the thought occurred to him that it might be possible if Ubik could actually get onto the Vendx ship, but how could he possibly manage that? 

Then again, as Figaro was learning, just because he couldn’t think of a way didn’t mean Ubik couldn’t.

Everything had gone smoothly up to the point where they had entered the portal and made their way into the first room. As before, there were vats of liquid and black walls with the ship’s sensors streaking around as white lines. 

The Vendx team were familiar with the layout and were confident in their ability to deal with whatever they faced. That was their first mistake.

“What are your orders, acting-acting-manager?” asked one of the more snotty members of the group. It was the same disgruntled employee who had questioned the choice of interim leader.

“You can stop being such a jerk, for a start,” said Destri. “At the double, preferably.”

They were grouped up near the shaft they had descended, making sure of their surroundings. They were a bit too bunched up, in Figaro’s opinion, but he wasn’t in a position to say anything about it. Or perhaps he was.

“This is the first compartment of the Antecessor ship Origin,” said Figaro, trying to sound like the tourist guides at the Enaya National Museum. “Here, you will encounter your first droid opponents. Please take care to keep your guard up at all times. Do not attempt contact or conversation as these approaches will be ineffective. Remember, think before you act.”

“Do they really need this sort of spoon-feeding?” asked one of the Vendx team.

“Best practice is to split into smaller teams with separate responsibilities,” added Figaro. “Please choose your teams now.”

“Get a load of him and his noob tactics.”

They were organics and they were trained for battle, but Figaro wasn’t sure they were ready for the Origin, not this version. He could at least try to get them to take the ship seriously. For all their strengths, overconfidence could still get them in trouble.

“Shouldn’t we just take out the droids before they activate?” asked someone. They sounded mildly bored.

And that was when everything went wrong.

The droids detached from the walls like they knew they were being talked about. Five droids , eleven organics. 

“Okay, get ready,” said Destri, “we attack on my mark.” The sound of organics being activated — click, click, click — filled the room. “Three, two, wait… where are they going?”

That many organics should have been more than capable of dealing with the situation. But the droids ignored the organics and headed straight for Figaro, who was standing to the side, doing his best to look like part of the interior design.

Everyone turned to see where the droids were headed.

Figaro felt a bit awkward. How was he supposed to explain this?

“Why are they targeting the guide?” asked someone.

“Hey, Destri, do we attack? They didn’t even notice us.”

“Must be a glitch. What you get for making unlicensed modifications.”

“If they’re not going to attack us, we could take them out without any risk.”

The channel was full of chatter as everyone chipped in a suggestion.

“No, wait, shut up, hold on…” said Destri, wresting back control. “Let’s just go. Let him keep them busy.”

“Good idea,” said someone else. “Let’s make that bonus.”

“Yeah, brilliant. Let’s just go.” The idea of leaving Figaro as chum in the water was met with universal approval.

Figaro watched them head off towards the far end of the room, as the droids closed in on him. Most likely, they would take him captive, again, and he’d have to go through the same mindbending journey to make small talk with the Antecessors. Or maybe something else equally consuming. The simulation had shown a remarkable ability to adapt and change its behaviour. The droids had already learned how to stop him from getting away from them. 

“What are you doing?” asked a voice in his helmet. It didn’t seem to be coming from any of the open channels.

“Ubik?”

“Yah. Hey. Grandma thinks you’re going to die. I can’t really use you if you’re dead, so could you not?”

“I’m not going to die,” said Figaro. “It’s a simulation.” 

“Grandma says otherwise, and she’s pretty good at this sort of thing. Your life signs are all over the place, she doesn’t think you can take the stress of any more weird shit. Her words. Do you have a weak heart?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Can’t look at a puppy without bursting into tears? Always falling for the wrong girl?”

“I don’t think those are symptoms of a congenital heart problem.”

“Depends on the girl,” said Ubik. “I need you to get to the bridge.”

“What about the Vendx organics.”

“What about them?”

“Do you need them on the bridge?”

“What would I need them for?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who put me in here with them.”

“Oh, I just thought you’d find them useful. That ship seems to have taken a liking to you. Thought a few decoys would help you out.”

“You want me to use them as decoys?”

“Just an idea.”

Figaro looked past the droids at the Vendx team leaving. How was he going to switch places with them?

“Anyway, I’ll speak to you once you get to the bridge.”

“Wait, how—” Figaro could sense Ubik was no longer there.

Figaro took a breath and considered his options. There didn’t seem to be very many. 

“Forward thrust, maximum, emergency one protocol. On my mark. Mark.”

His suit shook and then he was hurled forward into the middle of the droids. They snapped at him, trying to get a hold of each limb, but Figaro grabbed back, an extended limb in each hand, and swung them into the grips of the other droids so they ended up grabbing each other.

Figaro was still shooting forward, the droids trailing behind him, flashing white lines along their flapping extremities.

“Please return to the designated area, this exercise is not skippable,” said Figaro. 

As the team turned to face him, he hurled the droids into their faces.

Chapter 442

“You better come in,” I said, standing to the side and opening the door wider.

This could have been a mistake (yes, another one). She could be the leader of a gang of goth ninjas, tricking me into inviting them in. Although, ninjas wouldn’t need an invite, I was probably thinking of vampires. Goth vampires weren’t nearly as interesting and somewhat redundant. 

Lillian swished into the hallway and turned around, a look of accomplishment on her round white face. I got the impression most people didn’t let her over the threshold, literally or figuratively.

“This is nice. You have a lovely home.”

“No, I don’t,” I said. 

Her open, pleasant face withered into that of a nettle-biting bulldog. “I was being polite.”

“Please don’t be, I find it annoying. What else did Jenny tell you?”

Lillian took a breath through her nose, which she immediately regretted. The scent of a bachelor pad isn’t to everyone’s tastes, especially those who have any.

“She said you were a liar, a bastard and unrepentantly misanthropic.”

“Fair cop. Did she say I was a gambler, rambler and backbiter as well?”

“No,”  she said with no acknowledgement of the reference I was making. 

The counter to someone who’s always making obscure comments and in-jokes you aren’t privy to is to take everything literally. You can use the same approach to people who think they’re funny. If you relentlessly take sarky gits at their word, it forces them into speaking plainly. It also makes them dislike you, but that ship’s probably already sailed.

“This way, Wednesday Addams.” I led her into the lounge where my curry was quietly evolving into some sort of grease-based sentient lifeform, which would still be delicious, so doomed to never reach its potential. Join the club.

“My name’s Lillian,” she said as she followed me.

“Yes, I know, Lily Munster. Take a seat. Do you want something to drink? Hemlock tea?” Of course, the counter to the counter was to keep relentlessly pouring on the references, going even more obscure and obtuse. It turns into a battle of twits, which is where I have all the advantages.

Lillian sat down on the armchair which had a massager built into it. One of my first purchases when I got my flat. Used it about twice, I think. “Thank you, I’m fine. You don’t seem surprised to learn I’m a psychic. Most people are far more sceptical.”

“I don’t see why. Must be great. Are you very rich? I imagine you bet on a lot of horse races and stuff like that.”

“I can’t see the future, I’m not clairvoyant. I can speak to otherworldly entities, though. There is life beyond this small rock of ours. Other worlds, other planes of existence.”

“You don’t say. Who’d have thunk it?”

“You don’t have to humour me, I’m used to not being believed.”

“Oh, I believe in other worlds. I’ve been to a couple of them myself.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to work out if I was taking the piss. It wasn’t an easy thing to assess with someone like me. My secret was that I was always taking the piss, and it wasn’t much of a secret.

Lillian was petite, but not as small as Biadet. She had the big hair, not just teased into defying gravity but heavily bullied, and her clothes looked like they cost a lot of money. 

Not the modern sort of expensive where everything is made to the same shitty standards by Asian slave labour and the price point is based on the label stuck on the collar, her clothes looked like they’d been put together by someone who had actually seen a human body before, not just the giant stick insects that inhabited their drug-addled art school minds.

She was in her late twenties, early thirties, although the thickly applied powder made it hard to be sure. She could have been even older, but her manner had an immature edge to it. Not that that necessarily precluded her being fifty.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” she said, catching me staring. “I have naturally pale skin.”

“Okay. Are you a mind reader, too?”

“No, I just have a lot of experience being around rude men.”

Mi-aow. The worst kind of insults aren’t vicious or dark or related to penis size, they’re the ones that are true (especially if they’re true about penis size).

“So the hair, the eye shadow, the black fingernails, it’s all natural, is it?”

“Yes. If you’d seen the things I’d seen, you would also be a little pale and dark-eyed.”

“Not daddy issues, then? No Celtic tattoos and pierced nipples?”

“I told you, I’m not a goth. When I say I can communicate with other worlds, that doesn’t mean the denizens of those worlds are sweet and gentle. I’ve had my fill of terrifying encounters. The darkness you see in me is nothing compared to the evil I’ve encountered.”

“You’ve spoken to Claire, too?”

Lillian gave me a displeased glare. “I don’t know who that is, but I assume it’s some sort of put down of a girl you don’t like.”

The other countermeasure to sarcasm is to deconstruct the reasons behind it and make the person feel mean and spiteful. Nice try, lady, but you can’t make me feel bad about my best qualities.

“Something like that. Could you tell me what Jenny actually said, word for word?”

“She was your girlfriend?”

“She still is, unless you know something I don’t.”

“Ah, that’s nice.” She smiled for the first time, bitter and condescending. If she really wasn’t a goth, the cosplay was exquisite. “You haven’t accepted her death.”

“She isn’t dead. Oh, you think you spoke to a ghost.” I realise it sometimes takes me a moment to work out what the hell people are talking about — occupational hazard when you ignore people for a living — but not having met many real psychics before, I didn’t have any context for this particular conversation.

“I spoke to her,” said Lillian. “She was on the other side.”

“I know. That’s where I left her. She wants me to go back and get her, but I’m having a few issues. Hey, can you get in touch with her and let her know I’m working on it? A seance or something like that?”

Lillian frowned and squirmed in her chair. “I didn’t think you’d handle it so badly. Have you sought professional help?”

“For what?” I asked.

“You lost your girlfriend. I understand how hard that must have been for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Hard for me because I’m unlikely to get a new one?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, I know what you meant. And I’m not even psychic.”

I think we’re all familiar with how well I get on with women, so relatively speaking, this was going quite well.

“Look, your dead girlfriend is going to come after you. I wanted to warn you, that’s all.”

“And how did you know where to find me? I assume she gave you my name and address.”

“Yes,” said Lillian.

Jenny knew where I lived because those are the sorts of things she had asked me in the past. I had no idea where she lived because who gives a shit? Yes, it would be good to know if for some reason we had been both brought back and needed to find each other, but there’s no need to be clingy about it. If we were meant to be together then I was sure she’d find a way to track me down and force me into a relationship, like any normal girlfriend who decided on the guy that’ll do.

“And why would she tell you that? What did she send you here for?”

“She didn’t send me. I told you, I’m warning you. My gift is very… it’s hard to explain. Basically, I can pick up signals in the ether.” She waved her hands around to demonstrate that the ether was all around us. If she broke into an interpretive dance, she’d be out on her ear. “Sometimes the signal is weak, other times it’s overwhelming and I blackout. It can be in strange languages or it can be terrifying creatures I couldn’t even begin to describe. In this case, I was able to hold a short conversation, which was amazing. It’s the first time that’s happened, I’m only sorry it’s because of something so sad.”

“She isn’t dead.” Some people are just so sure they know better that they refuse to look at any other evidence. Redditors, they’re called.

“I spoke to her. She was barely visible, in a dark, cold place. She said she had tried all the doors she could find, but none of them led to you. She seemed very determined to get hold of you.”

“Yes, she’s always been like that. And you can’t send a signal back the other way? What if we got some gel and shaped your hair into a point to improve the reception?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Lillian.

“I don’t see how you can know that without trying. Seems to me like you don’t have much control over your ability. Maybe I can help you fine tune it a bit.”

“You?” She seemed sceptical, particularly in the way she looked, sounded, dressed and breathed.

“I have some experience of these things. Jenny didn’t die, she travelled to another world full of fantasy creatures like out of a book.”

“Like Narnia?”

“Yes,” I said, “but not so homoerotic.”

“There’s nothing gay about the Narnia books,” said Lillian. “CS Lewis was actually a staunch Christian.”

“And your point?”

“Anyway, what you’re saying is ridiculous. She’s in a land of dragons and fairy princesses, is she?”

“So your crazy shit is real and misunderstood, but my crazy shit is just batshit crazy? Nice. Remember how it felt having people reject everything you told them? That is now you. Gothic hypocrisy at its finest.”

“I’m not a goth,” said Lillian. “I’m just trying to help. You don’t have the kind of experience with the occult and supernatural that I have. I can get you through this in one piece. I don’t want you to end up like me.”

“What do you mean? End up like what?”

“Look at me. I’m totally drained and exhausted. My body’s a wreck. I have no friends or family who don’t think I’m mental. No one believes me and half the time I think I must be going mad. I can save you from the haunting you’re about to receive, and my rates are very reasonable.”

I found myself smiling. I should have been a little more angry, perhaps, or annoyed, but she was doing her best to turn whatever life had decided to throw at her to her advantage. 

It can’t have been easy growing up with this kind of useless ability. I believed she was a genuine psychic. Clearly, she had managed to get in touch with Jenny and most likely there had been others before that, maybe others in Flatland, but what kind of a job could you get with this on your CV?

Generally speaking, people had little use for a woman who could contact the dead. Most of us aren’t even interested in talking to their grandparents when they’re alive, who the fuck wants to spend a bunch of cash finding out what they’re up to now?

“You want me to pay you to protect me from ghosts?” It was an unusual offer, even for me. “How much?”

“We can negotiate a fair price once you see what I can do. If you don’t find my help to be of any value, pay me nothing.”

Not bad. She was willing to take whatever I wanted to pay, which showed a lot of confidence. Or a lot of experience being told to piss off.

“You do remember Jenny telling you I was a liar and a bastard, right? Maybe I won’t pay you anything even if you do turn out to be helpful.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.” Here was a girl who was desperate. “I know you’re going to need my assistance before this is over.”

“I thought you weren’t clairvoyant.”

“It’s not that. It’s the pressure in the air. The moment I turned into this street, I could feel the presence. There’s something here, something more powerful than anything I’ve felt before. Like a hundred eyes were on me.”

“Yeah, that’s probably all the guys keeping watch on my flat. You might have spotted the vans with tinted windows.” I went over to the window and peeked out. It wouldn’t have surprised me if there were a bunch of Orion’s goons out there keeping an eye on things. Actually made me feel quite safe. It could get quite leery round my way after last orders.

“This is real,” she insisted. “I know what I felt. It’s never been this strong before. I’ve visited all the famous haunted tourist attractions, spent the night in some of the most frightening places in the country.”

“So have I,” I said. “Fell asleep on the train once and had to spend the night in Leamington Spa. I still get flashbacks.”

“Stop talking shit and listen to me.” Lillian was on her feet. “You’re going to have a very intense experience tonight. I can feel it coming.”

I closed the curtains and raised my hands. “Easy, tiger, I’m flattered, but I have a girlfriend. Even if she’s dead, she’s not the sort to let that stop her from keeping her hooks in me, especially now that I have money. Not that I’d call her a gold digging whore, not to her face, anyway.”

“I’m serious. Please stop taking everything as a joke. There are powerful forces at work you can’t even begin to appreciate.”

“Oh, I can. Didn’t Jenny tell you anything about what we’ve been through? This has nothing to do with ghosts or death or heaven or hell. When I said there were men outside watching, I meant it. You see, Lillian, where Jenny is right now, I was there with her until recently. And then I accidentally found a way back here, and there are a bunch of people very interested in using me to go over there and take over, you know, in the best tradition of greedy little shits who want whatever they can get hold of. So, yes, powerful forces are at work, but only the usual shitty ones.”

“You think a lot of yourself don’t you?” said Lillian. “I suppose governments around the world are watching your every move. Well, let me tell you something — there are no weapons or gadgets to protect you from the supernatural world.”

“What about those proton packs in Ghostbusters?” I said.

Before she had a chance to answer, my front door burst open, and I mean into splinters. From where I was, I saw three men in tactical commando gear came running down the hallway as Lillian screamed. Bloody goths, always looking for attention.

“For fuck’s sake, why didn’t you just ring the doorbell?” I asked. It was very inconvenient to no longer have a door.

“You’re coming with us,” said the guy in front who I’d never seen before, but he spoke with an American accent, so most likely he’d been sent by Orion. He was also ignoring me and talking to Lillian.

“You want her?”

“Let’s go. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

Lillian looked confused. “What? Who are you? Why are you here?”

“Ohh,” I said, “you bugged my place. Or you’ve got snooping equipment in your van. Makes sense.” I turned to Lillian. “They heard you could contact the other side and think they can use you. I think you should go with them, they pay really well.”

“I’m not going with them, I’m staying with you.”

I would have been flattered, you know, if I enjoyed having a burden thrust on me without being asked first. 

“No, seriously, go with them and tell them about the voices in your head. They love that shit, have a whole team of boffins ready to investigate your ability, cutting edge instruments, the works.” From the horrified look on her face, I probably wasn’t doing a good job selling Lillian on Orion’s R&D department. 

“Quickly,” said the yank, beckoning Lillian to come while keeping his eyes on me. “We can keep you safe from this guy.”

“What the fuck? You’re the ones who smashed down my door like a bunch of thugs. I offered her a cup of tea. Cup of tea!” It’s amazing how thugs and weirdos can convince themselves they’re the reasonable moderates.

“Now!” shouted one of the men behind him, lunging towards me. It looked like he was going to shove me out of the way so the other two could grab Lillian, but he went right through me, landing on the floor.

I hadn’t done anything, but the attack had triggered my ability to not get involved. 

“Do you people not understand the concept of please and thank you? Not everything has to be so aggressive, you retarded piece of shit.” I bent down and ripped the guy’s helmet off his head. He screamed. “And I’m keeping this. Now get the fuck out.”

He scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, his two colleagues joining him. A moment later they were gone, leaving me with a hole where my door used to be. 

“What the hell kind of botched raid was that?” I said, turning back to Lillian.

She was sitting on the floor shaking tears in her eyes. “You’re… you’re a ghost.”

This was going to take some explaining, and quite frankly I couldn’t be bothered. “Yep. You’re right. Can’t fool you. Time for you to go. If you’re still here at midnight I have to drain you of all your blood and, ah, skin you alive. If you make a run for it, you’ll make the last bus.”

She was full on crying. “I’ve finally met one. I knew you were real, I knew it. Please, is he okay, is my father with you?”

I knew it. Bloody goths and their daddy issues.

75: Stowaways

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain -orbit.

VGV Motherboard.

 

Ubik walked down the empty corridor with PT and Gipper floating behind him. His magnetised boots made a clicking sound with every step, but Ubik took care to keep each step as soft as possible.

“Don’t the magnets make them really heavy?” asked PT. He was swimming across the ceiling like he was underwater.

“Delgados,” said Ubik, listening intently for the sound of anyone up ahead.

The Motherboard was a large ship, with a complement of at least a hundred. If they were fully crewed, it could be far more than that, although the cost would increase exponentially. Ubik was hoping that Vendx’s legendary hatred of spending money would keep the number lower rather than higher.

“I used to have a pair,” said Gipper, kicking off the ground to glide forward a few meters and then kicking off again, his style more reminiscent of a skater. “They wore out.”

“Then they were probably fake,” said Ubik. “Delgados don’t wear out.”

“How do you intend to take over a whole ship?” asked PT. “Just curious.”

“There are hundreds of different ways. I won’t know which is best for this particular situation until I have a better idea of what software they’re running. I need to get into their system.”

“You’re going to hack into their state of the art computer and take over the ship’s controls?” PT didn’t sound like he believed it was possible. This was the pride of the Vendx fleet. Every security measure they had would surely be in place, without any of the bloatware they included when dealing with customers.

“Maybe I’ll set the ship to self-destruct and see who blinks first,” said Ubik.

“Could you try his idea first?” said Gipper. He stopped at an intersection and looked both ways. “Where is everyone? Shouldn’t we have been apprehended and taken to the brig by now? The sensors on the Red Devil would have spotted us the moment we set foot in the airlock and sent in a security detail. We’d be up to our eyes in muzzle flash by now.”

“The ship knows we’re here,” said Ubik. “It’s just that no one’s asked it.”

“What kind of security system is that?” said Gipper. “That makes no sense. It should be automated and sound the alarm whenever there’s an unauthorised boarding. What good is having to ask?”

“You’re thinking like a customer,” said Ubik. “They think like a showroom — highest spec features, all set to minimum energy consumption. They’ll whack it all up to max if they have guests on board, but who are they going to impress now?”

“But they’re in the middle of a fight,” said Gipper. “Now’s the time to use it.”

“And lose that crisp, just-installed smell? You’ll never make a good salesman. Their people are trained to check regularly, make sure there’s no need to turn anything up. Vendx hate using AI for anything if they can possibly avoid it, you know, because of what happened.”

“What happened?” asked PT.

“He’s talking about Deep Purple,” said Gipper, with a sigh at the end. “One crazy AI doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something if it nearly ends all life in a whole quadrant,” said Ubik.

“I’ve never heard of Deep Purple,” said PT. “Was it a long time ago?”

“About three years,” said Ubik.

“What?” said PT. “I’d have heard about something that big if it only happened three years ago.”

“It was seventeen standard years ago,” said Gipper.

“Was it?” said Ubik. “Must be getting my calendars mixed up. Fairly recent, anyway.”

“Even seventeen,” said PT, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard of the name before.”

“Well,” said Ubik, “you were out in the middle of nowhere in your ship of kissing cousins. These catastrophic extinction level events mean nothing to you itinerant types. First sign of localised heat death, you can just pull up anchor and set sail for the next galaxy.”

“We don’t have anchors,” said PT, “and I don’t think you can have a local heat death. Entropy doesn’t work in isolation.”

“Entropy works wherever it wants,” said Ubik, “that’s why it’s called entropy. And everyone has an anchor of some sort.”

“True,” said Gipper.

“Down this way, I think.” Ubik turned left at an intersection.

“Are you just guessing or do you actually know where you’re headed?” asked PT.

“Why not both?” said Ubik.

The corridor was just as long as the previous one, with no sign of any people.

“No one at all? Is this a ghost ship?” said Gipper, like he was sorry not to have the chance to meet some new friends.

“They’re either on shift or in the break area,” said Ubik. “This looks like general accommodation, entry-level reps. I doubt they enjoy spending much time in their little cubicles.”

There were doors lining the wall on either side of the corridor, each only a metre or so from the next. Ubik stopped and put his nose up against a silver panel, examining it closely.

“What are you doing?” asked PT.

“Look at this,” said Ubik. “Look how elegant and simple it is.” He raised his hand and swiped the small panel with his finger. It lit up in red and green where he touched it. “Looks like metal, but it’s actually a completely new proprietary alloy with a special feature designed for space travel.”

“What new feature?” asked PT, leaning down from the ceiling to get a closer look.

“The only important feature — it’s very, very cheap.” Ubik pulled at the side of the panel and ripped it off the wall. Behind it was a grid of small lights. Ubik examined them carefully. “This one, this one, and like this and…” He prodded the small lights and the door slid open. “Let’s look in here. Might be a map of the ship or something.” He slapped the panel back in place and entered the room.

The three of them could barely fit inside.

“And I thought my cabin was cramped,” said Gipper.

“This is pretty spacious for Vendx,” said Ubik. “She must be doing well.”

“She?” said PT.

“The smell,” said Ubik.

PT sniffed. “I can’t smell anything.”

“Exactly. Female.”

Ubik opened a drawer next to the desk. Inside were many pairs of women’s underwear. Ubik looked up at PT floating above him as if to say, I told you so. Then he began rifling through the drawer.

“Is that really necessary?” asked PT.

“People keep important things in their underwear drawer,” said Ubik. “Haven’t you ever robbed a house?”

“No,” said PT.

Ubik shook his head and kept searching, quickly going through the next two drawers, throwing their contents into the air so that there were bras and panties floating around the small room.

Gipper had decided to lie down on the bed, which was more of a symbolic act in a weightless environment. PT zipped around above Ubik, collecting the underwear.

“Here we go,” said Ubik, pulling out a thin strip of white plastic. He slapped it against his wrist and it curled into a bracelet. “Temporary Vendx ID until they get their implant.” He sat down at the small desk and placed his wrist on the tabletop. A screen lit up the wall opposite him and the desk was covered in holographic buttons. “Let’s have a look inside the old mainframe. Looks like we’ve got a ship of 252 people — that’s a bit more than I was hoping for, might need to get rid of a few — and, oh, they have a swimming pool on board.”

“You’re in already?” said Gipper, sounding impressed.

“No, that’s the promotional guff on the login splash page. You have to remember, every hacker is a potential future employee. Now, then. Not really familiar with this setup, but Vendx is Vendx. Always a way to break your way in.”

Ubik’s hands began to dance across the desk as the screen changed from one configuration to the next, each making grand claims for the facilities available on the Motherboard.

The door to the small cabin slid open and a woman was suddenly standing in the doorway.

“Who are you? What are you doing?” She was tall and had broad shoulders, suggesting she made regular use of the ship’s pool. She had red hair, worn in a single thick ponytail and had freckles on her nose, which was sharp and pointy.

“It’s not what it looks like,” said PT, both fists holding items of underwear.

“Sorry about him,” said Ubik, “he was raised by an older sister. You know how that is.”

“Who are you?” repeated the woman. She looked cross, but not particularly scared. She wasn’t about to raise the alarm until she knew why three men were in her room, playing with her underwear. She looked the type who could deal with such matters without assistance, possibly had been through this sort of thing before.

“We’re new,” said Ubik. “Any chance you can log us in so we can register for our free breakfast?”

The woman pushed off the doorway and floated into the room, not the least concerned about the odds being three-to-one against her. She grabbed Ubik by the back of his collar and yanked him out of the chair, sending him floating towards the ceiling. She put both palms on the desk and the screen accepted her login instantly.

“Security,” she said in a firm voice, not even a little nervous. “I want to report a pervert.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” said Ubik. “He’s lived a very sheltered life, that’s all.”

“Is this part of your plan?” asked PT.

“Close enough,” said Ubik.

“Hello, dear,” said Grandma’s voice. “Can you hear me now?”

“Hello, Grandma,” said Ubik. “That’s my Grandma,” he said to the startled woman.

“Who are you people?” It just didn’t seem to register that they might be from the planet her company was in the middle of attacking.

“We’re the new management,” said Ubik. “Grandma, could you please activate the Ulanov protocol?”

“Of course, dear.”

The screen flashed and cut to a picture of the bridge.

“You have no idea how much trouble you’re in,” said the woman.

“Not as much trouble as you,” said Ubik. “You’re the one who logged me in.”

Her face fell. She looked like the rest of her would have followed if gravity had let her. The defiance in her face was completely gone. “What do you want?” She looked nervously at PT holding her underwear.

PT let go of the scrunched up material, but they remained near him. He swatted them away. “Are you planning to blackmail each crew member individually?”

“No,” said Ubik, “that would take ages. Now, Grandma, can you show me what Fig’s up to?”

“What?” said Grandma. “I don’t like figs, they go right through me.”

“No, Grandma, not figs. Trainee Matton, can you locate him?”

“Oh, the pretty boy. I like him. He’s very sweet. Not good for my blood sugar.”

“Yes, Grandma.” Ubik turned to the others. “I think she’s been in chatter mode a bit too long.”

“Ah, I see him now. He looks like he’s about to die.”

Book 2: Chapter Thirty One

The air did not feel cold. Nic could sense the wind moving against his skin, through his hair, but it did not penetrate any further. It was like he had turned to stone. Or smoke.

His mind was inside the shadow dragon, watching Rutga run. He was in the dragon, in himself, aware of the whole world --  but mostly he was in the dragon. It was the one place he didn’t feel vulnerable. Or cold. It was the one place he didn’t feel anything, not even scared at being so high above the ground.

What was there to fear when you were a dragon?

Realistically speaking, a lot of things, but they were easily overlooked when your body was ten metres long and your wings rested on the wind like it was a hand holding up a sword. 

The enormity of the power Nic now wielded flowed through him, not as an emotion but as a matter of fact. He didn’t feel powerful, he was power manifest. Arcanum wasn’t inside him like it was with a mage, he was inside Arcanum. And it was quite a calming experience.

Rutga was hurrying through the forest below, moving surprisingly swiftly for someone who looked to be well into his middle-age. Fifty at least, Nic would have guessed, maybe older. Even without the map that showed him whatever he asked, the dragon’s eyes were sharp enough to see the small figure darting between trees. When Nic did switch to the map view, Rutga lit up like he was on fire, burning white hot the way a blacksmith’s metal did when it came out of the forge.

Nic’s plan was to wait and see where it was Rutga would go. The people he was connected to, the ones who worked under his command and the ones whose commands he followed, they would all reveal their secrets when they thought no one was observing them.

It had taken Nic some time to think of how to use this ability the creature in the Librarium had given him, and even if this wasn’t using it to its fullest potential, Nic could start to putting together exactly who was responsible for what.

With so many people working with and against each other, it was hard to know who to trust. Not that any of them could be trusted completely, but it would help to at least know which of them were interested in the same end goal, even if who they wanted to be in charge at that point wasn’t the same.

It was fine for some internal struggle, the usual political jockeying for power in preparation for the calm after the storm, but there was a good chance that most of the people who claimed to want the best outcome for everyone were only interested in that best outcome if it was even better for them. And if not, why allow someone else to benefit?

Nic had seen the sour grapes approach to world affairs in history book after history book. People who failed to get the position they wanted were always happy to let the preferred candidate fail miserably, and often assisted in their downfall. What was in the best interests of the majority was never particularly relevant to the minority who harboured the desire to rule over them. 

If Nic could map out the true intentions of the people involved in this business, the ones in Ranvar and the ones outside its borders trying to get in, he could start to decide who was best suited to lend assistance to. 

He was hardly a kingmaker, but if he was going to use this gift, he might as well do it on his own terms, which he preferred to be as well informed as possible.

Rutga had been headed towards the capital, a journey that would take several hours even if he took no breaks for rest or water, which wasn’t possible for man or beast. Now he was veering off into a gulley of some kind. There was a stream and what appeared to be a cave. 

Nic switched between different forms of vision. He saw the trees with glowing leaves, he saw water as glistening silver. Animals appeared in branches and in burrows. A horse was in the cave.

Rutga was prepared for even this eventuality. A need to get to the city quickly with his carriage lost. The horse, unlike his other stashed provisions, must have been placed here recently. To be able to foresee a need so clearly suggested a man of huge experience or perhaps vast paranoia. In any case, he had proved himself prescient. He was on the horse and riding out of the cave in an instant, moving slowly at first, nimbly navigating the trees, then onto a trail that led to a road.

Nic could see it all, watched fascinated. There was no hesitation in the man, no moment for reflection on what had happened so far, on where to go next. While Nic was routinely left in a state of near paralysis from not knowing what to do, Rutga was relentless in his pursuit of whatever it was he was pursuing.

Nic’s sight showed him the roads and the fastest route. The city was almost directly ahead of Rutga now. Where would he go when he got there? 

Nic snapped into himself, the boy’s body that was his greatest handicap, and the night air’s chill stung him. In his own body, he was just cold and precariously balanced on a monster made mostly of smoke.

He looked around. The sky was endlessly starry, a few clouds drifting towards the west and behind him, the other dragons hovered.

Their riders, the men from Gweur who had come to take Nic away, were patiently waiting. They believed the dragon was possessed by the demon who had inspired their revolt, and that the boy on its back was merely a prisoner, trapped in the air with nowhere to go. It was as much a prison as if he had been surrounded by bars. 

But Nic was controlling the dragon. He could order the others to do his bidding, and they would. As soon as he thought of something for them to do.

He was wary of giving himself away, saying something that would make them suspicious. Even though the demon was beyond reproach for them, they still had certain expectations. Nic couldn’t dither or be flustered when impersonating her. His fear of sounding like himself, a teenage boy, full of uncertainties, kept him from pushing his luck. 

But he needed them to go away or at least be kept busy. He certainly didn’t want them to follow along, a proud escort to their lady of the shadows. He was nervous enough as it was without an audience.

He urged the dragon forward, a thought was enough to do it. He sensed the others follow at a respectful distance. 

Should he send them off on a wild goose chase? Some contrived mission that would take them the rest of the night to complete? What sort of things would a demon ask of them? 

Nic flew against the wind, his draconic face merging with his own, and wondered how to keep eleven Gweur rebels busy.

His attention was still on Rutga, now haring down the main road to the capital. Nic comforted himself with the thought that he had until the city walls to come up with something. 

But his hope for some uninterrupted contemplation was cut short by the sight of men up ahead, a barrier thrown across the road. A rapid series of switches in his viewing parameters showed Nic that there were sixteen of them, four horses, two wagons, the men in Ranvarian uniforms and heavily armed, and that they were alert and ready for combat. 

There was no lounging around. None of the men had the body language of people bored and disinterested. They gave the impression of people expecting hostilities and ready for it.

Rutga was one of them, though. He had nothing to fear, assuming he had been truthful about that. He merely needed to identify himself and they would let him pass. 

He seemed unaware of the roadblock until he was nearly on top of it. There were cries to halt and make himself known. Rutga responded by veering off the road, into the trees. Half the men broke ranks and gave chase on foot, swords drawn. Two others had mounted their horses and were heading down the road at full speed, whipping their horses to make haste.

The two horsemen split, one headed for the capital, the other onto a trail through the trees in an attempt to intercept the presumed enemy.

Nic had no idea why Rutga hadn’t identified himself. He could see Rutga clearly, a white shape on a green one, zig-zagging through the trees to get out of reach of the five yellow men chasing him. Nic was able to separate his targets into different colours, the men, the horses, the dragons and their riders. He could choose a group and highlight them for easier identification when he was following multiple targets. 

The important thing was to make his selections as unique as possible so there was no overlap. If he simply wanted people in Ranvarian uniform, then Rutga would look the same as the men pursuing him.

If the same target satisfied more than one requirement, then they might shift between colours. 

When he was following a lot of targets, it sometimes felt as though his mind was pushing on the inside of his skull, trying to get out, but he was managing to keep everything on the inside, for now. His concentration seemed to be extra sharp when he was inside the dragon, which was probably not a coincidence.

Nic would have preferred Rutga not to be caught. Whatever was making Rutga run, if he was captured, he would be taken away and it would take even longer before Nic would get a chance to see the conversation he was hoping to spy on. If it reached dawn, then he would no longer have the dragon, and he had no idea what would happen to the Gweurvians. Presumably, they would hide somewhere.

“Strafe the trees and make yourselves useful,” said Nic in his best demonic syntax. “Scatter the soldiers, leave my prey.”

He might have pushed it a little too much. He could sense the unease around him. Hopefully, it was more to do with the vagueness of his command than the possibility that they suspected he wasn’t who they thought.

The dragons swooped, buzzing the treetops, roaring in an ear-splitting screech.

Nic watched the men panic, turning and stumbling, looking up. They wouldn’t be able to see much more than dark shapes overhead, but that would be more than enough to give Rutga a chance to distance himself.

Even though the men were on foot, a horse in densely wooded terrain couldn’t move very fast. They had cut off the way back to the road and there was a steep cliff that would prevent Rutga’s escape, unless he had also had the foresight to set up the world’s longest ladder.

Now that the men were spooked, Rutga, seemingly unperturbed by the winged shadows above, turned and made a run back around to the road.

Nic turned his dragon to follow.

“Keep them occupied and give them stories to report when they return,” Nic commanded his ‘followers’ through their dragons.

Was there any reason not to just kill these soldiers? If there was war in the offing, then killing as many of the opposing side as possible would seem the opportune thing to do. 

Nic hoped that indicating there was a reason but not saying what it was, would be suitably demon-like. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of any Ranvarians. He didn’t want to be responsible for the deaths of any Gweurvins, either.

Rutga’s horse was an impressive animal. Once it was back on the road, having circumvented the barricade, Rutga gave it its head and the animal burst forward.

Far ahead, the other soldier who had ridden for the city was thundering along at a decent pace. For the soldier to be so quick to race back to the city suggested he had orders to raise the alarm at the first sign of an invader, even a solitary one. Which meant they had no real idea from which direction the enemy would attack. They knew they had been seen entering from the west when their country of origin was in the east, and that they had dragons. They could appear anywhere and only sharp eyes and early warnings would prevent a surprise attack.

Nic could have told them exactly where the enemy were coming from, of course. He could even tell them numbers and armaments. But currently there were no armies bearing down on Ranvar City.

Whatever the plan of attack, tonight was not the date of a full-scale invasion. What the dragons had been sent to achieve, he didn’t know, but it would hardly be very demon-like of him to ask. It was probably the demon’s plan in the first place.

Rutga’s steed was doing a remarkable job of catching the horse ahead of it. From high above, Nic watched the gap close between them. 

He could have intervened, driven the first rider off the road and into a ditch. But he was curious to see what Rutga planned to do. Would he kill the man, even though his warning of an enemy attack wouldn’t be true? Or would it?

For all Nic knew, Rutga was the vanguard of an invasion already in progress. Nic hadn’t seen any evidence of that, but his ability only worked when he knew what to look for. The enemy could have moved across the border in small numbers over decades, and trained their children to overthrow their adopted rulers.

It had been done that way before, although that was when most people lived in huts and farming was harder than hunting because you had to domesticate wild animals before they’d let you milk them, and nobody had figured out how.

Back then, whole tribes would move around in search for better living conditions, settling near each other, forming bonds and taking oaths of allegiance, eventually turning on one another when circumstances changed.

Demons lived long enough to have come up with a long-term strategy. Nic doubted very much that things would proceed in the traditional troops-carrying-flags meeting on the battlefield.

Rutga had caught up with the other rider now. The Ranvar messenger had realised he was not alone on the road to the capital and was urging his horse on faster. The horse seemed about ready to collapse. The rider drew his sword and had it ready.

Rutga closed in, both hands on the reins, seemingly uninterested in his rival for the finishing line. His horse was still galloping at full speed, showing no signs of flagging. Once Rutga was past, it was unlikely he would be caught by the slower horse and rider.

But the soldier wasn’t about to give up first place so easily. As Rutga drew up alongside, the lead horse swerved towards him and the soldier thrust his sword out to the side. 

Rather than try to veer away, Rutga angled towards the attack, the two horses on the verge of colliding. At the same time, Rutga leaned back so the blade passed in front of him.

With nothing to connect to, the force of the thrust caused the soldier to nearly fall out of his saddle. Rutga grabbed the man’s wrist as it crossed in front of Rutga’s chest, and yanked it, providing just enough extra weight to drag the soldier out of his stirrups and off his ride.

The soldier fell between the two horses, letting go of the sword as he tried to grab onto something, anything, to save himself, but he failed and crashed into the road.

At that speed, he would certainly have injured himself quite severely, possibly broken some bones, but he probably wouldn’t die, unless he landed awkwardly. Nic saw him roll along for a bit and then come to a stop.

Rutga, in the meantime, had lunged forward as soon as the man fell, and grabbed the bridle of the other horse. His own had not slowed, and without the weight of a rider, the other was able to keep up. Rutga didn’t even look back as he raced on, now with a second horse.

Nic kept pace with the trio, high enough to be unseen except by the keenest eyes searching the night sky. He followed Rutga’s progress. The city was visible in the distance, a matter of minutes away.

After about ten of those minutes, Rutga switched horses. He didn’t slow down or adjust anything to make the transfer any easier. He simply pulled one leg up onto the saddle and pushed off just about high enough to skip across. 

He kept going for another ten minutes, and then switched back. He repeated this twice more before he approached the city gates.

Nic was curious to see how Rutga would get past the city guards. The gate was manned even when there was no threat. At this time, there was bound to be an even larger presence. Rutga’s actions so far had heavily indicated he didn’t wish to be stopped and questioned, so how was he planning to get into the city?

Nic was also wary of getting too close and giving himself away. Not only might there be people keeping watch for rumoured dragons, but the mages of the Royal College might sense the dragon’s presence and consider it an enemy attacker. Being blown out of the sky by a fireball was not something Nic had much experience with, but he was fairly certain he wouldn’t enjoy it.

He took the dragon higher, up to the thin clouds that streaked the black sky. From here, the city looked ridiculously small and insignificant. Nic wrapped his arms around the dragon’s neck and closed his eyes. His vision dropped down, searching for Rutga.

For a moment, it seemed the man had disappeared. Then Nic saw him, the glow a solitary light between the south and east gates. The horses were no longer with him, and he was standing beneath the city wall. And then he was through it.

Nic was still too high up to see how he did it. As his vision came down lower, Rutga was already in the city, moving quickly and in a straight line… through buildings?

No, under them. A tunnel, perhaps. A secret entrance into the city, and then a tunnel leading to where? The glow started to fade. Nic concentrated harder but to no avail. 

Lighter, smaller, gone.

Nic opened his eyes as wet mist slapped him in the face. He hadn’t felt it while his mind had been elsewhere. 

He had come all this way, patiently tracking the man who could lead him to the answers he was looking for, and he had disappeared right before his eyes. 

It was a risk to land so near the city but it was still very dark and it wasn’t like he planned to walk in the front gate. If Rutga could walk through walls, why not Nic? 

The dragon landed in a copse near where Nic had seen Rutga. It came down in the middle of closely grouped trees, its wings passing through the branches without disturbing a single leaf. Real dragons couldn’t do that. 

As soon as the dragon touched the ground, it dissipated, leaving Nic to complete the landing on his own. He managed to land on his feet with only a single step to steady himself. 

On the ground was a large chunk of blue Arcanum. Nic picked it up and put it in his pocket, where it vibrated slightly. It didn’t feel particularly safe. He took it out and dug up a small piece of turf with a stick, and put the Arcanum under it. 

He had no idea how to resummon the dragon, or what to do with the Arcanum, so leaving it here for now seemed the best solution. It wasn’t like he’d have any trouble finding it again, his map view would show him exactly where it was buried. He looked around and made a mental note of the surroundings, though. Just in case.

There was a large open area of grass between where he was and the wall where Rutga had entered the city. Sentries would be posted on the wall, many eyes keeping watch for enemies. Everything seemed peaceful, so he assumed no one had seen the dragon’s descent.

Nic moved quickly across the open area, head bowed and arms down by his side, hands in pockets, to hide the whiteness of his hands and face.

He made it to the wall without anyone firing arrows or dropping boiling oil on his head. If Rutga had used this area, it stood to reason it was a blind spot or an area not considered in need of watching. The wall was very high and while it might technically be possible to climb it, the large overhang below the battlements would take a great deal of skill to overcome. 

There was no sign of a door, but that was hardly surprising for a secret entrance. Nic had his own way of finding the way in. He just asked.

With his eyes closed, the entrance was easily visible, a rectangular outline formed from cracks where stones had been laid next to each other. He asked to be shown the opening mechanism, and there it was, a rock near his feet on the ground. He lifted it up, and rather than beetles, there was a metal ring. Nic pulled it, slowly walking backwards as a chain emerged from the ground. 

The entrance opened inwards. Nic let go of the ring and the chain slid silently back into the ground. Nic place the rock back where it had been and hurried into the opening. 

Once inside, he tried to look for the closing mechanism but nothing appeared. The stone door, which was not very thick, began to swing closed on its own. Nic stepped further into the tunnel as it closed, and found himself in total darkness. He began to feel his way forward, gingerly putting one foot in front of the other. 

A hole or steps could send him tumbling, so he was being extra careful. He stopped and closed his eyes and pulled his vision to him, so he was seeing the tunnel from the map. Now he could see everything clearly, bathed in blue light. 

The tunnel led straight, and then some shallow stairs went down for about thirty steps. Nic tried to see if Rutga was also in the tunnel, but there was no sign of him.

The ground was damp and muddy and the walls were wet. Then there were more steps leading up and after that the ground became much harder, like it was paved with stone. The sound of running water came from somewhere below him and there was movement of air.

Nic stopped. Up ahead was darkness. He couldn’t see anything. He opened his eyes and it was also pitch black. Why was his sight not working? This was about where he had lost track of Rutga.

Arms stretched out, Nic felt his way along, small hesitant steps again. 

He bumped into a wall and felt the rungs of a ladder. He began to climb.

Nic was about to find out where Rutga had been headed. His guess was the Ministry for Instruction, but the general location was a bit too central. Perhaps there would be more tunnels and secret passages.

Nic bumped his head on the roof. He raised a hand and pushed open a hatch. Light didn’t exactly stream in but it was a little easier to see. He crawled out into what appeared to be a tool shed. Shovels and pickaxes and other digging instruments were leaning against the wall. There was a door with a latch on it. It was bolted shut. If Rutga had left through there, how had he locked it from the inside?

There was nothing else here. A slightly musty smell, but not much more. Wherever this was, Nic had only one way to find out. He just hoped there wasn’t a welcoming committee waiting for him.

He pulled back the bolt as quietly as he could, which was still quite noisy, and opened the door. 

Six men in uniform looked at him. They seemed surprised, then angry, and then they were drawing their swords, demanding to know who he was.

Nic raised his hands. “I’m not armed.” He wasn’t sure how to explain his sudden appearance out of a shed. He wasn’t even sure where he was. He stepped out and looked around. He recognised the large building next to him — the Librarium. 

“Just what do you think you were doing in there?” said one of the soldiers. They were all of low rank, more surprised than threatened, but they weren’t about to take any chances, even when faced by a single, unarmed boy. 

Nic couldn’t think of anything to say other than the truth, and he knew that was a bad idea so he kept his mouth shut, hoping they might decide to let him go.

“He’s with me,” said a voice. 

The men turned as Rutga approached, only he was dressed completely differently now, in a fancy uniform that denoted a much higher rank than when Nic had last seen him. The men all saluted.

“Yes, yes, at ease.” He sounded quite at ease himself. Was he really a general? Nic found it very hard to believe. 

“What were you doing in there, my boy?” asked Rutga, his voice suitably pompous for his supposed rank. “Did you throw up again?”

“Ah…” Nic wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. “You said not to in the street.”

“So you did it in some workman’s shack.” Rutga shook his head. “I told your mother I’d make a man of you, and so I shall. Come.” He indicated Nic to start moving. “Gentleman, make sure no one cleans up the mess — this young man will be back in the morning to take care of it.” 

The men saluted again, some sympathetic looks thrown Nic’s way.

“Follow me,” said Rutga. “Time to build up a tolerance.”

Nic followed, doing his best to look reluctant and confused. Not very difficult.

Rutga led him around the corner to the rear of the Librarium. 

“You know,” said Rutga in his normal voice, “I’m usually quite good at not being followed. Somehow you managed to find me — your father would be proud.”

“Did you really know him?” asked Nic. 

“I did, but you don’t have to believe it if you don’t want to. It makes little difference now. Let’s go inside.” He motioned towards the Librarium. 

“In there?” said Nic. “Why?”

“Because it seems everyone was wrong about you.” Rutga smiled. “Everyone but me.”

74: Braced for Space

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

 

Ubik had one foot on the wall next to PT’s ear and his back pressed against the rear of the compartment. A coupling device pressed into his bum crack in a threatening manner. By maintaining constant pressure on either end, his lodged position kept him securely locked in place as the transport shook and shuddered on its way back to the Motherboard.

PT was lying on the floor, his head folded towards his chest and his knees tucked under his chin. The lower part of his leg went out at opposite angles so the toes of his shoes touched a surface on either side of him. He didn’t look very comfortable, or very happy. 

Gipper had his back on the roof, crouched over like he was playing at being an umbrella. His arms were stretched out, palms flat against the wall on the left and right sides of Ubik’s head. His feet were balanced on top of a junction box made of black carbonite that wasn’t made to support weight and could come away from the wall at any moment. If that happened, PT would be even unhappier.

Once they reached the upper atmosphere, though, the weightlessness would make it much easier to not knee each other in the groin, at least, not unintentionally.

“I don’t see why I had to come,” said Gipper, the words shaking out of his mouth. He had easily the most spacious location in the compartment. It took a little more muscle-tensing to be on top, but Gipper was the one who had chosen that position, so he had no one to blame but himself. “I blame you, Ubik. I blame you for everything that’s happened today.”

“They can’t hear us, can they?” said PT, struggling to get the words out and breathe at the same time. 

“Why would they have listening devices on a robot transport?” said Ubik. “Robots don’t talk.”

“I could have stayed on the ground,” Gipper continued to complain, “stayed put and kept an eye on things while you two sorted out… whatever it is you think you’re going to do on their ship.”

“You have to contact your ship once we’re outside the drone net,” said PT. 

“I could have given you the passcodes,” said Gipper, straining to stay wedged in place. “Ubik probably already knows them.”

“A familiar voice always helps,” said Ubik. “And you had to come so the weight wasn’t offset by too much.”

The three of them were in the battery compartment. In order to fit in, Ubik had taken the battery out. In order for the ship’s telemetry not to send incorrect data, they had to be the same weight as the battery, more or less. Readings were accurate to a very high degree, but bits and pieces were always falling off, debris was always getting stuck in cracks. Some fluctuation was to be expected, that was just an everyday fact of life in the orbital launching business.

“Are you sure we won’t need the battery?” said Gipper. “Looked like a pretty big one. It must have served some purpose.”

“It does,” said Ubik. “Backup, mainly. A little bit of maintenance stuff, but it’s very unlikely there’d be a malfunction requiring reserve power right now just when it would be most inconvenient. Highly improbable.”

“We’re going to die,” said Gipper. “I can feel it.” His voice trembled, possibly because of the shaking vehicle they were in or because of the intense emotional anguish that comes with the approach of death.

“No,” said Ubik. “I don’t think so. Not all of us.”

They stopped shaking. Their bodies began to float and they each relaxed the tension in their limbs.

“See?” said Ubik. “I told you it would be easy. We should probably stop talking now, to save on air.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small tube, which he placed between his lips.

“What’s that?” said PT. 

Ubik removed the tube. “Oxygen inhaler. Mini oxygen tank that can keep you breathing for about ten minutes. Pretty nifty, huh? I made it myself.” He inserted it back in his mouth.

“Do you have any more?” asked Gipper.

Ubik shook his head.

“Can we share it?” asked PT.

Ubik shook his head again. “Germs,” he mumbled through the inhaler. “Dangerous.”

“More dangerous than flying into space in a tin can with no spacesuits?” said PT.

Ubik put out his hand and waggled it from side to side.

“We could kill him and take it off his corpse,” Gipper said to PT. 

“He said it would take about a minute to dock once we’re in orbit. We can hold our breath that long if we have to,” said PT.

“And kill him then?” asked Gipper.

“It’s definitely an option,” said PT.

Ubik removed the inhaler. “You two should try to conserve your air. I’ve already given you my thirty-three percent of what’s in here, but it won’t last forever. And I said it was one minute to dock, we still need to get into the ship.” He put the inhaler back in.

They were still moving, but much slower. Realistically, it would take another three minutes to get docked. Another five before they could get inside the Motherboard. Both PT and Gipper looked like they had plenty of lung capacity. People always surprised themselves with how long they could hold their breath when they didn’t have any air.

PT rotated himself into a sitting position. It was amazing how easily he managed to move around in such a confined space. He made it look effortless, which was just as well considering how little air they had left. PT was also breathing very slowly, his face relaxed, his mouth slightly open. 

Gipper had his eyes closed and was doing something similar. Both of them seemed perfectly at home in a low-air situation, which was good to know. 

There was a jarring shudder to their small compartment and a loud series of clicks. They’d managed to get docked earlier than Ubik had estimated, probably a new protocol to speed things up. 

“That took longer than I thought,” said Ubik. “Sorry about that.” It was always best to make the most of good luck, mainly by claiming it was your version of bad luck. It made people think things were going much better than they were.

“Now what?” said PT.

“We wait,” said Ubik. “The ship’s that way.” He pointed to his left. “The panel to this compartment opens on this side.” He pointed to the right.

“Then how do we get inside?” asked PT. 

“They’ll rotate the transport once they think there’s a problem with the battery.”

“And how long will it take them to figure that out?” asked Gipper, floating above them. “I’m only asking because I need to air to breathe and I estimate we have less than two minutes left.”

“Not long.” Ubik raised his boot and slammed it into the left wall three times. He leaned across and put his ear to the wall. The other two did the same.

“Did you hear that,” said a barely audible voice.

“Yeah. Sounded like knocking.”

“Oh, no. You don’t think the coupler’s come loose again, do you?”

“Only one way to find out — full rotation.”

“But it’s nearly breaktime and we still have to reinstall the entire operating system. Can’t we just say we checked the battery connections and there was nothing wrong when we looked?”

Ubik leaned back and banged the wall again, harder this time. He swivelled around and put his ear to the wall once more.

“Shit, sounds like the thing’s falling apart. We’ll have to open it up.”

“Well, how about we don’t do the reinstall and say we did?”

There was a pause. 

“Okay.”

There was a whizzing sound, followed by a scraping of metal on metal. Then they were moving.

“What do we do when they open the panel?” said PT.

“Yeah,” said Gipper. “Not really in the mood to fight.” He looked a little light-headed.

Ubik tossed him his inhaler, sending it slowly spinning through the air that was left. “Here. Wipe it off first or you’ll catch whatever I’ve got.” 

Gipper made a big show of wiping it thoroughly before putting it in his mouth.

Things had gone much smoother than he had expected, it was fine to be a little magnanimous. Plus, he still needed some help with the tricky part coming up.

The panel hissed as it was opened. Two surprised faces looked in.

PT was the first out, gliding through the opening and floating behind the two men. The swiftness of his movement left them both bewildered and slow to react. They were unarmed and dressed in simple overalls, not even suited-up. The lowest level of tech support, which was ideal for Ubik’s purposes.

“What were you doing in there?” said one of them.

“We’ll have to report this,” said the other.

“Don’t do that,” said Ubik, climbing out rather less gracefully than PT. He took a deep breath of recycled air, which tasted like you were sucking on a dead electrode. He held up a small device.

“Well, how about we don’t do the reinstall and say we did?”

“Okay.”

It was a recording of their conversation from earlier, far clearer than it had been to the naked ear.

The two men looked startled, then horrified. They looked at each other with desperate expressions.

“Wh-what do you want?” 

“Nothing, really. If you could just stay in here for a bit, that would be helpful.” Ubik pointed at the compartment he’d just vacated.

“In there?”

“Yeah, temporarily. Tell them we overpowered you and forced you inside. You’ll get the captivity bonus and you’ll be liable for the trauma credit rebate, if you play your cards right.”

“The captivity bonus only applies if the ship’s senior staff are responsible for the ship being boarded,” said the more nervous of the two.

“Don’t worry, they will be,” said Ubik. “They gave clearance for docking, didn’t they? That’s a command decision. And they don’t outfit you with weapons, right? So you don’t come under the ‘reasonable attempt to defend’ clause.”

“The alternative is we’ll have to kill you,” said Gipper, adding a growl to his voice, which was a nice touch.

The two men looked at each other again, this time with a hint of resignation and the very slight welcome acceptance of a pay bonus, and then climbed into the compartment. Ubik closed it, giving them a thumbs up as they disappeared behind the panel.

“Right,” said Ubik. “Time to take over the ship.” He hadn’t worked out exactly how he was going to do that, but a firm statement of intent was always a good idea.

“And then what?” said Gipper. “Fly away at full speed?”

“Of course not. We have to save Fig at all costs.”

“Really?” said PT. “Why?”

Both of them were treating him like he was only interested in saving himself, which was absolutely outrageous.

“Don’t you want to meet Ramon Ollo? The man’s a genius.”

“Did he really invent the sim-U?” asked PT.

“The prototype. Sold it to Vendx for a fortune, like, a couple of planets or something. He’s a great man. Sure, he’s done some terrible things, but who hasn’t?”

“I haven’t,” said PT.

“Nor me,” said Gipper. “Ill-advised is as far as I’ve ever gone.”

“Well, then,” said Ubik, “follow me. You’re about to get an upgrade.”

Chapter 441

“You know,” I said, “I think I’m coming around on this whole trip to fantasyland idea.”

I stepped out of the lift, ignoring the not-so-welcoming committee.

“You are?” said Orion, not sounding as enthusiastic as you would expect considering how hard he’d been pushing for me to get on board with this idea. “You want to go to there with us?”

Suddenly he was having difficulty forming proper sentences. He also looked like he was hoping the lift would close before he could get out and he’d be able to fly away. He stepped out just as the doors began to slide shut.

“Sure, why not?” I said. “Sound like it’ll be fun. You’ve got this special doorway, right? Be a shame to not use it. What is it, some kind of large wardrobe?”

It’s important, I feel, that interdimensional rifts in space-time remain trope-relevant. A stargate if you’re travelling to an alien planet, ornate furniture for D&D shit, and some kind of impractical motor vehicle for time travel. 

“Are you going to try and bring back monsters through the portal?” asked Orion. 

“What? No, no, that was just me thinking aloud. We’re going to get Peter, right? I probably won’t even come back. What would be the point of sending a bunch of rabid magical beasts that can fly and spit acid just to cause a nuisance? It’s not like lizardmen on the backs of giant wasps will find anything productive to do over here. Maybe become Uber drivers, but that’s hardly a long-term career strategy.”

Orion didn’t look like he believed my denials. I possibly shouldn’t have mentioned my plan to give this world the wake up call it so badly needed before agreeing to take his team over the rainbow and my sudden eagerness was making him suspicious of my true motives, which was what I wanted him to feel. No better way to disappoint someone than to give them what they want in too large a volume.

“I think I should speak to some people first,” said Orion. “Finalise the schedule, iron out a few details.”

“Are you sure?” I said. “You’re the one who wanted to get this show on the road as soon as possible. That’s what you paid for, I wouldn’t want to take your money under false pretences. And you’ve got these guys to sort out any monster problems. That’s what they’re going for, to keep the monsters in check, right? I’m looking forward to seeing how they do.” 

I gave the boys a thumbs up. 

I was being quite obnoxious, even for me, but you can’t win people over with kind words and positive reinforcement, not unless they’re very dumb. Make them think you’re happy to do what they want and they’ll start to doubt their own ideas.

It was a risky play. They needed me to do their business, but I might end up taking over and leaving them with nothing. They’d already had a taste of what I could do. I was Mister Magic. MC Shityourpants. Wait, that’s not a cool name.

My point being, I was special. I was the guy who was going to save the world. Well, change the world. I believe the technical word is hero. It was enough to give these guys pause for thought.

“I’m ready to go right now,” I said. “The boys look up for it.”

The boys did not look up for it.

The way the boys were watching me, I could tell they were starting to realise they might be in the wrong movie. You think it’s going to be Lord of the Rings, Nazguls and Balrogs, and it turns out to be a six-week shoot in Bulgaria, with CGI rendered on a Commodore 64.

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll be there to help.” They didn’t seem relieved. “Like, don’t call them zombies, it’s culturally insensitive. They prefer zombers. And don’t get into any singing competitions with trolls, they’re very sore losers. Let me think, what else? Oh, careful where you stand around giants, they’re liable to piss on you with great force.”

I’m not sure they believed me, but they could tell I was confident enough to taunt them, which was disturbing on many levels. If someone who looked like me could act so cavalier in this company, I had to be hiding some pretty impressive stats.

I wish I could believe my own bullshit, at least sometimes. One day out of two would be fine. Maybe I should invent intermittent self-deception — eight hours stuffing myself with delusions of grandeur, sixteen hours of tightly controlled self-loathing. Hating yourself while you’re asleep doesn’t even feel bad, you just have dreams where you’re driving in a car down a dark road with spooky figures and every preset on the radio is a country music station. You wake up screaming, and occasionally yodelling.

The truth is, I’m jealous of people who are vain and arrogant and full of unsubstantiated self-belief. People like me make fun of people like them because they’re so wrong. They aren’t as wonderful as they think they are. But what difference does that make? They’re the ones loving life, not me.

The men in the underground carpark were carrying a variety of weapons but no guns. Not the bullet-firing kind, at least. They had sticks and knives and tasers, and fists and boots and training. It was pretty obvious just by looking at them that they could handle themselves. They’d seen action, they’d been to war. I was something new, though.

“What do you want us to do?” asked Jack. He was speaking past me, avoiding eye contact.

I can’t say it wasn’t a little thrilling to have grown men be wary of me.

“Nothing,” said Orion. He sounded calm, maybe a little tense, but he was taking the moderate approach. Just business, didn’t work out this time, see you on the next episode. “Let him go.”

“Can I get a ride to the nearest bus stop?” I said. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. Probably got a lot of bad guy meetings to attend. Do you have a support group you attend, get all the evil shit you do off your chest over a coffee? Hot chocolate?”

The idea of a bunch of hard cases sitting in a circle, sharing sad stories about how they were the real victims — Have you any idea how hard it is to get napalm out of a 100% cotton tank top? That shit clings! — struck me as quite poetic. And I hate poetry.

No one was very amused by my babbling. Whatever they’d been told about me, obviously it had made an impression. These guys with their urban camo outfits and regular gym sessions, they were used to risking their lives. They were courageous under fire. They might die, but at least they could take the other guy down with them. 

They understood the other guy had his reasons, like they had theirs. You fight for what you believe in. You have differing beliefs but your values are the same — you want to improve your own circumstances. Who doesn’t want things a bit better than what they’re used to? Game Theory is based on the fact that when you come down to it, each side wants to win, wants to gain, is driven by self-interest and a series of ongoing risk assessments. 

Worth? Not worth?

The whole point of an idea like mutually assured destruction was that both sides wanted to keep as many of their own alive as possible. Not for any humanitarian reason, just to avoid getting outnumbered.

Not me, though. I didn’t fit into any known category. Which is fine when you’re talking about someone with no power to influence the main stage. Just ignoring that person will be more than adequate. But here I was front and centre. What to do? Can’t take down a guy who’s got Level 1 Cure Wounds in every spell slot. 

Sure, if you’re willing to blow yourself up for your cause, that’s fine and dandy. Might take some of us out, but you take yourself out, too. A reasonable sacrifice any warrior can understand. But you walk onto a military base and detonate your vest of explosives, and come out of it completely unscathed... that ain’t playing the game.

You need to have a stake, something on the line. It’s how we judge each other’s sincerity. What are you willing to give up?

It’s not like sending an unmanned drone to kill a bunch of shepherds on a mountain. You might not be risking lives, but have you any idea how much one of those drones cost? Each side has to have something they don’t want to lose. Otherwise, where’s the sport? What’s the point? Cheating’s fine. Unfair advantage, that’s just life sometimes. But no risk, God mode on? What kind of sick fuck thinks that’s acceptable?

We all have to start at the same baseline. We all have to accept certain core values. What it is to be human; what rights we have to live how we wish; how we treat each other in a society; no wall hacks in CSGO, Clara.

The boys were waiting for me to make sense. They’d attack me if ordered — you die for your team, that’s just standard operating procedure — but they wanted me to identify where I stood first. What did I stand for? What did I think of them? 

No one likes to be dismissed and overlooked. Even an opponent likes to be noticed.

“I’ll be in touch,” said Orion. “You go back and rest, spend some of that money.” He smiled, used his lips and teeth and almost his eyes.

“And the Council?” I asked, being as dismissive and overlooking as possible. The whole obnoxious git thing was where I was min-maxing the shit out of my stats.

“I’ll get a message to them, but we can’t contact them again for a week.”

“Sure, they mentioned that. Okay, so I’ll wait to hear from you.”

It was all a bit tense, but they were now the ones wanting to take it slow. Suited me fine.

Orion’s driver took me back to my place. I was glad to finally be on my own again, at least for a little while. My flat smelled a bit weird, which was normal, and the fridge was empty, which was annoying. I ordered a curry — I had two million in the bank, so I went a little crazy and ordered extra poppadoms. Time to live the high life.

Since I was in the spending mood, and I probably wasn’t going to have a lot of time to spend their cash, I thought about buying some gear for my trip. A decent pair of boots, gloves, combat trousers, a waterproof jacket with a hood tucked into the collar. It was fun having so much money to play with. I ordered it next day delivery and didn’t even get Prime, just paid for each thing separately. Decadent!

I looked around the flat and realised what an unimpressive shithole I lived in. Everything was cheap and basic, nothing fancy. If I did come back, bringing Jenny with me, would she be happy here? Probably not. I ordered a few more things online, couple of cushions,  a rug. It’s amazing how easily you can forget about what a horrible world you live in once you start shopping. Capitalism may have its faults but at least it comes with distractions.

At some point I realised the cup final was on tonight. My team were in it. Spurs, the perennial nearly-men of football had a chance to achieve something amazing. My curry arrived, I watched the footie, the world seemed like a normal place for the first time since I got back. Even if it was all fake, it was a pretty good replica. I considered that maybe I should just stay in the Matrix and live the lie. If it was good enough for Joey Pants, why not for me?

It was quite possibly the dullest game of football I’d ever seen (and I’d seen Sheffield United versus Sheffield Wednesday). Spurs lost like they always did when things got clutch, and it occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t a simulation after all. This was the real world and people had just been that dumb to allow it to fall into the terrible state I had found it in, off-brand Nazi twats and all.

There was a knock at the door. It was late and I wasn’t expecting anyone, and Amazon weren’t that fast.

I went to the door and looked through the peephole. There was a hooded figure out there, like a big black grim reaper hood. But short, hardly reaching my eye-level. Could be a serial killer midget, but I’d seen Don’t Look Now and was ready for the jump scare. Shorter than me was my perfect height for fights and I fancied my chances. I opened the door.

“Are you Colin?” she asked. I couldn’t see her face but she sounded feminine, so I decided to risk public condemnation and assume gender.

“Maybe. Who are you?”

She pulled back the hood to reveal spiky white hair. Her face was powdered to the same hue as an anaemic snowman, her lips were painted black and she had a ring through the middle bit of her nose.

“I’m Lillian. I’ve been sent with a message.”

“Is it from Robert Smith of The Cure asking for his hairspray back? Not that there’ll be much left.” Her hair was sticking up like she’d gone super saiyan from the forehead up.

“I’m not a goth,” she said. “The message is from the other side. I’m a medium.”

“Really? Me too. Do you find you have to buy an extra large more and more these days because everything shrinks in the wash? What happened to quality workmanship, eh?”

She looked confused. “No, I mean I’m a psychic. This is important. I have a message. You’re in terrible danger.”

“Danger?”

“Yes.”

“Deadly danger?”

“I believe so.”

“Oh,” I said. “Who’s the message from?”

“Jenny. She says if you don’t come back and get her, she’s going to kill you.”