V. Moody's Blog, page 36

July 2019 Update

Heatwave and lazy days. Some small changes to my schedule. 

73: Network Stability

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Mobile Command Centre - Designation: Junior.

 

“What do you mean you’ve lost contact?” shouted Chief Supervisor Mayden. “We’re Vendx, we invented communications. We don’t lose contact. We have a lifetime guarantee of no signal drops, don’t we?”

“That’s only for new customers on the premium package, sir.”

“Are you telling me we aren’t on the premium package? We’re the company flagship.”

“The Motherboard has the premium package, Chief Supervisor,” said the Lead Engineer, cutting in from the orbiting ship. “The mobile command unit has the gold package.”

“Shouldn’t the gold package have a secure connection?” said Mayden. “It’s the gold package.”

“It does, Chief Supervisor. I don’t think we lost the connection. I think he broke off contact.”

“Then get back in contact. Do a full sweep.”

“Sir,” said someone from forward helm, “that will give away our—”

“I don’t care. Find him, now! We’re in the middle of—”

“Sir, the city council are requesting a meeting.”

Speaking to the Fraiche elders was the last thing Mayden needed right now. Vendx had shut down the city and locked it out of all extraterrestrial networks, as they were contractually entitled to do. But complaints were still going to be flooding in. 

“Tell them we’re in a poor reception area and can’t talk to them now.”

“Ah…”

“What is it?”

“Sorry, Chief Supervisor, but we told the city council there would be no poor reception areas when we installed the communication array. It was one of our key selling strategies. PR are saying if we now admit there are areas of poor reception, we could be liable… you could be liable for a breach of contract claim.”

“Okay, fine, tell them we’re experiencing technical difficulties due to unduly high seasonal sunspot activity. And order the Motherboard to fire two solar research missiles.”

Sunspots were one of the acceptable reasons for a communications breakdown. Being able to instigate sunspots that, through high-explosive radiation blasts, provided the necessary corroboration in the records, once the connection to the network was reestablished.

This dumb little mission was proving to be far more complex than Mayden had anticipated. He was constantly having to move things around and reassign people to tasks as the circumstances changed. 

The Primary Inspection Team getting wiped out, the Elite Assault Team getting captured, the Termination Team going offline. And now their contact inside the facility wasn’t responding. It was one thing after another.

Everything was in flux. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be in the middle of an evolving crisis like this. Not since his days as a senior installation engineer had he been this fired up, assimilating multiple feeds while issuing commands to three different tactical centres. 

The team in the mobile unit with him, the crew in orbit on the Motherboard, Commander Creed on the Octanaria. Four, if you included the Fentarian Light, although that was only a supply transport outfitted to look like a battlecruiser.

It was a lot of information to juggle, even with the help of the Guidance Operating Platform plugged into his cerebral cortex.

The GOP told him the chances of their informant being dead was thirty-eight percent. He had no idea how it had arrived at that number, but he didn’t doubt it was accurate. You could trust in GOP. Personally, he would have guessed higher. If communication with a Vendx ship had been detected by the guild officials, there was no doubt the man would be terminated on the spot. That would certainly be the result in a Vendx facility.

Luckily, Ulanov had already transferred the EA team into the Origin program. The very program they had been sent here to take possession of, even though the EA team weren’t aware of it. They’d been sent in for the trainee, but the simulation was just as important.

Whatever the stakes, whatever the risk to him personally — failure could cost him his life, his pension and his entire portfolio of Vendx stocks — the opportunity here was too great to give up on. GOP told him the chances of downloading the full program under the current placement of operatives was over seventy-two percent, which was huge. 

“Chief Supervisor, I have Commander Creed on the—”

“Put him through, put him through. Creed, tell me you have good news.”

“Chief Supervisor, the assault team have made contact with the guide.”

“Good, excellent.” Finally, something had gone to plan. Ulanov had said he could get someone inside the map to help the EA team, as crazy as that had sounded, and he had delivered. “Who is it? Ulanov himself?”

“No, it’s a digital construct, an AI.”

“What are you talking about, man? The sim-U doesn’t come with a guide.”

“We believe it’s a mod. Their engineer added it to help their trainees become quickly familiar with Antecessor tech.”

“That is… highly irregular,” said Mayden. “Tell the team to make sure the AI gets uploaded with the rest of the program.” If the guild had made an illegal modification to the program, that was even better than what he could have hoped for. They would have no way to make a counterclaim against the company (or him, personally) if they’d violated the ToS. 

“Chief Supervisor, with this breach, do we have permission for a full incursion?”

“No, no, not yet. We still have a chance to resolve this peacefully. No point wasting additional ordnance and taking a reduction in our net profitability quotient.”

“Yes, sir. I concur.”

Mayden had never liked Creed, the jumped up little sycophant. He was clearly angling for a promotion into upper management, had contacts in all the senior departments, Mayden’s own contacts had confirmed it. Successfully completing this mission under budget was his first priority, reducing Creed’s impact on that success was his second.

“What about the security net? Still blocking all signals in or out?”

“Yes, completely solid. Zero pixelation. It’s quite a remarkable feat of engineering.”

The mobile unit was on the very edge of coverage, half in and half out. They could maintain contact inside the drone net from one side of the ship, and outside from the other.

The only reason Motherboard and Octanaria were able to make contact with the assault team inside sim-U was because of Ulanov’s soul box creating a stable connection. It gave them a line in. 

“And we still have no way of breaking off the connection?” Not that he wanted to right now, but at some point they would have to.

“Not yet. We’ve got everyone available working on it. We could… bring in the off-duty teams.”

That would mean overtime, an additional expense that would greatly reduce the profit margin. “Not yet. We have time, and we need that connection for now.”

A soul box, practically a toy, creating a bridge between systems. It was hard to believe it was even possible, never mind so unfeasibly stable. Ulanov was clearly someone with a bright future in the Vendx futurist section. The finder’s fee for bringing him in wouldn’t be insubstantial, either. They just had to find him, and hope he had managed to achieve the sixty-two percent chance of still being alive.

“What about the Termination Team? Still no contact?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Mayden wasn’t, either. Fully automated teams were great, when they worked. They could get a job done in a fraction of the time a manned response would take, and with far less whining. But the failure rate for parts was more than double. Something was always going wrong with tronics once they were out in the field. In lab conditions, ten thousand hours without failure of any kind. Ten minutes on site, and they 404’d or stopped working or just fell to pieces. Every planet was a different kind of problem and only humans seemed equipped to adapt quick enough.

“Sir, we’ve got an unauthorised launch.”

“What? Who?”

“It’s one of the Termination Team transports. It’s returning to the Motherboard. Empty.”

Another glitch. At least this one was fairly inconsequential. The emergency homing system had been activated for some reason, which was manageable. 

“I’m seeing a slight discrepancy in weight,” said Grewmann, his second-in-command on Motherboard.

“Are you sure it’s empty?” said Mayden.

“No life signs and interior cameras show nothing.”

“Hold onto it once it docks,” said Mayden. “Run it through the antivirus before you send it back down.”

They had time to do this properly, no silly mistakes. They could stall the city officials indefinitely, and anyone else wanting to get involved wouldn’t be able to get here for twelve standard hours, minimum. No point taking unnecessary chances over bugs.

“Belay that. Do a clean install.”

Once they had control over the guild’s internal network, they could wipe all records and no one would be able to prove anything. No evidence meant no criminal charges. Civil claims would get stuck in arbitration, as always.

Everything was progressing smoothly. He was managing it all from his mobile hub while keeping a lock on any potential issues. Senior management were bound to notice. A promotion wouldn’t be out of the question. Admiral of the fleet? Maybe not quite that, but certainly a bump to his dividend share.

“Sir, we’ve lost contact with the Motherboard.”

“Again?” These glitches were going to be more of a problem than the actual mission. “Restart the communication array, put it in safe mode and do another antiviral sweep. Let’s go people, back online in under thirty seconds, please.”

Maybe things weren’t progressing as smoothly as he’d like, but it was manageable. He was on top of things.

***

First Quadrant

Sterile Zone

Central Authority Headquarters

 

“Sir? Guardian Tezla? I have a message for you.”

Tezla turned over in her bed and looked up through bleary eyes at the drone floating above her.

“What is it, Janx?” She was still half asleep, only slightly curious about the interruption. Nothing of any great urgency ever happened in the Central Authority, an institution so powerful, no one ever bothered to provoke it.

“We have a possible declaration of war.”

“What?” She sat up abruptly, fully awake.

“We have a dec—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you. Show me.”

A light shone from the side of the circular drone and formed a picture in front of her face.

It was a text-based message. A ridiculous announcement.

“Has it been verified?”

“No.”

“Any authentication markers?”

“No.”

“Any confirmation of hostilities?”

“No.”

Tezla relaxed a little and threw back her covers. She was awake now, might as well get up.

“It’s obviously a fake.” She poured herself a stimulant beverage to help clear her mind. It was dull black and smelled awful, but it had a hell of a kick.

“Consensus puts the chance of war at approximately forty-nine point six percent.”

Tezla nearly spat out the liquid in her mouth. “How can it be that high?”

“Irregular variables,” said the drone. “And a complete loss of network connection.”

“Planetwide?”

“Quadrantwide.”

The problem with being the only human in a fully-automated facility was that no one ever acted on a hunch. There were not gut feelings. Everything was a precise calculation, even the approximations. That was why she was here — for three long years and still two more to go — to provide insight and context.

A full blackout across an entire quadrant didn’t need intuition to trigger alarm bells, though.

She had graduated at the top of every class she ever took, won every athletic competition she entered, mastered every musical instrument in existence, including those played by feet. So good at everything she tried that she had been recruited by the Central Authority for the prestigious guardian role. She was guardian for the whole galaxy, all four quadrants. Her word was law, as long as she got Consensus approval. Any planet she set foot on was hers to command as she wished, also pending approval.

It was a position of great power and eminence. And for three years she had been bored out of her mind.

Now there was a 49.6 percent chance something was actually going to happen.

“Prepare my ship — wait, where is it?”

“Fourth quadrant.”

“Right, the cruiser, then.”

“Should I activate the fleet?”

She thought about it as she looked through her wardrobe for the appropriate outfit. If she turned up to some prank with the full fleet, she would just look foolish. But if she turned up to a full-fledged war on her own…

“Put the fleet on standby and secure wormhole passage. I’ll take the full briefing once we’re underway.” She pulled out a brand new ultra-light Vendx spacesuit. They had sent it to her as a gift, just as all the other companies did when they came out with a new product. She would get to keep everything once her tenure was over, not that money would ever be an issue for her. This suit was purple, though. Purple looked good on her. She put down her beverage and got dressed for war.

Chapter 440

When I say I went through the door, I mean I went through the door. There was no physical sensation, splinters didn’t pierce my skin, wood pulp didn’t merge with my innards, which was good — you can never be too sure things will go the way you expect them to based on a lifetime of reading comics and watching movies.

My body felt the same, not insubstantial like when I used to phase into the adjacent world, and I could see the door, but it posed no physical obstruction. The door just wasn’t there. Maybe the whole world wasn’t really there, either.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the stairwell where there were no lights. I stopped and looked down at the dozen or so people lounging around in riot gear, like extras waiting in between takes.

These were the people I’d seen running up the stairs to come take me away. Soldiers of the new world order, or the secret police or some other shadowy organisation who acted above the law, and also below the law and sometimes behind the law. 

Some of them were sitting on steps, some leaning against a wall, their batons tucked under an armpit. A couple of them were vaping, which said a lot about how lacking in humanity these people really were. Smelled like a mix of cherry and cinnamon, the depraved scum.

They were taken by surprise to see me come sliding into their lives without bothering to use the door handle. Nobody moved, they just stared at me. 

I began walking down the stairs, treading carefully in between them like we were at some shitty house party where hanging out while getting in everyone else’s way was cool and not all obnoxious. 

A couple of them seemed to be thinking about doing something. Grab me? Hit me? See if they could poke a finger through me?”

“First one to try anything gets their heart pulled out of their chest,” I said very calmly. I felt it would have more impact than screaming and shouting.

I was putting on an act, obviously, but my suspicion was that they had been paid to look the part, not do any actual heavy-lifting. What I was dealing with, as far as I could tell, wasn’t some cult full of true believers, it was more of a front for some dodgy pyramid scheme, hiring any greedy little shit who was too stupid to realise they weren’t being trained to con the mark, they were the mark. 

None of them were part of the inner circle. Nobody I had run into so far was calling the shots. Even Orion I would have placed no higher than middle management. 

Whatever The Council were trying to achieve — and I wasn’t even sure they were truly in charge — it was too important to trust to the hoi polloi.

Hands were moved out of the way and people leaned to the side to let me through without getting touched by me, like every other time I’ve tried to get down a crowded staircase. Although, then it was to avoid catching whatever social disease I was suspected of having.

As I reached the bottom of the first flight, one of the bigger men stood up and blocked my path. He was taller than me, his eyeline above mine, even though I was two steps above him.

“I hope they paid you in advance,” I said, still trusting my smoke and mirrors act would give him pause for thought. “They’re not very good at paying out after you stop being useful to them.”

He had full riot gear, a helmet, padding, boots you could walk through lava with, and a black stick and a shield. It looked pretty impressive, from a terrorising unarmed protesters point of view, but chances were that it was all made in China and would fall apart the first time he got caught in the rain.

His face, what I could see through the cheap plastic visor, had a determined look to it. This was his big chance to get noticed by the higher-ups. Impress the director and maybe he’ll give you a talking part in his next movie. Sure, some dick-sucking might be required, but when was it not?

He swiped at me with his baton. I hadn’t expected him to go full-retard with no thought for the consequences, but I supposed I should have. These people weren’t exactly here because of their stellar abilities to box clever.

The stick hit me in the face, and it fucking hurt. I didn’t fall over, which was a surprise to all of us, but it made my head ring like a bell.

“Holy shit,” was what I said, but it came out, “Hawa ghhi.”

I put my hand on my chin, which was somewhere next to my shoulder, and pushed it back into place. 

Hard men will pop a dislocated joint back in with a grunt, but someone like me wouldn’t normally even be able to touch the area without bursting into tears. But in this case, a pleasant warmth spread across my face and my jaw was working like normal again. 

“What the fuck, dude?” I said, like he’d stepped on my brand new trainers. “That ain’t Falco.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” said the guy sitting on the same step on me, gasping like he was hyperventilating.

I looked down to check I wasn’t standing on his fingers by accident. Wasn’t even touching him.

He pulled off gloves and his helmet —  his hair was grey and his face was wrinkled. 

“Wha… Wha…” He was staring at his liver-spotted hands. “What happened to me?” Even his voice sounded like an old man’s.

“Shit,” I said. “See what you did? Basic law of conservation, you get that, right?” 

The guy who had hit me, who had been too startled by me healing myself to follow up, looked confused.

“The energy it took to heal my face had to come from somewhere,” I explained. “He aged so I could stay healthy. It should have been you, but you took me by surprise and this poor muppet got hit by bad RNG. Maybe I should switch you two.”

I reached out a hand towards my attacker. He stumbled back, tripping and landing on his butt. Strange noises were coming out of his helmet.

“Are you crying?” I said, appalled. “You can’t cry in riot gear. What’s the point of protecting you from tear gas if you’re going to start the waterworks as soon as the scary shit starts? You better man up, mate, it’s going to get a lot more horrific from here on. Boy, did you sign up for the wrong job. Have you considered the marketing department? You can still be a twat on the phone and no one will be able to see what a worthless sack of shit you are in real life.”

There had been no way to know if my powers would work again just because they had a moment ago, but I was doing pretty well so far. Being in constant danger was working out well for me.

I realise it wasn’t fair and I had a massive advantage, but since when did anyone worry about something being unfair unless it was to their personal disadvantage? No one cries handball when it was their hand.

The whole stairwell was whimpering now. These tough guys were starting to realise being in the frontline wasn’t as cool as their recruiters had made it out to be.

It’s kind of astonishing how easy it is for the very rich and extremely powerful to convince the very pleb and incredibly scrub that they too can get a piece of the special cake. 

Help us get rid of the riff-raff, and you can be one of us. Here’s a hat to show you we’re serious.

How dumb do you have to be to think backing up a lying git will get you the thing they promised you?

I know he’s lying to them, but he wouldn’t lie to me.

Maybe not dumb, maybe just desperate and horribly abused as children. 

Anything for a chance to be on the winning team, I guess. Better than no chance.

I don’t think it makes a difference. In the end, I’m convinced the apocalypse will be averted because the software will all bug out and the screws will come loose on the warheads. The level of shit workmanship we rely on these days, how does anyone expect pressing the doomsday button to achieve anything? 

Try again. Press it at the same time as me. No, put your weight on the edge and work your way in towards the middle. Are you sure it’s plugged in?

Sure, some things will blow up and fall off and breakdown. Not really much different to how things go on any other day of the week.

All the end of the world will really achieve is the same as turning your computer off and on again - cache is cleared, the memory leak gets reset, and you get a bit more life out of the battery you were told would last eight hours per charge but only gives two.

The door behind me opened and I heard Jack say, “Don’t touch him.”

The American cavalry, always late.

I kept going, not bothering to look back. Not for any dramatic reason, more because I’d made it clear next time I saw him there’d be trouble, and I didn’t want to have to live up to my threat. If I didn’t see him, I wasn’t technically a liar.

The next flight down led to the door. I pushed it open and found myself back on the office floor. Only, it was almost empty now. Not just of people, but doors, walls, desks, chairs… they had been taken down or taken away.

It was actually quite impressive how quickly they had gone from putting on a show to striking the set. There were still a few people around, a little less business-like in their demeanour, but still hustling to get the place looking like they had never been here.

They stopped when they noticed me, and looked pensively at each other.

The whole thing had been an act. A massive production for my benefit. I was kind of touched. No one had ever gone that far out of their way to fuck me over before, and that was really saying something. A new benchmark had been achieved.

“Carry on,” I said, waving a hand to indicate they should keep on keeping on. I turned to the door that had led me to my meeting with the Council. 

It was unlocked so I quickly stuck my head in. I wouldn’t want to interrupt an important meeting about how to mindfuck me in the future. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for myself.

The room was empty. Not just the puppets, the table and chairs were also gone. How had they done it so fast? Did the table come apart? I suppose it helped to have such poor lighting, half the stuff I thought I saw might not have been real, but it was still impressive.

Just because it was all done to gaslight me, doesn’t mean I can’t admire professionals going about their craft.

I headed for the lifts and nodded at the people standing around staring at me. I called the lift and waited awkwardly for it to arrive. It’s these in-between moments where you have nothing to do that remind you what a drag life is. I now had to get a ride back to wherever it was I wanted to go next. Cheng’s place? My place? The police? Just kidding, obviously I wasn’t going to go to the police. Fat lot of good they’d be. 

In a movie, the intrepid hero might go to the press and spread the story so the public would be outraged. Unfortunately, having seen the same movies, the first thing your up and coming psychopath billionaire does is buy up all the papers and media outlets. No free press, no trustworthy police or courts, and most of the public happily drinking the Kool Aid. 

Of course, we never had Kool Aid over here, cheap nasty shit. They tried to hoodwink us with Sunny Delight, went as far as paying supermarkets to put it in the refrigerated section to Jedi mind-trick us into thinking it was fresh and wholesome, even though it was so full of chemicals you could clean old lawn furniture with it. That’s what you have to realise you’re dealing with, people so willing to fuck you over they practically trip over their own dick in the rush to stick it in your arse.

Let’s not forget, the supermarkets accepted the money knowing they were helping to deceive their customers. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, and I mean the clown from It and the Joker from Batman.

I took another glance around the floor. It looked nothing like the busy corporate enterprise it had been when I arrived. They had expected me to fly off, fooled into believing everything was as about me as a snowflake in his very own private blizzard of self-centredness. 

I’m the hero, I’m special, I deserve all this attention.

Well, I’m not the hero, and these people weren’t busy professionals. They were actors doing an evil job for money, just like the people in the Sunny D ads. 

If I was going to kill anyone, it should be these people, letting down their own for a chance to crawl a little higher on the dung heap. Never mind getting rid of the fat twat at the top, he’d just get replaced by a copy. It was all the people who went along with it, waved banners and pumped their fists in the air.

It’s my time, my turn to get a treat from master, like a good poodle. 

If I wiped out the audience, what would the guy on the stage do then?

“You’re all a bunch of idiots,” I said to the people nervously eyeing me. It wasn’t a clever put-down, I admit, but just how do you convince irrational people to be rational? You can’t convince them with reason and logic, obviously. And appealing to their goodness isn’t going to get you anywhere.

It was enough to make me willing to hit the doomsday button myself. And then hit it again. Then swear at it, and open it up to find the wires all loose. And then pack it up to return it to Amazon, only to find out it already passed the thirty days refund date.

I was being bitter and grouchy. It wasn’t these people’s fault they happened to have been hired by an evil company. It happens to the best of us. They didn’t deserve to be executed for it. It wasn’t like they worked for Facebook.

The lift doors opened and five people stood there, one of whom was Orion. If that was his real name. He could have been an actor, too.

I think the worst people are the ones who believe their cause is so just, so righteous, that it’s okay for them to do really appalling shit to get it done. Not just torture, which is the classic ‘crossing the line because we have no choice’ scenario, I mean the real inhuman shit, because it’s so important to protect your values by totally betraying your values. 

Got to lock up these children in cages, got to tell the grieving parents their dead kids never existed, have to drive a car into people who disagree with your psychotic world view. 

Anything goes when you’re the good guys, even if it means having to cosplay as the bad guys. I mean, no one liked the Gestapo, but you got to admit they got the job done. And wearing Hugo Boss while doing it — who’s going to turn down a perk like that? Free Hugo Boss!

“Hello, Mr Orion,” I said. My voice sounded strange, all thick and sticky, like I’d just drank a glass of milk and now I was channelling the ghost of Alan Rickman. 

Orion took an involuntary step back as I entered the lift. The other four people — three men and a woman, I think, I wasn’t really paying attention — scuttled out and away. The doors closed on the two of us.

“You seem surprised to see me,” I said. My voice was a little less mucus-ridden now. Less Snape, a little more Sheriff of Nottingham.

“Little bit,” said Orion, standing next to me, staring straight ahead like any experienced lift passenger. For all his faults, his elevator etiquette was exemplary.

“I wasn’t feeling very well, so I decided to go home.”

“Oh, nothing serious I hope,” said Orion.

“I feel like everyone I look at seems less than human, just a bag of flesh eager to do whatever it takes to get a bit plumper and more full of bile and hate. Makes me want to drop them off the top of a tall building and watch them splatter on the pavement. But no, nothing serious.”

The mood in the lift had turned a bit chilly.

“Oh,” said Orion.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Peter, actually.”

“Yes?”

“The truth is, I don’t really know how to beat him. To be honest, I don’t think I can.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to—”

“Instead, I was thinking, what if I make it so there’s no one here when he finds a way to come back? An empty, dead planet where he can do what he wants. It just seems much more achievable.”

“Don’t you think that would be a little unfair on the people who have nothing to do with this fight?” said Orion, a little more straight in the spine. Mr Orion, global guardian.

“I do, actually, I really do think that. But it seems that kind of thinking is very 2016. Here in the future, you’ve got to go a little more extreme if you want to keep things fair and balanced for yourself, unfair and unbalanced for everyone else. But you’re right, just because other people are willing to do terrible things to get what they want, doesn’t mean I should. That would make me no better than them, instead of who I really am, which is much, much worse. Can’t let standards slip.”

The doors opened into the underground carpark. There were at least a dozen men waiting for us, big fuckers, including Jack. How had he got here before me? Rappelled down the outside of the building?

“Hey, guys.” I turned to face Orion so we could finish our conversation. “So, anyway, I had this other idea. Why stop at bringing Peter here? Why not bring over some of the others? I’m not exactly the most social person but Cheng knows a lot of people. Well, I say people, I don’t know if that’s the correct term. Do you think calling them savage bloodthirsty demons is politically incorrect?”

“You want to bring monsters here?”

“Please, let’s not judge them just because they come from a different culture. And let’s face it, the weebs would absolutely love it.”

72: Bonus Round

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Origin - Sim-U

 

Figaro loaded into the sim-U and found himself back in the airlock of the Origin, with its familiar black walls and white strips of light. He wasn’t alone. Eleven other people in spacesuits were in there with him, all of them talking at the same time. None of them had noticed him, yet.

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Has anyone got a connection to the Octanaria?”

“This is a simulation.”

“You think I don’t know that? One minute I’m in a white cell with no doors, the next I’m in an airlock with all of you. Unless someone invented magic in the last hour, obviously we’re in a simulation.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“Really? Really? Then what is there a need for? Stating the obvious?”

The voices chattered openly over the comms, no attempt to take precautions in case they were being monitored. They were collectively in a state of annoyance, feeding off each other to become more and more irritated.

Everyone seemed to have reacted badly to their short incarceration inside the sim-U. No doubt they had tried all the standard ways to exit the program, and found that none of them worked. It must have been frightening to think you’d be stuck in a white room forever, with no way of contacting anyone on the outside unless the people on the outside wished it.

Even more frustrating for organics, used to smashing their way out of any situation. Their abilities weren’t of much use when their whole reality was under someone else’s control. The actual simulation would follow a realistic representation of the ship, but exit and entry points were fully under the control of the machine operator. You could be moved at will and could be immobilised at will.

Figaro knew of a couple of ways around those protocols, ways to force the simulation to crash and disconnect, but they came with risks. He would have still used them if he’d ended up in their position. He wondered how many of them would if he told them how.

“Where’s the assistant manager? Is he here? I don’t hear him? Where is he?”

“Didn’t you see? He got his brains splattered across a wall.”

“No way.”

“I recorded it, I’ll show you. Honestly, no one deserved it more. Prick refused to sign off my attendance mandate because I was thirty seconds late. Not even thirty, twenty-seven!”

“I saw it too. They’re not going to recover anything but middle-management DNA out of that suit.”

“What the hell are these suits we’re in. How old are they? What are they powered by? Steam?”

“They’re period accurate.”

“For which period?”

“Don’t you recognise where we are?”

“So who’s in charge now?”

There was a pause as they looked at each other. Figaro found the hesitation a little odd. Should there be an established chain of command? He recalled some mention of a manager who was on leave for a training course. If the assistant manager had temporarily taken his place, wouldn’t they have assigned someone to fill the second-in-command position? From the extended silence, it would appear they hadn’t got round to it.

“If Assistant Manager Larep isn’t here, how are there still twelve of us?”

“Who is that?” One of them was pointing at Figaro. All eyes turned to look at him.

“Welcome to the Origin,” said Figaro, changing his voice to sound a little more feminine and speaking in a flat emotionless tone to. “I am your guide for your first mission.”

“Wait, I think it’s an NPC.”

“This isn’t a game, Destri.”

“No, think about it,” said Destri. “They sign up all these clueless kids for their guild, ram them through boot camp and out into the field as quickly as possible so they can start scavenging for loot. They don’t want to waste too much time getting them comfortable around Antecessor tech. Give them a simulated guide, walk them through the ship with plenty of warning about what’s up ahead, everyone passes feeling like they’re ready for the big show.”

“They have a guide for newbies? Talk about hand-holding.”

“Wish I’d had a guide on my first run. Dying’s no fun.”

“Popping your cherry first time out is part of the experience. You’ve got to die in a sim-U to make it feel real.”

“Ohhh, this is the Origin.”

“How did you not recognise it?”

“I did. Just took a moment to jog my memory, that’s all.”

“This should be fine, then, right? We’ve all done this run a thousand times, right?”

There was more chatter, but less fraught with anxiety. Their familiarity with the Origin simulation had put them at ease, which was foolish. This wasn’t a training run designed to hone their skills.

One of the Vendx team pushed off the wall and floated towards Figaro. “You, what’s your designation?” He peered in through Figaro’s visor.

Figaro adjusted the lighting of his HUD so the glare made it harder to see in. He might still be recognised.

“I am the guide. I am here to help you navigate the Origin on your first mission.” Repetition would hopefully dull their curiosity.

“I don’t get it. Why stick us in here and give us a guide to help us?” said someone.

“It’s probably automatic for first-timers. Gives their newbies a nice confidence boost facing the drones. This guild really is low-effort easy mode. I can’t believe they sent us all in to deal with such a pissy little outfit.”

“We got our butts kicked, if you recall.”

“That wasn’t the guild, that was something else. You all saw the readings. We couldn’t even get a ping off that guy.”

“I thought that was because he was too low to register.”

“Or too high.”

“No way. He was probably shielded.”

There was a piercing beep over the comms. “Hey, can you all stop acting like we’re on a break here? We’re still trapped and out of commission. We don’t get paid for time spent immobilised, remember?”

There was silence as this reminder sunk in.

“What are we supposed to do?” asked Destri, the only voice Figaro had put a name to so far. “Clearing the ship won’t make a difference.”

“What about the guide? Maybe it knows how to abort the run, you know, if one of their trainees freaks out and needs to get out.”

The Vendx employee nearest to Figaro leaned in again. “Hey, Mr Guide, I need to exit the simulation. It’s an emergency. Em-ur-gen-cee.”

Figaro wasn’t sure how to respond. Lead them on a wild goose chase around the ship? It would buy some time, but then what?

“Nothing. It isn’t even realistic. Looks like a generic computer model — they haven’t even bothered putting any hair on its head.” The man had his visor pressed against Figaro’s.

“Assault Team R, Assault Team R, this is the Octanaria, do you read?” The voice was coming in clear over the comms.

Everyone responded at once.

“Tadum, reading, over.”

“This is Yarlik, reading you loud and clear.”

“This is Chesney, what’s going on? Has the mission been cleared?”

“Destri, reporting in. We’re in a sim-U, repeat, they’ve locked us into a simulation of the Origin.”

Figaro couldn’t make out all of the names or what they were saying. Discipline was not a high priority in the Vendx training program, apparently.

“Listen, this is Commander Creed. We know your situation. We have a man on the inside who switched you over to your current location. We have new instructions for you.”

“Is this covered under our current work order?” asked someone.

“Yes, same pay, same benefits.”

There was a murmur of approval.

“Destri is the new acting-manager.”

“Me? Why me?” Destri didn’t sound at all pleased with the promotion.

“You have the best scores for simulated runs. Your new objective is inside the Origin. You will get all bonuses for the managerial role while you’re in command.”

There was some grumbling at Destri’s good fortune.

“You aren’t extracting us?” asked someone.

“The extraction point is in the forward compartment of the Origin.”

“If we just have to get to the other end of the ship,” said a disgruntled voice, “anyone could have been made leader. Even I could do it.”

“There have been some modifications made to the simulation, do not approach it as the Origin you’ve run before.”

“What kind of modifications?”

“We’re not sure. You’ll have to take precautions as you would on a virgin site.”

“Virgin site? Shouldn’t we be getting the full first-entry rates, then?”

There were noises of support for this suggestion.

“You are still inside a simulation, you can’t actually die. And in any case, you are bound by your primary contract. This is just an extension, as covered by the sub-contract options clause. You have already been notified of the additional actions required of you within the requisite time frame. If you have an issue, you can bring it up with the Resources Manager at your debrief. It will go on your permanent, of course.”

No further comment about pay rates was made after the Resources Manager was mentioned.

“We were also told you would have some help in there. Our contact has sent someone in to guide you.”

“Yes,” said Destri. “It’s here with us. Some sort of AI.”

“Good, it should be able to help you navigate any tricky parts. Head into the ship and, I repeat, do not rely on your past experience of this simulation. We need you to get to the other end in one piece and link up to the Motherboard. Once you authenticate the connection, we’ll have full control over the facility and can bring you out. Any questions?”

“Yes,” said a voice. “Does Destri get time and a half for taking on the managerial role?”

“No, there’s no overtime on this mission. If you go over the allotted time, you will be expected to pay the usual fines.”

“Let’s go,” said Destri. “Get that door open. Everyone, check your suits — make sure you’re familiar with the controls. This will be a speedrun, no collectables, no side-routes. We all know the basic outlay, follow the racing line, avoid pulling drones. We hit the checkpoints in this order: one, seven, nine, five. You, Guide, lead the way.”

Suddenly, the whole team was operating like a finely-tuned machine. They all seemed confident and ready. The only person who didn’t know what they were doing was Figaro. Ubik wanted them in the other part of the ship and connected to the Motherboard. Once that was done, how would Ubik turn that to his advantage? And how would Figaro get off this planet and back home?

There was only one way to find out.

Figaro fired his thrusters and passed through the opening as it spiralled open.

Book 2: Chapter Thirty

By this point, Nic was no stranger to dragons. He had encountered them in the most intimate terms possible, riding them from the inside. It had been an absorbing experience, his mind expanding to not just fill the dragon’s mind but its entire body.

He could still recall the feeling of having wings, of soaring on air currents, of having the weight of endless teeth in his mouth. To control a dragon, you had to be a dragon.

The shadow dragon flying towards him now was something different. He was inside its head, looking through its eyes, but the sensation was limited to vision and nothing else. He was in control of its actions, but only by willing it. He wasn’t moving wings or shifting weight to take advantage of the wind. If he wanted to fly in a particular direction, he thought about it and the dragon did so.

It certainly looked like a dragon from the outside. It had the correct shape, if a little blurred at the edges like a watercolour painting on wet paper, but it also had the quality of a model built with all the correct parts but no real understanding of how things connected under the skin. 

Its creator would certainly know but seemed to have considered it unnecessary. Why make something accurate down to the last detail when it could serve its purpose with only a superficial similarity?

It would take a lot more study to learn the nature of this thing, how it was made and what it could do.

Nic could see it coming towards him while seeing himself from the dragon, the two opposing perspectives threatening to drive a wedge through the middle of his brain. There was a weird stretching and compressing of the world when his thoughts distracted him and then he returned to the present, so he did his best to not think too freely. 

It was disorienting if he allowed himself to lose focus, but at least it wasn’t painful the way using this power had been whenever he was in close proximity to his real-world location at the start. He was making progress with this power, but every new application required even more intense concentration.

Nic stood on the rise, the evening air gusting at him. He ignored the chill and remained fixed on what looked like a thick pall of smoke flying towards him, blotting out the stars in a wavering outline of wings. His eyes watered slightly as he held his stare, afraid of losing control if he blinked.

Once he had a dragon at his disposal, he could go anywhere he wished, assuming he could ride it and be it at the same time. He had never been required to hold two states of being at the same time, but his concentration had always been good. This required him to be single-minded about being double-minded, which was an odd way to look at it. He knew he could do the first, and hoped the second wouldn’t be beyond him.

As the dragon shape grew larger and easier to discern, Nic also became aware of the other forms behind it. He put the number at eleven, although he kept losing count, his mind buckling if he tried to take too much in at once.

For a moment, he thought he had somehow claimed all the dragons. With twelve dragons to do his bidding, what could he achieve then? But he realised the other dragons weren’t following the first, they were chasing it.

It was hard to tell if this was something they were doing of their own volition, or if the Gweurvians who had brought these beasts here were directing them to stop him. Did that mean Rutga was dead? At least unable to prevent the Gweurvians from acting. Nic still didn’t understand why the man who had kidnapped him had gone to such lengths to prevent him being taken by his fellow conspirators.

Nic didn’t have time to ponder such thoughts right now, though.

From what he had managed to ascertain so far, these shadow dragons weren’t able to think for themselves. They could be left to exist as apparitions, but they didn’t have the mental capacity to behave like true dragons, which themselves were only vessels for demons in transition.

The dragons of Ranvar were basic creatures, able to sustain themselves through hunting and fighting like any other animal. These shadow dragons were one step beneath that kind of independence.

The other shadow dragons were some way behind. Would they attack their brother? Would they attack him? The logical way for Nic to defend himself would be to command his dragon to attack the Gweurvians on the ground before their dragons could do the same to him. Without minds to guide them, they would be no more threatening than clouds.

A mind intruded on his. He felt it slide into the same space in the dragon that he was occupying.

It was one of the Gweurvians, he was sure. There was something about the mental force impinging on him that was familiar. Nic could even identify which of the men that had assailed the carriage was now trying to unseat him. He didn’t need to know the man’s name or have spoken to him, the shape of his mind just reflected who he was.

The force was blunt and raw and like a shove in the back when you’re running at full speed. It could send you toppling, or it could make you run faster.

Nic absorbed it and let it pass through him and out again, carrying with it an emphatic: “Stop.” The words made no sound but filled every available space.

He sensed a hesitation, a wavering of the pressure being applied. “My lady? Is that you?”

The words didn’t come with a voice. There was no male or female quality to them. Nic’s words would have been equally genderless, he assumed. The man had mistaken him for the demon. Perhaps this was how she had communicated with them in the past. No one wouldn’t expect someone like Nic to have such an ability, so it was reasonable for this man to think his true master had returned, the thought was driven by a wish for it to be true.

Such wishes were the easiest to grant

These acolytes had lost their leader, their contact with something special, which had made them feel special. Ever since the demon had been taken from them, they had been desperate to reclaim that touchstone to the supernatural, as eager as Nic had been to get rid of it.

But Nic had spent a great deal of time with the demon lodged inside his head. He had spent plenty of time trying to understand it, to find a way to overcome its threat to his sanity. He might have only partially succeeded, but he had gained a great deal of familiarity with the demon’s nature. If he never truly learned how to beat it, all that examination meant he could certainly imitate its manner.

“Yes, my child. You must depart this place. Now.” A mixture of gentleness and overbearing authority, a touch of warm condescension, and some small indication that you’d rather be anywhere than here.

The words in their shared headspace held no specific tone or voice, but they could still carry an attitude, a way of seeing the world. Nic did his best to capture that side of the demon that best represented how she came across. Superior.

“You have returned to us?” The reverse was true, also. Without being able to hear the Gweur rebel’s timbre or inflection, Nic could still sense the desperate hope, the craving for the possibility of his beloved leader’s return.

Here was something Nic could do. He could use his purely academic understanding of the demon, the insights that had done him little good against her, barely keeping him from perishing, and use that knowledge against these people instead.

They were just as much victims of hers as he had been, perhaps still were. They had fallen foul of a being far more powerful than themselves, and had coped by accepting the inferiority, gratefully accepting a subservient role in a grand house. To serve was seen as a great privilege by them.

It seemed little different to their submission to Ranvar, as far as Nic could tell, but perhaps kneeling to those who looked the same as you was more galling than bowing down before something alien and exotic. If so, then all Nic had to do was play the part. Their own need for a lord and master would do the rest.

“This child is mine. You will not touch him. He is the key that will open the door to a new era across this world.”

“He is the key?” The words were unmistakably jubilant. “The key… we have the key.”

“The key?” 

“He is the key!”

Voices joined in. They all sounded the same but Nic knew they were the other Gweurvians, their minds locked inside the other dragons. 

He had no idea what he was saying, other than it sounded like something the demon would say. The great thing about playing this role was that no one would question his meaning. Finally, the refusal to explain what they were after was working in his favour. The more vague he was, the more authentic he would seem. It was almost laughable.

But Nic would still need to be careful. There were things the demon wouldn’t do, like ask questions or demand explanations. Why would the all-knowing demon need to question her lowly subjects? Nic would need to be careful not to give himself away by trying to prise answers from these men, even though they probably had many of the ones he sought.

For an instant, Nic’s mind split into thirds, and he was able to see the carriage he had escaped from. The Gweurvians who had attempted to take him were now sitting on the ground, eyes closed. There was no sign of Rutga.

The wrench inside his mind from seeing through his own eyes, the dragon’s eyes and from above the Gweurvians, was almost too much to bear, and Nic felt his mind tearing. He let go of the multiplicity of perspectives and returned primarily to the dragon’s.

There was excitement and joy at the edges of Nic’s perception, his pursuers now his ardent devotees. He was becoming better attuned to the other dragons, or they were easier to sense now they had minds controlling them.

“Quiet, my children. Quiet your minds and know that your journey is near its end. Soon you will enter the promised land.” It was easy to do but he would have to be careful not to slip into mockery. He had to show restraint in his portrayal.

There was no response but Nic could sense the buzz of anticipation. He had given them the thing they wanted most, and now they were his to command.

A single dragon was as much as he’d expected, but now he had twelve. What was he going to do with them?

Nic opened his eyes and saw the dragon hovering above him. It wasn’t flapping its wings. It wasn’t moving, apart from a slight shimmer of its outline. Its eyes shone blue and looked at him the way a reflection looks back at you from a mirror.

The first time Nic had seen these dragons as they flew over the border from the west, the Gweurvians had been riding them, straddling their backs. Now that he was seeing them up close, they looked too insubstantial to mount. Their bodies were made of what looked like a thick column of smoke. Any attempt to climb on its back would send you falling through the back mist, like jumping off a mountain and falling through low-lying clouds.

But he had seen it, so it had to be possible.  

Shifting into the dragon’s head as much as he could, he told it to pick him up. He wasn’t sure how it would follow his instructions, but that hadn’t posed a problem so far. It had flown here because he’d wanted it to, he didn’t seem to be required to understand the underlying mechanics.

The dragon lowered towards him, settling over him like a bird coming down on its egg. Nic’s instinct was to jump out of the way, but he resisted the urge and held his ground. The dragon passed through him and he could taste it; a bitter, metallic tingle on his tongue.

He recognised the taste, he had consumed too much of it not to. Arcanum. 

The dragon sank into the ground, turning into a mist around Nic’s feet, only its head still visible. And then it rose back up and Nic was lifted with it. His legs separated around the base of the neck and he was riding the beast even though the body offered nothing for him to hold onto. Only the spine running from nose to tail seemed to be solid. His hand passed through the rest, wet and cold to the touch.

He was quickly high in the air, about treetop height. The other dragons circled overhead.

Now he had to decide where to go. He had wanted to warn the city of the dragon invasion, thinking he could help pinpoint the creatures in the air. But now, the dragons were under his control and the Gweurvians believed he was their leader restored to her rightful place at their head. 

If he approached the city, they would see him as a threat, most likely. Either as an enemy of its defenders, or as a rival to its attackers.

Who should he go to?

It still wasn’t clear to Nic who was working for the High-Father and who against. If these dragons were creations of the Ministry for Instruction, then Minister Carmine probably wouldn’t appreciate Nic commandeering them. 

The Archmage, Nic had seen with the demon, so that pair were probably best avoided. 

The Secret Service had been infiltrated by at least one person, maybe more.

Should he go directly to the Palace? And say what? He could bring them dragons, but how long would he remain in control of them once people knew? 

He could attach himself to the empty space inside a dragon’s head, but he couldn’t create one of these, nor could he vanquish it. But someone else could, possibly while Nic was sitting astride it, high in the sky. 

The only real advantage he seemed to have was the ability to take them away and prevent their use in the coming battle between Ranvar and its neighbours. Was that his best course of action? He still needed answers.

Nic closed his eyes and searched for Rutga. He had known things Nic would like to question him about. Now seemed the ideal time to do so.

He spotted him in the trees, already far from the carriage, making his way towards the capital, darting left and right through the trees. It was dark now, the forest a swarm of shadows, but Nic could see him clearly, a glowing figure standing out against a black backdrop. 

From the dragon’s eyes, from his own, from the map of the world that now sat in his head — the three combined to form an all-encompassing view of Nic’s surroundings, in every direction.

It was getting easier to find what he wanted. It worked best when he had a clear idea of what that was. A single person was the ideal target.

As Nic watched Rutga sprint at an even pace, he was also aware of the other eleven dragons behind him. Each now had a rider. He hadn’t noticed that happen, his ability wasn’t able to attract his attention towards things he should be aware of.

This was the problem — he could see anything, but not everything.

The dragons were hanging back, waiting for his instructions… for her instructions.

“Wait here,” said Nic, careful to have the words come from the dragon. As far as they were concerned, Nic was just a captive, riding on the dragon because that’s where he could be kept secure, a key in someone’s pocket. They had been sent to fetch him, but the demon had come herself, confirming that their mission had been an important one, emphasising their importance for having been selected for it.

All Nic had to do was to keep them convinced and they would gladly do whatever he asked of them.

The dragon flew down through the trees. The wings spread out looked like they would collide with branches, but they passed through them with a whisper, the sound wind might make brushing across leaves.

The dragon felt solid under him now. The night had given it its true form, a beast made of flesh and bone, or something that would be hard to distinguish from them. And yet, the edges seemed to be merely fumes left after an extinguished fire, and the whole thing felt like it might choose to stop being real at any moment. 

Nic’s knees pressed hard into the dragon’s neck. His hands gripped between what felt like scales — he didn’t look down to make sure. His many eyes were on Rutga, a beacon in the forest.

There was a clearing up ahead, some fallen trees and a pond. The water reflected the starlight and glittered. Rutga had rushed to the water’s edge and was pulling something out on a long rope.

The dragon swooped into the clearing as Rutga turned and stood. He had a dripping wet bag in his hands; stashed weapons, perhaps? Or maybe some other equipment for survival? Did a man like Rutga have many hidden caches like this in case of emergencies? How many would you need to have all around the kingdom to be sure of one being close by? Or did he prepare this one especially for this mission, knowing something like this might happen?

For a  moment, Nic wondered if all of this had been planned in advance. From the moment he had been dosed with Arcanum, poisoned to near-death, right up to the point where his increased resistance to Arcanum had made it possible for him to withstand the toxicity of these shadow dragons.

Was he still just a pawn in someone else’s game?

It was hard not to second-guess himself, but not of much practical use. If your own choices were preordained, what could you do about it? Being tricked into genuinely wanting something was maddening.

“I wanted to ask you something,” said Nic. The dragon landed in the clearing. Nic tried to think of the best way to slide off the dragon’s neck without tumbling to the ground in a heap. As he thought it, the resistance between his legs faded and he slid through the dragon, falling unnaturally slowly down through the dragon’s chest. It was like descending a slide made of a material with too much friction to be exhilarating. Which suited Nic just fine.

“Ask away,” said Rutga, his eyes on the dragon.

“Why did you save me from those men? Aren’t you on the same side?”

Rutga’s eyes slowly lowered to Nic’s face. “Well, no, I don’t see it that way. Many’s the time you ally yourself with another side in order to defeat a third. That doesn’t make you brothers. And even if it did, you have to keep an eye on your own just as much as theirs.”

Nic nodded. An alliance often broke down the moment their mutual interest was satisfied. You would need to make sure you hadn’t given away any unnecessary advantages well before that point.

“I’m only sorry I couldn’t do a better job,” said Rutga. “Seems like I was lucky the job took care of itself.” He grinned, throwing the bag over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to try and take me to your master?” asked Nic.

“Doesn’t seem much point,” said Rutga. “I doubt you would let me.” 

“Tell me,” said Nic, “who’s in charge of the Gweur rebels now? You must know that much about your allies.”

Rutga gave Nic a quizzical look. “Right now, it looks that would be you.” His eyes veered up again, and then from side to side.

Nic turned and looked up at the dragons circling overhead. “They only think I’m their leader.”

“What difference does that make?” said Rutga. “If they do as you command, then by all rights you are their leader.”

Once again, Nic had the feeling he had been led to this point by a guiding hand. He didn’t like the thought of his every move being controlled by an unseen power. In his case, it was impossible to tell who that might be  — not because of how well hidden they were but because there were so many candidates.

Nic stood in the clearing, seeing Rutga as a shadowy figure and also a bright candle in the dark, ever line clear as day.

“I would like to know more about my father,” said Nic, “but I’m afraid I might not like what I learn.”

“That’s true of any man, not just your father. You remind me a lot of him. He had the same way of doing nothing for the longest time, to the point you’d think he’d lost all interest in what he was supposed to be doing, and then he’d leap into action, no longer needing to consider any option that appeared. It was like he’d seen all the possibilities already.”

“But not the one leading to his death,” said Nic.

“No one sees that one coming, except the ones who welcome it. But he was also a man who took incredible risks. It wasn’t surprising he eventually fell victim to a poor roll of the dice.”

“I’d like to speak to you about him, someday.”

“Aye, I’d have no problem with that, assuming I’m still around. It’s hard to look too far ahead in my line of business.”

“You’ve managed to survive this long,” said Nic. 

“Aye, but for how much longer? That’s always the question. You could kill me and there’d be nothing I could do about it. I wouldn’t even blame you.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Nic.

Rutga nodded. “Mercy is a dangerous thing, Nic. Few people appreciate it enough to return the favour.”

“Was that my father’s mistake?” 

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask others about such things.”

There was a howl from above them. Nic looked up as the dragons wheeling overhead, their dark shapes now appearing very clear against the night sky.

When Nic looked back down, Rutga was gone. He wasn’t surprised.

The dragon sank down and picked up Nic. He didn’t even have to ask, the connection between them was growing stronger.

As they rose into the sky, Nic located Rutga, running again. Nic had many more questions, but Rutga was a professional. He would only reveal what he wanted to. It would be impossible for Nic to know if he was learning anything of value. He was almost sure anything he did find out, he would be given as a way to get him to do something.

But Rutga would return to his master or to whoever it was he took orders from. And Nic would be there to see and hear them. 

The issue was to know where to look and when. There was so much going on, time spent in one place meant you missed what happened in another. But he was sure Rutga was going to have to report his night’s endeavours to someone. Nic rose higher and higher, ready to start using this ability to its fullest.

71: Choice Assignments

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

 

Point-Two watched Princep Galeli’s hands dart around the console in a blur. He had a surety and calm when working the controls of the simulation machine that he lacked when dealing with the machine’s makers. He was the princep of the Academy, so it should have been him calling the shots.

The rest of the room was just as lacking in control over their own actions. If anyone actually took a step back and looked at the situation objectively, he had no doubt they would throw up their hands in despair and surrender to the first Vendx agent they could find.

Fortunately, no one had the time to do anything like that.

“This is ridiculous,” said Princep Galeli. “We can’t use their own machine to infiltrate their other machines. I’m fairly sure they have fail-safes against this sort of thing.”

It was the sort of thing everyone would be fairly sure of, and not bother testing. Which made it an excellent area to cut costs by not implementing any such fail-safes.

Ubik seemed to have a sixth sense about where Vendx had cut corners. Either that, or he had got hold of an internal memo outlining how much extra profit the company would make by taking which negligible risks. Who in their right mind would try to compromise one of their flagship vessels?

The problem with that sort of thinking was that it didn’t take into consideration people who weren’t it their right mind.

“Ready when you are,” said Fig.

“Wait,” said Captain Hickory. His eyes were glowing with a red light and strands of his tightly pulled back hair were breaking free and dancing around his head. “They’re moving towards us.”

“Who?” asked Galeli, his fingers jabbing at a different set of buttons and switches. “Where?”

“The Termination Team. They’ve been given clearance to enter the facility.” Hickory’s head moved side to side, like a scanner taking readings.

The screen above the console flickered as the inputs changed. Now it was a view of the landing area outside the main hall. Three metal cylinders, each as tall as the Academy upper floor, were planted like chrome tree trunks. They rotated, opening from top to bottom.

“Don’t let them get a bead on us,” said Hickory. The screen went black.

Point-Two was no expert when it came to organics. He knew they were powerful and that their abilities were varied, but everyone knew that. Those who possessed them were very wary of talking about them to people who didn’t. To avoid jealousy? To not reveal some kind of weakness? The etiquette was not to ask.

Captain Hickory’s ability seemed to be something to do with surveillance. How accurate he was or what kind of additional information he was picking up was impossible to say. Could he identify structural weaknesses? Isolate a vulnerability like a fracture or a worn joint? It was the sort of thing Point-Two would have loved to be augmented with. At this rate, however, he was unlikely to ever get that far.

“You need to delay them,” said Fig, his face covered apart from his mouth. “Send me in, now.” His voice was calm and reasonable, but also firm and insistent. He was the youngest in the room, younger even than the girl, Bev. But he was the one making the necessary decisions, and at instant-speed. He had to, how else would he keep up with Ubik?

“I’ll do it,” said PT. “I can give them the runaround.” Being a decoy was hardly a prestigious role, but he would rather that than sit around watching everyone else. It wasn’t like he was much use here, anyway.

“Okay,” said Hickory. “Gipper, go with him.”

There was a momentary look of dismay in Gipper’s eyes, the tall guild pilot thinking of objecting to the job assignment, but it quickly passed.”

“Sure, send the two best looking dudes to face almost certain death. It’s a cruel way to get your own back for that night in Daramesh.”

Hickory half smiled. “She was spectacular in bed, by the way.”

“I know,” said Gipper. “I taught her everything she knows. Here, kid.” He threw the large weapon he’d been carrying since he turned up, and picked up the even larger one the princep had put down.

Point-Two caught it and looked it over. He wasn’t at all familiar with the brand or the many small knobs. It had a trigger, though, and six small rockets attached to the barrel. A seventh was inserted into the muzzle and poked out like it had got stuck halfway in.

“Make sure you point it the right way,” said Gipper, clipping the harness on and lifting up the rotary canon with both hands. The counterweights in the harness made it possible to move with the gun with a bow-legged gait. “Let’s go turn some heads.”

Point-Two followed Gipper out of the simulation room and down the passage back to the main hall. “What are we going to do when we find the Termination Team?” he asked, and then added, “What exactly is a termination team?”

“They send them when you want to terminate your contract,” said Gipper. “They’re very good at convincing you to change your mind. What’s your name, kid?”

“Hollet 3.2. Point-Two for short.”

“Oh, you’re a shipper.”

Point-Two frowned at the derogatory term, but it was hardly the right time to act offended.

“You’ve heard of the Liberator Garu?”

“Nope. Been to five or six colony ships, but never that one. Bunch of pirates, ready to kick anyone’s teeth in.”

They reached the rear door to the hall and Point-Two opened it so Gipper could waddle through. The main entrance was still barricaded.

“We aren’t all pirates,” said Point-Two.

“No offence, kid. Damn good fighters was all I meant. Hope you live up to their reputation.”

“We don’t have—”

The ground shook. It felt like footsteps coming closer. Point-Two rested the launcher on his shoulder. These antique weapons might not do very much damage to modern armour-plating, but they might create enough confusion to buy the others some time. If he fired at the roof, maybe he could bury the Termination Team for a while.

The main doors split apart like kindling and a metal giant stood in the doorway, too large to fit through. Hands reached out and grabbed the doorframe, ripping it apart to make the opening bigger. More hands appeared to help speed things along, these ones three-fingered, grabbing at the masonry, yanking it out and crushing it in the same move.

There were three of them, two just behind the one remodelling the entrance. They were humanoid robots, two arms, two legs, but then four more appendages snaking out from the back.

A large chunk of stone fell from the roof and bounced off the robot’s head, leaving no damage. One of the appendages reared up and opened its claw, firing a beam of white light at the fallen stone, instantly turning it into dust.

Point-Two glanced at the metal tube resting on his shoulder. What was this going to do against that?

“Don’t make a move until they see us,” said Gipper in a low voice. They were right at the back and none of the three robots seemed to have noticed them. They were too busy zapping the facade of the building to bits so they had a nice big opening to walk through. The ceiling in the main hall was just about high enough to accommodate them, but the only way into the rest of the Academy was to make more openings. The whole building was likely to collapse if they did that. At least they weren’t in a hurry.

All three were standing in a line, the front of the hall torn down. Their large chest plates were screens with the Vendx logo blinking and flashing in an eye-catching manner. Even when they were stomping you into the ground, branding was important.

Behind the robots were a flock of drones buzzing around, waiting for their chance to enter.

The three giant robots had suddenly stopped moving. Point-Two looked at Gipper. “Have they spotted us?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Gipper whispered back. “Looks like they’re—”

The four snake-like appendages on each robot reached out to maximum length, claws positioned up above shoulders and down below waist. White light fired to intersect and combine into a thicker, more intense beam. Three streaks shot across the hall and struck the wall behind Point-Two and Gipper. The wall disintegrated.

Point-Two dropped his weapon and threw himself out of the way. He couldn’t bring the building down on them if there was no building left. Whatever Fig was up to, he hoped he was nearly done. There wasn’t going to be a way to delay the Termination Team.

The robots began moving forward. And then they stopped. They stopped in an unnatural way, mid-step. At the same time, the drones dove right into the ground.

A figure appeared on top of the lead robot’s head. It was wearing goggles and big boots which were wrapped around the robot’s neck.

“Hey!” called out Ubik. “What are you doing over there? It looks kind of dangerous.”

Point-Two got to his feet and looked around for Gipper. A pile of rubble moved and broke apart as Gipper got to his feet, clutching the gun in both hands, coughing and spluttering.

“Don’t shoot,” said Ubik, hands raised. “I give up.”

The three robots stood still as statues. Ubik slid off the shoulder, down the arm, and landed on the ground in a puff of masonry dust.

“I’m glad you’re here, actually. I could use a little help.”

“Where have you been?” said Point-Two as he walked towards Ubik.

Ubik lifted the goggles from his eyes to his forehead. “Had to get some stuff from my locker.”

“How did you stop them?” said Gipper, looking up at the robots and then down at the drones littering the ground.

“Hmm? Oh, the Termination Team? There’s a reset button in the back of the neck. You need a special tool to access it.” He held up a bent piece of wire. “Or you can make your own.”

“How did you do it to all three at the same time?” asked Point-Two.

“Oh, I had some help.” Two drones came flying down, wire sticking out of their front ports. They hovered above Ubik’s shoulders. “It’ll take them about ten minutes to cycle through the reboot protocol. Want to go on a trip?” He turned around and walked out the way the Termination Team had entered.

“Where are we going?” asked Point-Two.

“Well, the Chief Supervisor is down here — over there, actually.” He pointed to the far side of the city. “Which makes it the best time to go up there.” He pointed straight up.

The drones high above them formed a pulsing lattice, through which the two Vendx ships could be seen. Ubik didn’t appear to be pointing at either.

“You want to go up to the ship in orbit?” said Gipper.

“Brilliant, right? They’ll never expect it. I’ve always wanted my own battlecruiser.”

“How are you going to get into orbit?” asked Point-Two. There were also a bunch of questions about what Ubik would do once he got up there — hijacking a spaceship was no easy matter — but first things first.

“In one of these.” Ubik pointed to the cylinders the Termination Teams had arrived in. They were open, revealing an empty interior, like the packaging an action figure might come in.

“What about Fig?” said Point-Two. “What did you want him to do in the sim-U?”

“Whatever he wants. Just keep them busy. What? He’ll be fine. The boy’s a prodigy.”

Putting Fig in the sim-U with a bunch of irate Vendx organics had been the decoy. This was the real plan. Fly up to the Motherboard and take it.

A ramp led into the tall grey cylinder’s empty interior. There were no controls.

“Aren’t they fully automated?” asked Gipper.

“Sure. Up and down, that’s all they do. We just need to find somewhere to hold onto on the outside, and then we—”

“What do you mean, on the outside?” said Point-Two.

“Can’t be inside,” said Ubik. “They’ll see the life signs. Got to be outside.”

“But the ship's in space,” said Point-Two.

“Technically, it’s in the upper atmosphere,” said Ubik. “Just wrap up warm you’ll be fine.”

Point-Two suddenly wished he had switched places with Fig. A pointless mission with eleven organics trying to kill you sounded like a much nicer way to meet your end.

Chapter 439

“There’s really no need to be upset,” said Cowdrey, through the mouthless face of his avatar.

I hadn’t bothered to examine the four life-sized puppets in the room, they could have been shop window mannequins or crash test dummies or maybe something borrowed from Madame Tussaud’s (which would be obvious because they would bear a striking resemblance to no celebrity you’d ever seen).

They each had a blank, white mask attached to their heads and a cloak covering their body. It was too dark in the room to make out any other details.

“In my experience,” I said, “there’s always a reason to be upset, it’s just that the information isn’t always made available to the public. It avoids riots. Is it just you, or is the whole gang here?”

“We’re here,” said a female voice from one of the other blank masks.

“Very lucky you asked to speak to us when you did,” said another female voice from a different head. “If you’d asked a little later, you would have had to wait another week.”

One of the women was Dorothea and the other was Morwenna. I couldn’t tell you which was which off the top of my head, which was rude and inconsiderate of me — I’m sure we can all accept that it’s far too late to do anything about this behaviour.

“So, you aren’t here, in this world, then?” From what she had said, it sounded like they could get in touch only when the stars aligned or when they were allowed to use the public phone at the loony bin.

“No, we are not even in the same universe as you,” said Cowdrey.

“Where are you?”

“Sorry,” said Cowdrey, “did you say something? The reception isn’t great. Hello? Can you hear me.”

“Yes, I can hear you. I want to know where you are. Were you even in Flatland when I saw you?”

If they were able to use puppet-phones here, it was possible they could have used them in Flatland. Rather than them appearing only in their disguised form to protect their privacy, maybe that was the only way they could communicate since they weren’t on that planet, either.

“Our location isn’t important,” said Cowdrey, which told me that their location was very important. “What is important is that you were able to travel between worlds, and you have the potential of opening a gateway for the rest of us.”

“And why is that important?” I asked.

“Do you not see the possibilities?” said Cowdrey. “Do you not see the sea change in human development this could bring about? The entire future of the species rests in your hands at this moment.” He had stepped up the sales pitch to MLM levels. He’d be showing my brochures for a time-share in Malaga next.

“No. I see the possibility of a bunch of giant dickheads to amuse themselves at my expense. Why the hell would I care about your plans for the next step in human evolution? Do you have a track record of great ideas to help convince me of your expertise in universe-moulding? No, you fucking don’t. I don’t recall anyone asking for you to take the steering wheel — I certainly didn’t. And while we’re on the subject of you being two-faced, creepy, lying sacks of shit, why the hell are you working with Peter’s people if he’s the one you’ve been trying to stop all this time? Or is that yet another deception from the Council of Fucks?”

There was a pause.

“You’ve upset him,” said the first woman. “I told you he would be psychologically unprepared for a direct confrontation.” Morwenna, I remembered, was the one who fancied herself as something of an amateur shrink.

“When do you suppose he wouldn’t be psychologically unprepared?” asked the other woman, Dorothea. “And how do we coincide his stable periods with our window of access? It could take years before the two intersect.”

I got up from my chair and walked around the table to where Morwenna was. It was dark with the blinds closed, but no one seems to be able to make blinds that actually shut out the light completely.

I grabbed Morwenna by the shoulders and picked her up. She was very light, which I’m sure she would have been very pleased to hear. There was some resistance, but none of the dummies had moved very much, their connection didn’t seem as strong here as in Flatland were they’d been able to move around. It was like picking up a doll with the legs still in walk-mode.

Dorothea was on the other side of the table, so I walked around and placed Morwenna on top of her, after turning her upside down. They were now in what I would describe as a sexual position most women had not even attempted, not even the gay ones — the seated 69.

On the other hand, every kid who ever owned two dolls or two action figures (no, they aren’t the same thing) would be more than familiar with the pose.

Childish? Yes. Misogynistic? Maybe. Difficult to speak without looking foolish? Bingo.

The mannequin bodies, as well as being very light, were quite well articulated. The joints bent in the right way, which suggested they could be used to walk and move around. Perhaps the signal was only strong enough at certain times, when orbits brought the two entities close enough or when their Mum wasn’t using the hoover.

“What is this supposed to achieve?” said Morwenna, her voice actually coming out muffled.

“It’s supposed to achieve stress-relief for me, and by the looks of it, also Dorothea.”

I headed back to my chair, passing the fourth member of the group, who hadn’t spoken yet.

“What about you? Got anything to add?”

“Not yet,” said Legion, his voice gruff and mildly annoyed, like I’d dragged him away from something far more important.

I bent down and grabbed his ankles, and then raised them up and over his head, so his feet were behind his ears. It’s not often you have a meeting with someone in that position. Not unless you work at Google.

He tried to dislodge them, but I’d wedged them into place quite firmly. All he could do was quiver a bit, which only made the whole thing look more coquettish, bloody tease.

I sat back down on my chair, feeling like I’d got some of the resentment out of my system. Don’t worry, though, I still had plenty left.

“Now,” I said, “why are you working with Peter?” I made sure to sound very calm and reasonable, so Spread-eagle Larry and the Sixty-Nine Twins would look even more ridiculous by contrast.

“We aren’t,” said Cowdrey.

“They think you are,” I said.

“Yes,” said Dorothea, through Morwenna’s legs, “that’s the idea.”

“We have managed to place ourselves at the head of his organisation,” said Cowdrey. “He only managed to speak to them once, a long time ago. Enough to start the ball rolling, but it wasn’t until recently that they started making real progress. That’s when we stepped into the picture. They believe we are Peter’s proxies, for reasons I won’t go into, and that we are working together to bring him back.”

“That’s what you are doing,” I said.

“No,” said Cowdrey. “Well, yes, in a way, but not for the reason they think. The main thing is to remove him from the world he is in currently.”

“You want to bring him here because this world isn’t real?” I said.

“What makes you think this world isn’t real?” said Legion. It was hard to take the question seriously when he was talking from between his own legs.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Just look around. There’s no way any of this would be allowed to happen on the real Earth. It’s like a cartoon. It’s like some creative writing graduate decided to write an Orwellian satire, and used the most hackneyed, on-the-nose, cheesy examples possible. Ooh, look at me one-upping 1984. They’ll call me a genius in a hundred years when it all comes true. It’s not even realistic. Spurs are in the European cup final, for God’s sake.”

There was a pause as I got the feeling they had no idea what I was talking about.

“What makes you think this isn’t the Orwellian future Orwell warned us about coming true?” said Cowdrey.

I took a moment to think about it. Could this be the real world gone horribly wrong in my absence? Not that my absence had anything to do with it, but when you don’t see the many, many small steps it took to get from one side of Inconceivable Canyon to the other, it can look like an impossible jump.

“Either way,” I said, “I don’t see how bringing Peter here will be a good thing.”

“If this world isn’t real,” said Cowdrey, “what does it matter?”

Hoisted on my petard, without consent, which makes it a criminal offence, assuming you can get an eighty-year-old judge to believe you weren’t secretly carrying a petard around in the hope someone would give you a damn good hoisting.

“Peter comes here, and you get the free run of Flatland and its adjoining properties, is that the idea?”

“We only want people to have the freedom to do as they want,” mumbled Morwenna, “live as they please.”

“Without him, there is a much better chance for real peace and prosperity for all of Flatland,” said Legion. “We have the means to do it, but we needed someone with the correct energy signature. Someone who had been there and came back. It’s been very frustrating not being able to open the door without someone who was on the other side.”

“You already have that,” I said. “There’s a monster in Hampstead who fits the bill, plus his wife and kid. Three of them.” It was Hampstead, so the description could have fit any number of university professors and hospital consultants, but they knew who I meant.

“We tried… it didn’t work out the way we had hoped,” said Cowdrey.

“You mean he told you to sling your hook. Cheng’s got good instincts when it comes to monster-spotting. He knew what I was, and he knows what you are. You’re no different to Peter, you even have the same goal. You’re just more sneaky than him. Which is saying a lot.”

“You’re wrong,” said Morwenna. “We may fail, we may even make things worse, but we aren’t doing this for our own benefit. Each of us is more interested in being left alone to enjoy our lives the way we want, bothering no one. But Peter has made that more and more difficult over time, and he is doing the same for everyone he encounters. He looks down on people, sees them as mere stepping stones. We don’t.”

It was an impassioned speech, one that would have been more moving if she hadn’t been using Dorothea’s crotch as an amplifying device.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” I said. “I’m your stepping stone. None of you gives a shit about what’ll happen to me. I know I don’t either, but I’m entitled to abuse myself — you aren’t.” Halfway through my statement, I started to suspect my point wasn’t as profound as I had thought it would be.

“You’re the only one who can make this happen,” said Cowdrey. “But it’s your choice.”

“Great. I say no. We done?”

“Yes,” said Legion. “We have to stop now before we give away our position.”

“Give away to who?”

“To whom,” mumbled Morwenna.

“Don’t make me come over there and put you into a more embarrassing pose.” I know none of you think that’s possible, but that’s what makes me a goddamn artist, you plebs

“There are other people who are aware that we exist. They will have seen the energy spike when we opened communications. It’s only a matter of time until they get here.”

“Who? A rival faction of mannequins? What will they do, swing in through the windows and tip over onto their sides?”

“They are government forces, a combined unit,” said Cowdrey. “So far, they know very little, but they have observed signals that do not originate from this planet. It is only natural they would become curious. Unfortunately, they tend to be a little heavy-handed about these things.”

Great, the Men in Black would be after me now.

“Maybe I’ll just tell them all about it,” I said.

There was no answer. I waited but nothing. It looked like they’d got disconnected, or they’d hung up on me.

The door opened behind me. “We have to go,” said Orion. “We have a security breach.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re being raided, and if they get hold of you, you won’t be let out again for quite some time. What are those mannequins doing?”

“I know, weird, right? Anyway, I don’t work here, so I’ll just leave.”

“They have devices that can detect the energy you give off,” said Orion.

“I assure you,” I said, “I don’t give off any energy. My girlfriend often complains about it.”

“They will know you aren’t from here.” He made it sound quite ominous.

“Then what do you suggest I do?” I asked.

“We can get you out, but you have to hurry. They’re on their way up.”

He led me out of the room. The rest of the floor was in panic mode. Everyone was rushing around, emptying drawers and deleting files. They had these black batons they swiped over their computers and you could see the screens get all fucked up.

There was a man standing next to the lifts who I hadn’t noticed on the way in. He had a bank of screens showing security cameras. The outside of the building had a bunch of vans and trucks parked haphazardly. The stairwell had people running up them, dressed in what looked like riot gear. They weren’t carrying guns, they had backpacks on with a hose coming out of it. You know shit’s bad when they send for Ghostbusters.

The lift doors opened and Jack and his three men were revealed, looking tense and full of adrenalin.

“Let’s go,” said Jack, all business. They piled out of the lift, ready for action.

“Where to?” I said. Downstairs was going to be crawling with the bad guys. The other bad guys.

“The roof,” said Orion, pushing me into the stairwell after Jack.

I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to make an escape via the roof, but it wasn’t like I often got to be in a crazy death-defying escape attempt. Once a week, at most.

I had people in front and behind. I could hear banging footsteps from below. We ran up the stairs to the next floor. It was only two flights so I made it only partly out of breath.

Jack tapped a code into the keypad next to the fire door and threw it open. Everyone ran out and he slammed the door shut.

The roof was cold and windy. There were some cables and vents, a large antenna and some satellite dishes, and no safety rail. And a large open space with a yellow H painted on it.

“There,” said Jack, pointing up.

A helicopter was coming towards us at an angle.

Around us, I could pretty much see the whole of London. There were some really tall buildings, a few famous landmarks, but mostly houses and offices of no real note. This was my city, where I’d been born and raised. Looking at it in all its glory, I realised I felt nothing.

A population of eight million, and none of them meant anything to me, or I to them. Or them to each other.

People spoke a lot about community and society and the British way of life, but when you came down to it, people weren’t good or bad, they were just selfish. It was the best core strategy you could take.

Religious people ran on hate, rich people focused on making more money, do-gooders travelled to the third world countries they’d ‘helped’ to sleep with prostitutes. Everyone else was just trying to keep up.

What if this really was my world? So what? What difference did it make who was in charge? No one was trying to pull in the right direction, just eight million wrong ones.

Every person down there, you offered them a free phone every year for life, the latest model — not the one with 0.6mm smaller bezel, I mean the folding phone, the 3D phone, the phone with a headphone jack, the real hot shit you’ve been waiting for — and in exchange they just had to let someone far away they never met get shot in the head, they’d totally go for it. What if it was a criminal, a murderer, a rapist, a paedophile? Wouldn’t even read the ToS before signing up. Frankly, even if it was Cousin Henry who you never liked anyway, electronic signature, no need for a pen, just type in your name.

I realised what I wanted. I wanted to not be here. This was home, but that didn’t mean it was anything special. How many homes are there? One for every person, right? How many of them can be worth a good Amazon review?

I also realised there was something very wrong about the way I’d been bundled up here. I turned around and tried to open the door. It was locked.

“What are you doing?” shouted Jack. “Our rides nearly here.”

“I’m not going with you fucks. This isn’t my first rodeo, Brokeback. Open the door.”

He looked at me, thinking over his options, I would guess. “I can’t do that.” He reached behind him and pulled out a weird looking gun. A taser.

Jack obviously knew the risk of what he was doing, but these Geronimo types don’t think they can ever lose a quickdraw.

He fired. The dart flew at me and then through me, sticking into the door. The two wires still attached to the taser went in my chest and out my back.

Jack pulled the trigger again and the wires buzzed.

My hand looked normal to me. I reached out and touched the door. It passed right through it.

I gave Jack a last look, letting him know next time we met, I’d keep my promise, and then I walked through the door.

70: Restrictions May Apply

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

 

Point-Two closed his eyes and concentrated on the conversation between Ubik and the Vendx Chief Supervisor as they negotiated Ubik’s price for handing over Fig.

He listened intently, waiting for… something. He didn’t know what it was, but he was more than confident it would come. A message, a signal, a warning to assume the crash position… something.

Trying to figure out Ubik was similar to bouncing around a zero-G training room — it might look random and uncontrolled as you went spinning from one side to the other, but if you understood the angles, there was only one possible endpoint to any trajectory.

“He sold us out,” said Bev, her hands making a slapping sound as they landed on either side of her face. “The bastard sold us out.”

“I don’t think so,” said Fig. “Whatever he’s doing, he isn’t going to make a deal with a Vendx supervisor. He would only hand me over to someone in upper management, so he could be sure they had the authority to give him what he wanted.”

Point-Two agreed with Fig’s assessment. There was no doubting Ubik would switch allegiances if he thought he could make good use of his new partners, for however long that lasted — an Ubik alliance was always a temporary one — but he wouldn’t bother with a lowly chief supervisor. Anyone in middle management was just a toy to be played with, just like one of their drones. They’d have to wheel out their CEO if they wanted an actual deal in writing.

“And how is that better?” said Bev. “He’s going to work his way up from this guy to the next guy and then the next…” Her anger dissipated into confusion. “I suppose that means we have a little time. You think he’s doing this deliberately?”

She wanted to believe Ubik was some wild idiot who acted on impulse with no idea of where he was going or what the ramifications of his actions would be. She wasn’t far from the truth. That was what Ubik wanted everyone to believe it, but if one thing was clear by now, it was that everything Ubik did was deliberate. Insane, but deliberate.

Even now, Ubik was driving the Chief Supervisor to the edge of his patience with his bizarre demands in exchange for his traitorous services. He would have Fig delivered — he had yet to explain how — for the measly price of one starship. Not a shuttle or fast cruiser. No, Ubik wanted an actual full-size top-end starship that required at least thirty people to make up a skeleton crew, a hundred for a full complement. He didn’t want any people, though, which would make it impossible to fly the ship anywhere.

The cost of a luxury starship would probably not have been a major sticking point, but Ubik didn’t want any starship, he wanted the RG-7Z, made by Rigogo, Vendx’s chief competitor.

“The RG-7 has a mid-rear gravity engine with an R8-powered star well as standard. That makes it twice as fast as any other ship in its class, unless you opt for add-ons and modifications, which just ruins the look of any ship, in my opinion. It has the classic Artori Demense sleek lines. They used his soul box connected to a two double ten-twenty-four exenabyte mind-rendering AI to create a new design from an old master. The unitary displacement is breathtaking. And the distinctive exhaust note from the thrusters… music.”

Ubik’s smitten manner as he casually talked up the many top-of-the-line features of Rigogo’s premium starship was impressive. He had all the specs memorised, even down to how long the waiting list was. Only six standard months, as long as you had the connections.

Chief Supervisor Mayden tried to explain how Vendx weren’t in a position to jump the queue, and how, in any case, the VX-4i was a much better option for a single person, but Ubik was lost in a dream world where he piloted a massive ship alone through the stars, presumably with bits of string attached to all the controls on the bridge so he could tug on them like the performance of some interstellar puppet show.

The most impressive part was how Ubik had managed to skip the part of the negotiation where CS Mayden would outright refuse such a ludicrous request. Chief Engineer Ulanov was getting a ship, it was only a matter of make and model.

“Yes,” said Fig. “He’s doing it deliberately. He’s keeping them busy. And he knows that we’re listening, so he’s keeping them busy so we can take action at the appropriate time. I only wish I knew when that was and what action he wanted us to take.”

Point-Two felt the same. That’s why he was listening so hard. Ubik wanted them to hear this. He wanted them to figure out what he wanted from the rest of his guild — they might as well just make him honorary guild master at this point — but he had given no indication of what he needed.

It was a sign of the backwards nature of Ubik’s approach that he was putting everyone’s lives at risk, and it was Point-Two and the others who felt like they weren’t living up to Ubik’s expectations.

“I think you’re giving him way too much credit,” said Bev. “He’s not a genius, he’s nuts. You’re just hoping he’s on our side. We should be trying to get out of here, not waiting for him to give us the signal so we can get ourselves killed while he escapes in his brand new ship.”

“You could be right,” said Fig. “But I don’t think so. He wouldn’t have left that behind if he was going to run out on us.”

Point-Two couldn’t see where Fig was pointing, but even with his eyes closed he knew it would be at the small cube on top of the drone. Ubik had left behind his Grandma’s soul box for Jace to use. He wouldn’t have done that if he had no intention of coming back for it.

“I can assure you the VX-4 series is every bit as good as the Rigogo ship,” said CS Mayden, frustrated, impatient, desperate.

“But have you seen the RG-7Z Caliento limited edition?” said Ubik. “It has fins on the rear stabilisers.”

“Fins serve no purpose,” shouted Mayden. He quickly brought his voice back under control. “They’re entirely cosmetic.”

“No, no, you’re mistaken Chief Supervisor, they increase stabilisation in atmospheres of above 1 kPa by over 0.2%,” said Ubik, sounding suitably impressed.

“It’s a starship,” said Mayden. “Why would you take into an atmosphere?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t, that would be a terrible idea. But the specs are stunning, aren’t they?”

“How has he not realised he’s being stalled,” said Princep Galeli. “What kind of engineer would be obsessed over something like fins that give you a tiny increase in overall stability, in a situation you will never be in?”

“All of them,” said Captain Hickory and Gipper together.

“We can put fins on the VX-4i,” said Mayden. “Six of them. And paint them bright red.”

“Six seems a little excessive,” said Ubik. “I wouldn’t want people to think I was showing off.”

“Then five, or four — however many you want. Just tell me how you plan to get the Ollo boy to me in one piece? What weapons do you have? Do you have codes to the security system? How are they controlling points of entry? I need some indication of your ability to deliver in exchange for the premium model in our luxury class.”

“Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry for getting carried away.” Ubik was graciously going to reveal his plan now, Point-Two could feel it coming. “Listen, can you access the sim-U from your mobile command centre?”

“Of course. Why? What good would that do?”

“Have a look,” said Ubik.

There was a pause. “It’s operational.”

“Yes,” said Ubik. “Your assault team are currently trapped inside a simulation. All twelve of them.”

Point-Two opened his eyes and looked at the eleven men strapped into the simulation machine.

“Can you link up to the sim-U?” Ubik was saying. “Hard connection, so they can’t break it remotely?”

“Yes, but then what?”

“Your men are isolated and can’t get out on their own, but if you can give them an extraction point into your ship’s mainframe, they could give you control of the entire complex, all the security systems, all the files, all the recordings. There are security protocols in place to avoid backwash, but I can cut them from here.”

There was another pause.

“My people say they could…” Mayden sounded very hesitant. Nervous, almost. “It isn’t strictly allowed, we have agreements not to use those points of entry for our non-civilian customers.”

Ubik was getting him to open the backdoor into the sim-U. A backdoor they weren’t supposed to have, and only use when they could get away with it. If the rest of their customer base found out about the existence of such an abusable protocol in Vendx’s machines, there would be huge legal trouble for Vendx. A class-action suit brought by an entire galaxy’s worth of customers could ruin them.

“I know this isn’t what the entry point was for, originally… but isn’t this an emergency situation, Chief Supervisor? I figure it wouldn’t be wrong to break down a door in an emergency.”

Ubik’s suggestion sounded more than reasonable. But a door worked both ways.

Point-Two turned his head the other way and looked at Fig. “I think…”

“...he wants me to go in,” Fig finished for him.

There were twelve seats and one empty.

“There are eleven other people in there,” said Weyla. “All organics.”

Fig sat down in the spare chair. “That’s fine. They can’t kill me in there.”

“But what is it he wants you to do once you get inside?” said Bev.

“I have no idea,” said Fig. “Princep, could you?”

Princep Galeli brought the helmet down over Fig’s head and then went to the console. Point-Two went over and stood next to him.

“I think he wants you to run the Origin simulation.”

“The Origin?” said Princep Galeli. “He wants Trainee Matton in there with the Vendx assault team? Why?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Point-Two. “Do you have an alternative suggestion?”

Princep Galeli frowned and loaded in the simulation.

Chapter 438

“Take his body to the car,” said Orion.

Jack nodded at two of his men. They grabbed Samson at either end and carried him out, with Mandy chasing after them to make sure they didn’t scuff the wood floor in the hallway on their way out. She had made a full recovery thanks to my healing skills. Did she thank me? Did anyone, ever?

“I apologise,” Orion said to Cheng. “It was not my intention to harm you or your wife.”

Cheng didn’t say anything, he just stared at Orion. Probably deciding on the right wine to go with his meal.

“I noticed you didn’t mention me on your list of non-targets,” I said.

“Of course, we wish you no harm, either,” said Orion. “We need you.”

Of all the excuses he could have made, that one had the ring of truth. They wouldn’t want me dead if they needed my help to get to Flatland. But that didn’t mean they had to take me willingly. A non-lethal paralysing toxin would have made it much easier to transport me to wherever they wanted to take me. Plus, I wouldn’t be able to talk, so no updates on how well I was getting on with each of their mothers. The appeal of this approach was obvious to even me.

“Yeah, not harmed, just incapacitated,” I said. “I think it’s fairly obvious what the plan was.” I turned to look at Jack. He didn’t appear to be upset at the loss of one of his team — I guess he was used to it — but he was standing a little straighter, more ready for action in case I tried to extend my killstreak.

I’m not a psycho, although anyone who has to say that has probably already crossed a line. Murder is not something I enjoy or find easy. Again, to have to make that point would suggest it’s already too late to convince anyone.

What you learn, though, once you find yourself in a world where people think killing is as reasonable a way to solve a problem as any other, is that the advantage goes to the person who makes the highest initiative roll.

Going first has always been a key factor to winning. Playing white in chess (or in life, let’s be honest) means the game is yours to lose.

Even if your opponent is bigger and stronger, if you make up your mind to attack first, you will have the upper hand. Unless, that is, they’re expecting you to. But no one expects that of me, at least not the first time.

Normally, I would restrain myself, hiding and avoiding conflict, because you want the moment when you do go all-in to be a surprise. Not for any tactical reason, just to see the horrified look on the other fucker’s face when they realise they’re going to lose to me.

In this case, though, it felt appropriate to get it out of the way. It was clear to me no matter how pleasant these guys were being in the relaxed environment of Mandy’s home with cushions from Istanbul complementing the rugs from Marrakech, they would have taken my life without any qualms whenever it became a convenient option. This was nothing new, but the dart showed how far along that path they were already.

The contraption had been all wood. Orion had said they couldn’t take metal with them to Flatland. Whether that was true or not, they believed it, so a wooden weapon of modern design made sense. They were prepared. Everything had been planned, and I was needed in some capacity. Once that need was at an end, they would dispose of me one way or another. Death, stranding me in the void, making me watch the Justice League movie — something cruel and heartless.

I didn’t have any proof they would turn on me, but then the whole point of a successful betrayal is to not give anything away. They rely on you having to react, which means going second. You lose.

Of course, if you jump the gun, that makes you vulnerable to claims of dishonesty, lack of sportsmanship and so on. The trick here, and you can use this yourself, is to not give a shit.

Nothing sounds sweeter than the people who claim they’re tough and unflappable whining about the rules not being followed. But it’s not fair… Shut the fuck up, snowflake.

To give them their due, Jack and company weren’t complaining about what I’d done. They knew they’d fucked up, but they also knew it had been down to RNG. The device had malfunctioned or Samson had flexed his wrist the wrong way. Whatever had set it off, there had been nothing wrong with the idea, per se. Which meant, they weren’t going to think of me as someone who could beat them. I had just gotten lucky this once.

The thing is, though, if I win playing black because white made a mistake, you shouldn’t feel confident about not making a mistake in game two. The next game, I get to play white. You can play as well as you like, I’m still the one who gets to decide the outcome.

“I warned you about him,” said Mandy as she came back with the two men who had removed Samson’s body. “He made everyone feel nervous wherever he turned up over there, too.”

She made me sound like the guy who turned up to parties with his acoustic guitar.

“So, you’re famous over there?” said Jack. I think he was trying to reassess me in light of my casual offing of one of his men.

“In some circles,” I said. “Not Tom-Cruise-famous, more like Elephant-Man-famous. People come to make fun of me, and leave in tears.”

“You’re not going to trust us again, are you?” said Jack.

“I never trusted you in the first place,” I said. “It was just a matter of when I’d have to kill you. My only advantage is that you need me alive, which makes it tough for you guys, like when you’re play-fighting with your girlfriend and you’re trying to make sure you don’t actually hurt her while she’s eagerly trying to smash you in the balls. But if you plan to just knock me out and stick me in some machine to suck out whatever you need, it’s better I start reducing your numbers while I can.”

“You invited us here to kill us?” asked Jack, very casually.

“No,” I said. “That would make me a terrible host. My reputation as a premium party planner would be irrevocably damaged.”

“I was thinking of starting a party planning business,” said Mandy, suddenly interested in the conversation. “I like parties.”

It was noticeable that the death of an American in her lounge had not unduly upset Mandy. Whether she felt it was a fair result considering she had almost died, or if being married to a demon had toughened her up, it was hard to say. Either way, she was no longer the insecure strumpet willing to suck up to men so they’d look after her. Apparently, finding a man who can look after you is what you need to stop needing to be looked after.

Then again, once you see enough people die, it becomes less traumatising, especially when most of them were giant arseholes whose absence makes life a great deal more pleasant for those left behind.

“I give you my word nothing like this will happen again,” said Orion.

“And if you break your word?” I asked. I was interested in seeing how he was going to sell me on the idea of trusting him.

“Name your price.”

Smart, leaving it up to me. If only people were willing to put on an explosive collar and give you the detonator when they made promises. It feels like a person’s word just isn’t worth much these days. About the same as a carrier bag of Zimbabwean dollars.

“Okay. So, let’s go see the Council.”

Orion raised a surprised eyebrow. “You’ll go?”

“Sure. I’m curious to see what they have to say for themselves. I assume you understand if you try something, there’ll be another death. Yours.”

He wanted me to name a price, I thought something personal might make him sit up and pay attention to what his dogs were up to.

I turned back to Jack. “That goes for you, too. I know you all think you could easily take me in a fair fight, but it should be obvious by now that I don’t fight fair, because you’re absolutely right. Next time, I’ll just end all of you. I would have done it this time, but then I’d be the one who’d have to get rid of the bodies, which is more work than I’m willing to take on. I suppose Cheng could just eat you, but he says you don’t taste good. Probably all the gristle.”

My grandstanding was a cheap tactic, and only effective because I had Cheng there to back me up. Intimating we would act as a team would be more of a concern to them than me on my own, even though Cheng was probably not that interested in wasting his time on them or me.

There was no reaction from Jack and his squad, but there was also no more of the pleasant bonhomie they had exuded when they first arrived. They were just doing their job, of course. No need to make it personal.

“Excellent,” said Orion. “Shall we?”

“One minute, I just need to talk to Cheng first. In private. We’ll be back in a minute.” I moved towards the stairs that led down into the basement with Cheng following.

“I’ll stay here, shall I?” said Mandy, unimpressed by out impromptu ’boys only’ meeting.

“Yeah, thanks,” I said. “Keep an eye on things.” I looked at the tough guys standing ready to roll behind the sofa and jump out a window, or whatever tough guys did. “If she tries anything, just scream and we’ll come running back to save you,” I said to Jack.

Mandy did not look amused.

Cheng was fine with leaving Mandy alone with these strangers. I suppose true love is when you have complete trust in your wife, and it probably helped that everyone was scared shitless of him.

Samson’s death had hardly been a demonstration of my power, more like a demonstration of what a sneaky little shit I could be. Had Samson known what I was going to do, no doubt he would have stopped me. That’s what they thought. They were wrong, though. He could never have known what I was going to do because I had no idea what I was going to do until I did it.

Down in Cheng’s lab, I closed the door and lowered my voice. “I’m going to see the Council.”

“I know,” said Cheng, also speaking quietly. “Why are we whispering? The room is soundproofed.”

“Hurry up!” screamed Mandy, very audibly. “I have to feed the baaa-by.”

“How can we hear her if it’s soundproofed?” I asked.

“Nothing’s that soundproofed,” said Cheng.

“Won’t she wake the kid?”

“He’s immune. Finds it soothing.”

A kid born with the power to ignore female screeching. He was destined for greatness.

“I don’t think this is going to go well,” I said.

“Then why are you going?” asked Cheng, very reasonably.

“Mostly, because I have nothing better to do, but also because I want to get it out of the way before the cup final. Spurs are playing.”

Cheng looked at me like he thought I was wasting my life on stupid shit, which made me suspect he was also a Spurs fan. We can see each other’s pain.

“What I was thinking,” I said, “was maybe you have something lying around here that could help. A potion or something. My powers are still a bit patchy, so I might not be able to fight them off if things get sticky.”

“Why would you get sticky?”

“I don’t mean it literally. It’s a phrase.”

He looked like he didn’t believe me. “Hmm, you could try this.” He took down a large bottle containing a clear liquid from a shelf.

“What does it do?”

“If you drink it, it will kill you. It’s mostly bleach.”

“How would that help?”

“Your powers are more available to you the closer to death you get.” His innocent expression suggested he saw no problem with this approach to activating my abilities. I suppose drinking Domestos wasn’t as bad as having to eat a tin of spinach, but there wasn’t much between them, to be honest.

“Don’t you have something less… lethal? What about a smoke bomb or a magic hole I can jump into, got anything like that?” An emergency escape hatch sounded like the sort of thing I could find a use for.

“Hmm. I’ve got these.” He took a jar from the table with all his papers and computers. It looked like it was full of coloured balls, like hard boiled sweets.

“What do they do? Rot your teeth?”

“No. If you hold one in your mouth, it makes you head glow from the inside, like a lantern.”

“What’s the point of that?”

“Nothing. Charlie really likes it.”

This was the problem with new parents — too obsessed with making their kids happy. “Give me three.”

I tried to get more useful shit out of him, but he had very little of any practical use. I began to think he only came down here to get away from her upstairs. Couldn’t really blame him for that.

We returned to the lounge where Orion was sitting, browsing his phone. His men had gone back to their car. Mandy looked annoyed at the lack of attention being shown her way.

“Had a nice time, did you?”

“We were talking business,” I said, “not having a good time.” She didn’t believe me, of course. “I’m ready.”

Orion got up. “Right. Let’s get going. Don’t worry, this will be a wonderful experience, no problems, nothing to worry about.”

The more he claimed everything was going to be fine, the less convinced I was. But I did want to see if the Council was the same one and if so, I had a few choice words I wanted to say to them.

Outside, it was a pleasant afternoon, which in British terms meant it wasn’t raining yet. Wimbledon was approaching, so the summer deluge would soon be here.

“If we don’t see you again,” said Mandy from the doorway, “thanks for saving my life.”

“No problem,” I said. “Try not to be a terrible mother.” I got in the car before she could empty the baby over my head.

The trip from Hampstead to Chelsea took about forty minutes. The other car followed us, two black SUVs with tinted windows like we were some kind of security detail. Not a rare sight in West London.

Orion waited for me to initiate conversation, so needless to say, there wasn’t any.

Our destination wasn’t a big spooky house with a garish facade — you have to go all the way to Richmond for that sort of thing — it was an office block, all glass and chrome. Te sign out front said it was called Brand New World Inc. Cute.

We pulled into an underground carpark full of expensive cars that looked freshly waxed. The whole place reeked of money and made me feel underdressed in my jeans and tee shirt. If the cars were making me feel insecure, I dreaded to see what the people would do.

The four guys stood by their car. I assumed Samson was in the boot. Did they have an onsite incinerator?

Orion’s driver was even more jacked than Jack. He didn’t say anything and got back in the car and drove off. Probably to have it washed and polished.

“This way,” said Orion, heading towards the lifts. The others stayed where they were.

We took the lift to the top, the thirty-third floor. The doors opened onto a busy floor, with people walking around, working inside glass offices and making phone calls in a very serious manner. I had no idea what they did here.

Orion led me confidently through the activity, ignored by everyone. We reached double doors on the other side and he placed his palm on the panel next to it, like some Mission Impossible shit. As soon as it beeped green, the whole floor fell silent. Everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at us.

Orion pushed one of the doors opened and indicated for me to go in.

It was dark inside, the blinds drawn. It was a conference room with a large table in the middle with a dozen or so chairs. Four figures were seated at the far end.

Orion flipped a switch and lights came on. It revealed a very dusty room and four mannequins wearing white masks, bent over or hanging off the side of the chair. They looked ridiculous.

“Sorry, been a while since anyone used this place. Take a seat, they’ll be with you in a moment.”

I brushed off a chair and sat down. Good thing I didn’t get dressed up. Orion turned the lights off again.

“They don’t like the lights,” said Orion. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Shouldn’t be long.” He backed out of the room and closed the door.

I sat there, waiting. Not the exciting encounter I had envisioned, so that was a plus.

Ten minutes later, as I was nodding off, one of the mannequin’s bolted into a sitting position.

“Ah, Colin, nice to see you again,” said Cowdrey.

“Yeah,” I said. “So, quick question, what the fuck?”

69: Limited Time Offer

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

Ubik moved surprisingly fast. One moment he was over by the main entrance to the hall, the next, he was at the other end of the room, exiting through the small door that led into the Academy’s back rooms and instructor-only areas.

Figaro watched him go from one end of the room to the other before realising Ubik was about to leave them all behind. Normally, Figaro would have been able to anticipate someone’s sudden flight, but with Ubik, it was never clear what he was going to do next. Probably not even to Ubik.

“Grab him,” said PT, running past Figaro.

Everyone had been caught flat-footed by all the sudden changes in direction. Attack, defend, run this way, run that way. Their collective faith in whatever Ubik had decided was their best chance of coming out of this alive had left them unable to think for themselves. Everyone was looking at everyone else.

What now? What should we do? Who’s in charge?

They’d fought Vendx to a standstill. Retreat seemed to be the opposite of what they should be doing. And where would they run to? The building was surrounded. The whole city was surrounded.

It was almost like this was what Ubik had been building up to — mass confusion that would allow him to pivot from one insanely unlikely gamble to the next. Perhaps that was giving him too much credit. Perhaps not enough. Figaro was just as confused as everyone else. Almost everyone else.

PT was already at the door. He seemed to be the only one keeping his focus on Ubik, instead of the chaos Ubik produced. “He’s going to do this solo if we don’t stop him.”

Was that bad? Figaro wondered. PT certainly seemed to think so.

“There’s three ships landing,” said Bev, who was nearest the open doors and leaning forward to see out.

“Close the doors,” Figaro shouted to whoever was willing to listen as he ran after PT. He reached the door and stopped before he ran into PT’s back. “What? Where did he go?”

PT turned around and shrugged. “No idea. We weren’t quick enough.”

Behind PT was a long passage with a roof but no walls. All around them were other similarly covered paths leading off to other parts of the Academy. On one side was the rear of the courtyard, on the opposite, a high wall. Figaro scanned the ground and walls but there was no sign of Ubik, no disturbance to indicate anyone had passed through here recently.

“Damn it,” said PT. “He’s going to do something incredibly risky, I can feel it.”

“Aren’t we relying a little too much on him?” said Figaro.

“Yes,” said PT. “But if we let him get any distance between us, he’s more likely to use us as bait or collateral. If he’s standing next to you, he’s less likely to call down an airstrike on your position. Slightly less likely.”

Figaro considered it a cold interpretation of Ubik’s actions — a willful disregard for anyone else unless they directly impacted Ubik’s chances of survival — but that didn’t mean it was wrong.

“Do you want to go find him?” said Figaro.

“No point. I’m not good enough to track him if he doesn’t want to be tracked. What about you?”

Figaro shook his head. “I need to study him more, and even then…”

They turned around and re-entered the hall. There were other matters to deal with, as Ubik only knew too well.

The Seneca women were barricading the main entrance with furniture they’d ripped out of their fittings. It probably wouldn’t make much of a difference but it at least gave them something to do.

Captain Hickory was standing with his crew, leaning over Jace who had his hand inside the drone he’d been working on.

“You’re the one who made it,” said Hickory. “Unmake it.”

“I can’t,” said Jace. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s too strong. We can’t break the shield with a signal, not with the equipment I have here.”

“But they can’t get through, either,” said Princep Galeli. “They can’t give their people instructions.”

“The Termination Team is autonomous,” said Figaro. “They’ll just make a clean sweep of everything in their path.”

“Then why haven’t they?” said Gipper, clinging to the large weapon he had come in with and refused to put down.

He was right, there had been enough time for the Termination Team — all three of them — to start their assigned task. Figaro looked around the hall.

“They might be waiting for them.” Figaro pointed at the eleven Vendx organics who were still lying on the ground in their underwear. “They represent a sizeable investment the company might not be willing to sacrifice.”

“Are you trying to think like Ubik?” said PT.

“I’m trying to think like Vendx,” said Figaro. “They can’t negotiate through their PR department, not with the drone shield still up, and the Termination Team only know how to terminate things. Someone needs to give the kill command and they haven’t. Yet.”

“What do we do once the rest of them regain consciousness?” asked Weyla, walking over to the Vendx assistant manager who was still in his suit and very dead. She prodded him in the stomach with her boot to make sure.

“Just knock them out again,” said Bev, holding one of the guns the assault team had dropped. She aimed at the ground, one eye closed, and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. “How did he get it to fire?”

“We should just kill them,” said Leyla, standing next to her sister. “They’ll only pose more of a problem if they wake up. They may be lousily trained, but they still have organics that can do a lot of damage.” She pulled out her own gun and aimed it at the nearest Vendx head.

“No,” said Figaro. “They might not be able to get a signal up on their ships, but the Termination Team will be reading their life signs from down here. It’s probably what’s stalling them, for now. You kill them and it’ll be like firing a starter’s pistol.”

“Then what?” said Weyla. “Tie them up and serve them meals twice a day?”

Figaro paused to gauge the atmosphere in the room. To his surprise, he realised every one of them was looking at him. Had he just become the leader? It didn’t feel like he had earned it. More that their reluctant acceptance of Ubik’s orders had left them in need of a focal point, and a strong desire not to be it themselves. Not so much leader as someone to complain to and blame.

“Let’s move them,” said Figaro. “They won’t be that hard to transport to the simulation room if we work together.”

“Why are we going to…” Hickory stopped mid-sentence. “Oh, I see. Yes. It will hold them for now.”

Between the nine of them, they were able to carry and drag the eleven surviving Vendx organics through the rear door and to the simulation room via a series of empty hallways.

Once there, the limp bodies were each put into a chair and hooked up to the machine. Princep Galeli operated the console. “They’ll wake up in a cell, unable to get out.”

“And once they realise they’re in a sim-U?” asked Gipper, still holding onto his gun like a comforter.

“They’ll know almost immediately. They can’t break out unless they have very specific skills, which they don’t seem to have.”

“But they could break out?” said Gipper.

“Yes,” said Galeli. “Anything is possible.”

“One problem solved,” said PT. “Now, how do we take care of the Termination Team?”

“I could hand myself over,” said Figaro. “I probably have a reasonable chance of escaping once I’m on their orbital ship.” 

“Won’t they just kill the rest of us, then?” asked PT.

“If they knew who my parents are, then undoubtedly yes. They couldn’t afford to leave behind witnesses. But as long as they think I’m just a trainee who stumbled onto an anomaly, they will probably cut their losses while they still have the chance. Ubik did convince them there would be someone on the other end of his message. The longer they hang around, the more chance of being discovered.”

“I don’t think you should go alone,” said Weyla, glancing at her sister. “It is our duty to protect you.”

“No,” said Figaro, “it isn’t. Your presence would only make them suspicious about my true identity. This is the only way to make them think they have come out ahead. A net gain means a win to them. You’re welcome to contact my mother once you leave here.” He sighed. “I had hoped not to rely on my family while I was on my own, but it seems events have conspired against me. What I found on the Origin is too important to risk leaving in the hands of a corporation like Vendx.”

Figaro felt the sincerity of his own words and was convinced by them. His idea was certainly risky, but what other options were there?

One of the Vendx organics began shaking in his chair, his chest jumping.

“He’s fine,” said Princep Galeli, checking the readings. “Just trying to break out, not strong enough to override the system blocks I put in place.”

“I think I can hear something,” said Jace. He had brought his gear with him and had set it up in the corner, using some of the equipment in the simulation room to help boost his signal.

“Is it the Motherboard?” asked Hickory.

“No,” said Jace. “I think it’s…”

“Hello, hello? Anyone? This is Chief Engineer Ulanov.”

“Yes, this is Chief Supervisor Mayden.”

“How did he get a signal through?” said Hickory, in an accusing tone.

“He didn’t,” said Jace. “He’s speaking to someone down here. They must have sent down a mobile control unit so they could stay in contact with their teams.”

If they weren’t able to maintain a connection from orbit, they would come down here themselves.

“Did Trainee Ubik know this would happen?” said Galeli, sounding impressed. “He left us to hold off the Termination Team while he prepared for their leader’s arrival?”

It didn’t sound that far-fetched, to be honest. With the shield blocking all communication, how else was the Chief Supervisor meant to supervise?

“He’s got to have a plan, right?” said Bev, hopeful.

Figaro looked at PT, who didn’t look hopeful. He was straining to listen, like he was afraid he might miss something.

“Listen, Chief Supervisor, I think there’s something you should know. This trainee you’ve been sent to pick up, he isn’t just some kid with no connections. He’s Ramon Ollo’s son. You know who that is, of course.”

There was a pause but one that felt like it was being held by someone choosing their words correctly. “You’re sure about this.”

“Absolutely. You know what will happen if he finds out you took his son. You understand why your superiors want this kept very quiet. But you have to bring him in, you can’t just bomb the place to pieces from orbit. I can help you, for a price. I can give you the Ollo boy.”