V. Moody's Blog, page 37

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Nine

It wasn’t normal to see an agent’s face. They kept them on the whole time they were around people, probably even when they were off-duty. He had seen the Chief of Staff without his, but that was different — it was hard to even be in the same room as him when he was wearing his mask.

But this agent had just whipped his off, as though it was something he felt was in the way. And then he had mentioned Nic’s father, which was also surprising, and very distracting.

Perhaps that explained the reveal — a family friend wanting Nic to know about their shared history. The man had a smile and none of the intimidation the other agents seemed to carry around like a brandished sword, but he did have cold, cold eyes that were hard for Nic to look into. Was that a trait shared by all agents?

For a moment, Nic wondered if his father had been in the Secret Service. It seemed impossible. Nic’s mother had said he was a regular soldier, had described his uniform, his medals, his sword. All of it was that of an infantryman.

But then, wouldn’t the Secret Service require you to keep your work secret? Even from your family? Up until now, Nic had just assumed they weren’t allowed to get married or have children. It didn’t sound implausible. But maybe a life of service to the crown with no personal life was something only a young boy would consider acceptable. To Nic, the idea of a wife and family felt so far away as to not even be a possibility. But he knew that would change.

The area around the entrance to the girls’ dorm was empty, no students, no porters, late afternoon and everyone busy or absent. It was just him, in a rush to find an agent, and the agent.

There was no time to discuss his father, even though he had never met anyone who had worked with him or even known him. He was a mystery as far as friends and family. It had seemed normal, as all things did when you had no choice but to take what you were given.

Nic looked up at the man who had said his name was Rutga. His first name? His last name? He was tall but slightly stooped, a man resting between battles. He had a soldier’s face — scars that had browned with age into creases and ones that had formed welts on his neck, like someone had tried to hang him and decapitate him on several occasions.

He was much older than he had expected an agent to look, but he had no real reason to think that way. A well-trained agent could be any age, as long as he could do the job.

Nic shook his head and tried to focus on the matter at hand — the imminent attack on the capital. “Sorry, I need to speak to someone in the Secret Service.”

“You can speak to me,” said the man.

“Dragons,” blurted out Nic, like that explained everything, the beginning and end of the story in one word. “The capital.”

Nic was stumbling over his words, his focus all over the place since he encountered this agent. He had been desperate to find one, had done so almost immediately, and now he couldn’t even think straight, let alone put a sentence together.

“Yes, yes, we know all about it,” said the man. “You don’t have to worry about any of that. We have people taking care of it.”

“No, I mean, I know where they are, how they hide during the day. I need you to send a message to your commander. They need to warn the capital.”

“I see,” said the agent. “Well, you better come with me then.” He smiled encouragingly, but it was an oddly artificial expression, a combination of muscle movements from an old memory. He put his mask back on his whole body changed, becoming straighter and more powerful.

Nic had seen the effect before, with the Chief of Staff. The mask had a way of creating an entirely new persona.

“This way,” said the agent. He stepped forward to guide Nic, and Nic instinctively stepped back.

He wasn’t sure why he had done that. There was no threat coming from the man, his movements were actually quite gentle. But not in a way that was reassuring. It reminded Nic of a hunter trying to get close enough to his prey to make sure of the kill. Simply wring its neck with your bare hands and save the cost of an arrow.

“Who are you, really?” said Nic. Despite everything that clearly showed who this man was simply by looking at him, something felt off.

“I told you, Rutga. Sergeant-at-Arms. Listen, I’ll be happy to give you all the answers you want, maybe even tell you a few stories about the old days, if you’ve got the patience for an old man’s rambling, but we have to go, right now.”

There was no reason not to trust the man, but Nic’s body refused to accept the invitation. He had to get a message to the capital, to the Chief of Staff. This man could be the easiest way to do that, but somehow Nic knew he wasn’t. He couldn’t explain it. He looked wrong in the uniform.

Nic closed his eyes for a second, switch to the bird’s eye view of the world, and asked to be shown all the Secret Service agents on school grounds.

Lights appeared all around the school, all around but not near him.

“You aren’t a Secret Service agent,” said Nic. “You don’t belong in that mask. Where did you get it?”

Suddenly, Nic was sure the man had taken what he was wearing from someone who had not given it up willingly.

“No, you’re right. I’m borrowing this getup to avoid creating a fuss. In my line of work, you don’t want to attract too much attention. Blend in and keep your head down, as I used to tell your father. Not that he ever listened. Now, let’s not end up like him.”

Rutga had his arm around Nic. He’d closed the gap between them in an instant. If he was an old man as he claimed, as he had appeared, to be fair, then he was still a sprightly one. The pressure from his hand resting lightly on Nic’s shoulder was irresistible. Nic found himself walking alongside the man in the mask, his feet moving of their own volition. There was no force being applied, no pressure, no shoving or pushing. But the urge to keep going with the forward momentum flowed through him.

They were already around the corner, away from the sight of the main path, and away from the areas occupied by agents. This man seemed to have a map of his own, and he was using to stay clear of everyone Nic might hope to bump.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Nic, inexorably drawn into the next step and then the one after that. “Who are you working for?”

Rutga just smiled and nodded, his hand guiding Nic with the lightest of fingertip adjustments.

This wasn’t magic, but it was every bit as beguiling —  a trick that was impressive no matter how it was done.

“I’m here to help, Nic. You’re worried about the capital, aren’t you? That’s where I’m taking you. You’ll be safe there, you can trust me. I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to my old friend’s boy.”

For some reason, his words only made Nic more anxious. He wanted to break free and run, but he couldn’t. It was like his muscles were locked into one set of movements. The one Rutga had chosen for him.

They were headed into the trees, a small copse behind the dormitories. Nic had seen it often enough from above to know there was nothing in there, it just led to the outer wall.

Nic tried to see where it was they were headed, and saw the carriage, completely black, almost a shadow with nothing to cast it. It had been there all the time, but he hadn’t been able to see it, so well did it hide between the lines of the trees.

How had it got here? There were no paths leading into these trees, no obvious route to get from the main path around the school to this out of the way corner. Yet, there it was, attached to four horses. The livery seemed familiar.

Nic had a great sense of foreboding. He had no idea what was about to happen, only that his entire being told him to not go. But he had no idea how to stop it from happening. It was clear to him that there was no way he could outfight or outrun this man. He couldn’t even walk in the opposite direction.

But Nic had been in the presence of many imposing figures. Their sure knowledge of how intimidating they were to others often made them overconfident and lacking in due care when it came to securing their goals. It was a long shot, but what other options did he have?

Nic took a breath, and pushed himself into the force making him move against his will. Accepted it, agreed with it, and moved forward quicker than he was being asked to.

His willingness to cooperate took Nic away from Rutga’s touch. He immediately turned and kicked out, hoping to strike Rutga in the ankle, maybe knock him off his feet or at the very least, cause him some pain so he wouldn’t be able to chase him. Running seemed like the one thing the old man might not be too keen on.

But Rutga simply lifted his foot and Nic’s swipe went through without hitting anything. The lack of contact threw Nic off balance, making him almost fall. Rutga caught him, spun him, and brought him back to his feet, once more facing the direction he had been going, like he’d never even thought of going any other way.

“No, no, Nic, not like that. If you were going to attempt something so direct, you should have done it immediately, outside the building. If you want to surprise someone, first surprise yourself. It’s very easy to see a slow deliberation. A commotion might even have attracted some attention. Once you were back here where no one can see you, you needed a better plan, more information to work with. Wait until you can understand the options open to you.” He carefully guiding Nic between the trees so he didn’t stumble.

It was good advice. Rutga spoke in a genial, friendly manner. He seemed almost like a teacher. A good one — patient and willing to explain himself.

They were at the carriage now. There was a driver wrapped in a large black cloak. The carriage belonged to the Ministry for Instruction, Nic was sure. The door was open and the interior was dark. Rutga helped Nic up and placed him on the seat.

“How… how did you know my father? In the army?” He has said ‘trainee’, did that mean they were comrades in arms? “Were you his instructor?”

“More of a teacher,” said Rutga. “Well, I tried my best. He wasn’t that easy to teach.”

“He wasn’t a good student?”

“Oh, he was the best. A fantastic student — maybe too good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he was able to fit in anywhere, with anyone. Five minutes talking to someone he’d never met before, and they were like old friends. He could watch a stranger and see the man for who he really was, what he’d be interested in talking about, how to best approach him. Those sorts of things are fundamental to our line of work.”

“What line of work is that?”

“The securing of goals, making sure the right people make the right decisions.”

They were moving, rocking slightly as the carriage passed over uneven ground. The windows were covered in black cloth so Nic couldn’t see outside. Somehow, they were navigating between the trees, which seemed impossible.

“You aren’t a Secret Service agent, are you?” said Nic.

“Not officially, no.” Rutga removed the mask and put it down on the seat next to him. He seemed glad to take it off. There was no transformation this time.

“You... kill people,” said Nic, seeing through the euphemisms easily enough, his own likely fate now much more obvious. “My father was an assassin.”

The carriage was moving more swiftly now, on firm, even ground. Would anyone notice them leaving the school?

“He was far more than that,” said Rutga. “He could take a life, I’m not going to deny that. But he could achieve the same objective by using persuasion and encouragement. Not through violence or threats, but simply by understanding what it was people really wanted. Not what they said or how they tried to present themselves, but what was in their heart. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like it. I warned him he was allowing himself to get too close to his targets, but that’s why I say he was so hard to teach. He could grasp an idea quicker than anyone, see the pros and cons, the structure, the flaws — things it had taken scholars hundreds of years to work out were immediately obvious to him — but then he went on and drew his own conclusion, went against the received wisdom, and sometimes also the received orders.”

“He was insubordinate?”

“I suppose you could call it that. I would say he reacted to new information while in the field. In some cases, he felt he could achieve the primary objective in a more effective, less invasive manner. Our superiors didn’t always agree with his choices. But then, you can’t fully understand a situation until you're face to face with it, and by then, there isn’t time to go back and discuss the new variables with those in charge. You have to make your call and live with the consequences.”

“Do you know how he died?” asked Nic.

“Ah, well, I wasn’t there, so I can’t say for sure. Probably not the way it was reported.”

“Was he considered a traitor?”

“What? No. How did you come to that conclusion? No, no, he was a true patriot, and no one who knew him would claim otherwise. Just because he was liable to the occasional bout of thinking for himself, don’t for a second believe he wasn’t acting in the best interests of our people. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”

“But he’d be dangerous if he refused to do as he was told, wouldn’t he?” said Nic. “He’d know where the bodies were buried. Probably buried most of them himself.”

“Ah, I suppose you could think of it like that, but he never went rogue. There was nowhere else to go, and he had his wife and a son on the way. He wouldn’t put that at risk.”

“I’m serious about the dragons. I need to warn them I know where they are. I know how they hide from us during the day.”

“Do you now? Well, it’s not really as important as you think. These shadow creatures, they aren’t even real. They look much scarier than they are. It’s all sleight of hand and illusion, you know? Nothing we can’t handle.”

“You know about the shadow dragons?” said Nic. “Do you work for the Ministry for Instruction?”

“I work for Ranvar, for the people, for their safety. Who gives the orders doesn’t really matter. I do my job and we can all sleep safely at night, that’s the important thing.”

“Did you work for Minister Delcroix before?” asked Nic.

“A fine gentleman, very good at his job.”

“Do you think Minister Carmine was qualified to take over?”

“You’re asking very tough questions. I’m not the person to decide such things, I merely follow orders as best I can. No one is perfect, no one is incapable of making mistakes, but once we have our roles, we must do our best. It’s far too easy to fail because of hesitation and doubt. Even the right idea will fail if executed poorly.”

“From what you say, my father didn’t do that,” said Nic.

“Oh, he did. He very much did. Every action was executed brilliantly. It’s just that it wasn’t always the action he was asked to perform.” Rutga smiled, for once with genuine warmth.

“I’m not sure I trust Minister Carmine,” said Nic, which was an incredibly ill-advised thing to say at the best of times. In a ministry carriage to a ministry employee, it might even be called stupid.

“Well, of course there are risks. There always are. That’s the nature of the job. But you have to have a little faith, Nic. A young man trying his best, a man who has been trained and prepared for the role, he could just be unconventional, like your father.”

“My father died.”

“Yes, but only after many successes,” said Rutga.

“After you take… care of me, had he given you any instructions about Minister Delcroix’s daughter?”

“The young girl?” said Rutga, recognition in his voice. “No, why would he?”

“He might be interested in her,” said Nic. “More than he should be.”

“Well, I don’t think you can blame him for that. Pretty thing.”

“You know her?”

“No, no, just by sight. The old minister had big plans for her, his heir apparent, he would call her. I don’t think you need to worry about her. As I recall, she’s very good at looking after herself. Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Nic. I’ve only been tasked with keeping you safe and away from danger. You don’t need to take part in any more of this. You’re free.”

“But the dragons… people will die.”

“People always die. It’s the ones left behind we need to care for. They can still have happy lives and carry on, there’s no shame in that. A better life, in some cases. Isn’t that what we all strive for?”

Nic got the feeling there was no talking Rutga away from whatever he had planned. He was involved with the dragons, with Gweur…

“How does helping Gweur defeat our army make like better for Ranvar’s people?” asked Nic. “Do you really believe they intend to treat us kindly after what we’ve done to them.”

“The Gweurvians are simple people. They will do as they’re told, and their lives will be better than they were before. That’s fair, isn’t it? They improve, we improve, we all get a little better.”

“Except the people who died.”

“Of course. Sacrifices have to be made.”

The carriage began to slow. In the dimness of the carriage, Nic could tell Rutga was surprised as they came to a stop.

Rutga banged on the roof. “What is it?”

“It’s a group of Gweurvians,” said Nic, his eyes closed. “Twelve of them, it looks like.” He opened his eyes to find Rutga staring at him, not quite so sure of himself. “I think they’re the riders of the shadow dragons. They can’t be carried during the day when the dragons are fully formed, so they’ve been hiding. I don’t know how, but they can make themselves impossible to detect.”

“I see. I suppose I better see what they want. Stay here.” Rutga opened the door and exited.

Nic immediately tried the door on the other side. As futile as it might be to attempt an escape, he wanted to be ready just in case an opportunity might present itself. But the doors were locked on both sides, and behind the black cloth, there was no window.

“We’re here for the boy,” said a voice.

“Sorry, friend, there must be a miscommunication,” said Rutga. “The boy is staying with me. That’s what I’ve been told, and that’s how we’ll be proceeding.”

“He comes with us, now,” said another voice. “Do not get in the way.”

Neither of the Gweurvian speakers sounded the least bit intimidated by Rutga.

Nic closed his eyes and watched from above. It was starting to get dark, the sky still not showing any stars, but it wouldn’t be long now. He could see the group of men in a loose triangular formation, a demanding wedge, two at the front confronting Rutga while the others watched and waited. They didn’t appear to be armed, not with weapons.

“I have my orders,” said Rutga.

“Orders change,” said the Gweurvian. His eyes glowed blue.

It was one against twelve, which weren’t favourable odds to start with. But they were using magic, be it in a very crude form. That made it very unlikely Rutga would win this fight. He expected to be handed over. He wasn’t sure what the Gwuervians would do with him and he would rather not find out. There might be a chance for him to get away from them, though.

Rutga, it seemed, had other ideas.

He leapt forward, crying out, “Now!” as he hurled a stick at the nearest Gweurvian. It bounced off his forehead, sending him to the ground in a heap.

The instruction was aimed at the coach driver, who had been huddled in his voluminous cloak until this moment. Now he threw off his swaddling and broke apart like bats rushing out of a cave at dusk.

Shades, like the ones Dizzy had dealt with, came flying out of the discarded garment. They rushed to provide support for Rutga, who didn’t look like he needed it. If Nic had thought he might have had a chance to outrun Rutga, he had been mistaken. The man moved with a swiftness and agility Nic had never seen, not even from the agents he’s spent time with.

The Gweurvians didn’t react quite as readily as their posturing had intimated. They seemed unnerved by the shades, which were barely visible in the evening light, looking more like ghosts.

The Gweuvian whose eyes had lit up, opened his mouth, which was filled with more blue light, but getting darker and more intense.

Rutga rolled towards him and came up with the heel of his palm raised. He stuck the open-mouthed Gweurvian in the chin and slammed his jaw shut. His eyes widened for a second, and then his head exploded.

A wave of energy shot out in all directions, flattening Rutga and the Gweurvians and shredding the shades into pieces.

Nic felt the jolt in his mind and opened his eyes. He heard a click and tried the carriage door again. It was unlocked.

He jumped out and ran away from the carnage. Rutga had tried to protect him, an unlikely thing to try if he planned to dispose of him in any case. Perhaps Nic had misjudged him. He would have liked to have asked him some more questions about his father, but this was his best chance at getting away, so he ran.

He had seen where he was — nearly at the capital. From here, he could make it to the city in less than an hour, but it might already be too late. It was nearly dark enough for the shadow dragons to manifest fully. Although, they would be riderless.

Nic scrambled to the top of a ridge and the lights of the city were visible in the distance. And above the city, dark shapes were taking form.

He closed his eyes and reached out his mind, hoping to detect some kind of intent. If he knew what they had been told to do… then what? He wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t think of anything else.

He sensed them as empty minds, roaming with no purpose. Without the Gweurvians to guide them, they had no evil intentions. They would still cause panic in the populous if they were seen.

Nic out himself inside the head of the largest one, saw through its eyes. He could feel the dragon’s movements — it felt the same as when he had been inside a real dragon. He had been able to control that one, he tried the same here.

The shadow dragon turned and Nic could see himself in the distance, the dragon’s sight far superior to his own. It flew to him.

68: Comprehensive Cover

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

Figaro was mostly convinced that being blasted in the chest was not part of Ubik’s plan. Mostly. With Ubik, you couldn’t be completely certain about anything.

There was smoke coming out of Ubik’s suit. It was too far away from Figaro to be able to tell if he was dead, but even if he wasn’t, he was going to be badly injured. How was he going to complete his plan from over there on the floor? Was being over there on the floor a key component of the plan?

Figaro returned his attention to the newly arrived team of twelve organics, all dressed in battlesuits vastly superior to the ones worn by the regular Vendx grunts.

These suits were form-fitting, lightweight and individually coloured to express the wearer’s personality. Bespoke armour for the elite Vendx forces, with their logo emblazoned across the chest piece.

Six of them were facing front, three of them armed with guns, the other three not needing them, presumably.

The other six were facing in the opposite direction, back the way they had just come from, all six of them with weapons raised and aimed at the two Seneca women and the guild girl with them.

Their positioning made it look like they were the ones who were surrounded.

How had Ubik managed that?

It had seemed odd that he wanted the Seneca women to leave, a very gallant and noble gesture on the surface, which should have set the alarm bells ringing. From what Figaro had determined about Ubik’s methods through careful observation — and it was a constant learning process — no available resource was left unexploited.

The Seneca women were two of four organics available to him, Captain Hickory and Princep Galeli being the other two. Encouraging fifty percent of your possible defence force (or more likely attack force in Ubik’s hands) to leave the field of battle would be very imprudent, and also very unUbik-like.

But could he really have manoeuvred them into place so perfectly that they would cleanly split the assault team in half, forcing them into a defensive posture with their backs to each other?

Pure luck? Figaro couldn’t accept that. There were rumours that organics existed that could affect statistical outcomes, but there had never been any documented proof; just an excuse made by people who lost when they should have won. And Ubik wasn’t even an organic, that much was very clear.

How could he predict movements so precisely when he only had limited data to work with? Unless Ubik had been able to pull information out of the Vendx suit at an astonishing rate, while dancing.

It would have been nice if Ubik had let the rest of them in on whatever he had in mind, but that wasn’t the Ubik way. He had obviously seconded Jace into the inner-circle, but only because he had the requisite skills. Everyone else was running interference, whether they liked it or not.

“Nobody move,” said the unarmed man at the front of the assault team, “and we won’t have a problem. That especially goes for you two.” He pointed a finger at the Seneca women, a firm, aggressive point to indicate he wasn’t intimidated, which only confirmed that he was. “We aren’t here for you. We’re an extraction team, pick-up and go, that’s all. These weapons are vectored for organics, please don’t make us use them, we have to pay for the ammo ourselves on a per-bullet basis”

The fact he was standing there explaining his job rather than doing it gave a much clearer idea of the situation than his speech.  The whole team looked uncertain and hesitant. If Figaro’s tutors were here observing their performance, they would have plenty to say about it.

“Don’t get involved,” Figaro said over the heads of the team between him and the two ex-Seneca. “I don’t want this getting any messier than it is already.”

Weyla nodded, slowly and without any enthusiasm. Figaro got the feeling she would have liked to go down fighting, a dangerous state of mind to be in, especially for the people around her. The sister, Leyla, looked to be aware of it. Concerned enough to stay close, too guilt-ridden to prevent herself from being dragged down. He would have a sibling soon. How would that change the way he thought and functioned.

“You,” said the nervous leader. “We only want you. Come with us and everyone here can be spared any unpleasantness.”

They weren’t approaching him, though. They were like the previous team, wary and fearful. What had they been told about him to make them act like this? Whatever it was, it had to be an operational blunder. It only made them worse at their job.

What kind of training did Vendx give their people? Figaro glanced over to where Ubik was still lying flat on his back not moving. He probably knew exactly what kind of training they had undergone, and how best to use it against them.

“Do you have a medic?” Figaro asked the Vendx man.

“What? You’re hurt?” A shot of panic danced across his eyes. The visor on his helmet showed his whole face, a clear bubble that held his head like a fish in a bowl. Red and green lights flashed as readings were displayed on the inside.

“No, not me. Him.” Figaro indicated Ubik. “Do you have a medical organic on your team?”

“No. Our suits are self-healing. He’ll be fine. He’s in one of ours, he won’t die — the suit comes with a two-year money back guarantee. The life support system takes care of you until help arrives.”

Since Ubik hadn’t bought the suit, the guarantee was unlikely to apply, although how you were meant to make a claim if you died was a mystery.

So, it seemed Ubik had meant to get blasted in the chest. Why? What advantage was there to lying on the ground?

“What’s your name?” asked Figaro.

“That doesn’t matter. Move towards the exit, slowly.”

“I’d like to speak to the manager.” Figaro had observed his father deal with Vendx enough times to know how the chain of command worked.

“He’s away on a training course. I’m Assistant Manager Larep. I’m sure I can help you with whatever you need. Just come with us and there won’t be a problem.”

“Assistant Manager Larep, why are you so nervous?” said Figaro. “You can open your visor. Look around you, no one else here is suited up like they’re in a contamination zone.”

Larep’s eyes turned red, making the inside of his helmet look like it was full of blood. His eye-colour returned to normal. “There’s something showing up on our scans, origin unknown. That means a possible contagion. You may not even be aware of it, any of you. We can help. Our equipment is state of the art and used by eight out of ten medical facilities in this quadrant. You can trust a Vendx scan to be ninety-nine point nine percent accurate.” He reeled off the company spiel like it had been drilled into him.

It seemed the idea of an unknown substance on their scans was so unusual, they could only assume the worst.

“What about him?” said Figaro, pointing at Ubik. “What does he show up as?”

“He doesn’t register as anything. Forget about him. Move towards the exit, please.”

Three guns were aimed at Figaro, all from the same angle of attack. Sloppy.

Figaro took a breath. No one wanted to make the first move, which gave him a little time. To do what, he wasn’t sure.

Any move he made might interfere with whatever Ubik was up to. Was he giving him too much credit? Figaro had already stopped Weyla from instigating a fight, but that could have been what Ubik had predicted. Was he supposed to do nothing and wait? For how long?

Figaro hadn’t wanted to involve his family in any of this — that was the whole point of being sent to such an out of the way place. When it came down to it, he was responsible for bringing all this attention on himself, he was the one who had triggered the sim-U to act weird and it was up to him to get back home and test the key he now had for the lower levels of the Tetheri complex. That was his primary objective. But he was also keen to bring Ubik back and get his father to run some tests.

“I’ve done it,” called out Jace, sounding elated.

“Grandma, now,” called out Ubik from flat on his back, his bare arm raised triumphantly.

The twelve organics suddenly shifted their stances, all of them turning their focus inwards.

“What’s going on? I’ve lost contact with the ship.”

“Me too.”

“Are you seeing this?”

“What’s this timer?”

Their voices were clearly audible outside their suits even though they were speaking on internal channels. Their visors each had large numbers imprinted on them, in reverse from Figaro’s perspective, counting down rapidly towards zero.

“Eject, eject,” screamed someone.

All twelve shot out of the back of their suits in their underwear. The suits fell to the ground like dirty laundry, along with the weapons they had been holding.

“Now,” shouted Captain Hickory, his eyes ablaze with a red light. “This is our best chance.” He ran forward with Galeli and Gipper beside him.

Larep was the first back on his feet, in white shorts and a vest, and a sneer on his face. “You think we need our suits to deal with you?” His eyes were glowing and his dark hair stood up. “Green team, take the—” And then he was gone.

One moment he was standing there, the next he was across the room, his throat in Weyla’s fist as she slammed him into the wall. The wall withstood the impact, Assistant Manager Larep did not.

It seemed there was no avoiding a fight. Figaro surged forward, took the arm of a shocked Vendx employee and snapped it at the elbow. He was an energy user, the one who had blasted Ubik. The pain would keep him from being able to activate his organic any time soon.

Leyla had grabbed the nearest Vendx man by the back of his hair and kicked him in the chest. He went flying across the room. She kept the kick going, landing her foot in the next man’s face, the force sending him skidding along the floor.

The other Vendx men were on their feet and activated. They weren’t organised and looked desperate for orders to follow, but there were still eight of them.

PT came sliding in and grabbed a gun off the floor. He didn’t use it — how could he? — he threw it at Ubik.

And then there were seven, six, five…

Ubik was sitting up firing the gun, hitting them in the order Hickory called out, his own organic ability identifying them in order of threat. They fell screaming in agony and then either passed out or lay shivering on the ground.

Ubik shouldn’t have been able to use a gun imprinted with someone else’s biometrics, but that was hardly the most surprising thing he had done today.

As Larep had said, they were vectored for organics. That meant they would inflict a great deal of pain to anyone with an organic augmentation, making it very hard to maintain activation. But not impossible. It only really worked on novices and the poorly trained. Perfect for using on Vendx employees.

“We’ve got a few minutes before they can break through,” said Ubik, pointing up.

“Break through what?” asked PT. He had known what to do without knowing any more than Figaro had, but he was no less frustrated by Ubik’s approach to teamwork than everyone else.

“The drone shield. Jace and Grandma upgraded it so it’s even better, stronger, tighter. So good, not even their own signal can get through. They really shouldn’t leave it on auto-update, makes it too easy for someone with bad intentions. Luckily, I only improved their service.”

Ubik was out of the suit and on his feet. There was a large tear in the front of his greys, showing off the nasty purple bruise across his chest.

“What if they’d shot your arm off?” asked PT.

“Actually,” said Ubik, “I’ve been working on a design for a prosthetic arm, would’ve been a nice chance to test it out.”

There was a loud rumbling and the sound of thrusters firing very close by.

“Sounds like our ride’s here,” said Ubik.

“Ride?” said Princep Galeli. He turned to Hickory. “Yours?”

Hickory shook his head.

“No,” said Ubik. “Termination team from Vendx. The clean and wipe down squad. Now, just a heads up, these guys don’t play nice.”

Everyone just stared at Ubik.

“But nothing we can’t handle, right?” Ubik grinned and winced. “Really smarts when you get shot in the chest.” He jogged towards the entrance without any further explanation of what to expect or how to handle it. The Ubik plan was not an all-inclusive one.

Ubik stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Unfortunately, I assumed they would only send one team, not three. New plan — run!” He shot past everyone, sprinting towards the rear of the hall.

Chapter 437

I think a real man is someone who can look at the stars and know where he is in the world. This seems to me, a basic requirement of not being a clueless fuck stranded in the middle of nowhere. To be able to look up and pinpoint where you are and which direction you need to go to get to the place you need to get to. A real man also has a place he needs to get to.

What about women, you say? I’m not a woman so I don’t know what their requirements are, that would be presumptuous and condescending, you self-congratulating pseudo-feminist bellend. I suggest you reassess your priorities and get the fuck out of me mum’s car.

Of course, now we can find all the answers just by asking our phones — cinema times, best restaurant, the meaning of life — no need to know anything when you have a search bar. It’s like having mummy and daddy right there to explain things and tell you what to do and how to do it and who to be, you know, like when you were a child.

Personally, I had reached the point where I could build a fire, kill and eat an animal, even fight off a predator (by healing myself through any injuries — cheating is a valid strategy). Was I all grown up now? Didn’t feel like it.

If being able to take care of yourself isn’t enough to make you identify as a grownup, then what?

Humans are social animals. We’re supposed to live together and rely on each other. When we cooperate, we can achieve the most difficult yet pointless things imaginable — giant statues seem to have been a popular choice — and we can defend ourselves against the scariest monsters. We judge ourselves the way the group judges us. We’re made to compare ourselves to each other. We sort by hot and select by popular, and then wait for upvotes to tell us right from wrong.

It’s like we got past the first level — clothing, shelter, food — and then no one knew what the hell we were supposed to do. Does it even count as the first level to learn how to get yourself dressed and fed? More like the tutorial.

Where was the guy with the big yellow exclamation point hovering over his head to give us our daily quest?

One thing seems to have remained constant throughout our evolution as a species, we’re still somehow ruled by corrupt, venal scumbags. They’re everywhere. From kings and presidents to local councillors.

All these leaders, are they real men? Could they beat anyone in a fight? Could they survive in the woods with just a knife? Could they protect women and children from an enraged boar and then serve it to them as dinner?

I would guess, no. So why are they in charge? Because they’re good at making promises for a better tomorrow? Is that really all you need to do?

It’s disappointing no one’s been able to come up with anything better, and also the lack of jetpacks and flying cars.  The 21st century has been such a let down. Good thing I gave up on people a long time ago. It helped that the ones who were meant to look after me were so bad at it; opened my eyes early.

Everyone rushes to sign up with the group they think will serve their interests best — a race, a nation, a set of ideals that exclude anyone who will be a drain on resources, and then tries to get promoted up the ranks. That’s the game we’re stuck playing — pick a team and defend them under all circumstances.

There is no separation between any of these groups as far as I can see. They’re all the same animal in different outfits. A bunch of retards, who look alike and sound alike, elect sociopaths to tell them what to do, and are too afraid to get rid of them once they start sending people to the re-education camps. Every fucking country on the face of the planet has them in positions of power, and they’re all doing very very nicely, thank you very much.

It was almost like it had been arranged that way on purpose.

Paranoid? Perhaps. Maybe it was only true in this world, this version, this update. But if the Council was the same Council of Four I had encountered in Flatland, then it meant things were even more borked than I had thought.

“So,” I said to Orion, “when can I meet them?”

Orion didn’t look like he was all that keen to introduce me to his bosses. “You sound like you already know who they are.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Depends. They could be a completely different set of four puppet-controlling megalomaniacs. You know how it is with a meme — one person starts it, and then everyone and their mother is doing their version.”

From the way Orion was acting, he wasn’t aware of the Council’s presence back in Flatland. It really could be that these were a completely separate group of individuals, but it didn’t seem very likely. Much more likely was that they were being super sneaky, keeping their identities hidden from the people working for them.

“You can ask them, at least, can’t you?” I said. “See what they say.”

Orion still didn’t look happy, but how do you turn down such a polite request? Hello, my name is Karen and I’d like to speak to the manager.

“There is no direct line of communication,” said Orion. “It may take some time to get an answer.”

“Fine by me,” I said. This new strat was working out quite well. I got to stall while making it look like he was the ones wasting time. “Take all the time you need.”

“Let me make a call.” Orion wandered out of the room with his phone out.

The rest of Team America sat there, looking too big to fit on the sofa. They were a surprisingly sensitive bunch, not the high-fiving gits I’d expected. Perhaps it was time to rethink my tendency to judge people based on my preconceptions.

Nah.

“I’ve always wondered,” I said, “do you really think of yourselves as the good guys? I mean, even if none of you are guilty of heinous shit, you must have seen people in the same uniform as you do it. Hard to stand for truth and justice when the guy you bunk with is a murdering rapist-liar-thief, etcetera, etcetera.”

Some people would find my question disrespectful, which is understandable. It’s the best way to avoid having to come up with a reasonable answer, after all.

“It isn’t that simple,” said Jack, not at all offended, at least not on the outside. He was probably listing the many ways he could kill me with a pencil in his head. “You’re limited in who you can have with you, and you need them to stay alive. The job is about killing people, so you can’t be too fussy about the occasional infringement of personal liberties. To be honest, kid, it’s surprising more people don’t break and go on a crazy spree of unauthorised violence.”

It was a fair point. If your job is to murder, how do you get morally outraged at the nickel and dime stuff? I guess it’s more of a marketing issue. If you try to portray the armed forces as a way to pick up a trade, maybe a college degree, you’re going to send mixed signals when the Instagram pics of grinning servicemen standing next to piles of corpses with two thumbs up get posted.

The good guys were the ones who did that shit the least — moral relativism makes heroes of at least half of us.

The five men on the couch looked perfectly comfortable with their life choices.

“Do you guys have, like, specialities?” I asked. “Did they put you together to cover all the bases? A sniper, a demolitions guy, a hand-to-hand combat expert, that sort of thing?”

“You mean like the Magnificent Seven?” said Jack, smiling. “No, not really.”

I was actually thinking more along the lines of an RPG party. Healer, DPS, tank. Which of these guys was the paladin and which was the ranged support?

“We’re all good at the basics,” continued Jack. “We have to be. We’d be in trouble if everyone was a specialist in only one field and someone died. That’s how you end up scrubbing out before you even get on site.”

It would be quite interesting to see how a trained squad would handle a fantasy world, rather than a bunch of kids. Even without modern weapons, they were probably trained in jungle warfare like John Rambo. Couple of bamboo sticks, some vines, slap on a bit of mud, and instant arts and crafts IED.

“Who are these people from the council?” said Mandy, like we were talking about the guys responsible for collecting the bins.

“Cheng knows,” I said, turning to face Mandy.

Cheng shrugged, apparently not knowing, and then I sat down.

I can’t explain it, I didn’t hear or feel anything, but a vague premonition made me drop onto the floor, butt-first, just as something flew over my head.

It would be nice to think I had gained super-reflexes that could save me without me even being involved in the decision-making process, but I doubted that I had developed a spidey-sense overnight. Whatever it was, I dodged a bullet. Or a dart.

I saw it fly away from me and strike Mandy in the chest, just above her cleavage. She let out a gasp and fell backwards.

“What the fuck was that?” I said in my usual timely manner. I looked over my shoulder at the squad, who had shocked expressions, in particular Samson, my recent and, you would think, grateful patient. His arm was extended and I could see some kind of contraption strapped to it.

“Colin!” called out Cheng. He had Mandy in his arms. She was shaking like she’d left her vibrator in and running overnight.

It took me a moment to realise he wanted me to heal her. Whatever the dart was, it wasn’t doing her any good.

“It was an accident,” said Samson. “I swear it.”

“What was on the dart?” I said as I scramble towards Cheng. “Poison?”

“A neurotoxin,” said Jack. “Non-lethal.”

“Then why is she dying?” said Cheng, his voice deepening with each syllable. He probably would have done more than just ask questions if he wasn’t so concerned about his wife.

“Some people have an overreaction,” said Jack. “One in a million.”

An overreaction. Like she was a drama queen making a scene. I mean, she was a drama queen, but she wasn’t dying as a way to get attention. Probably.

I pulled the dart out of Mandy and had a moment as I tried to figure out where on her body to put my hands. One on each tit might get me ostracised on social media. Where did they put defibrillators on buxom women? I opted for a hand on each shoulder like I was about to give her a stern talking to.

Nothing happened.

“I can’t get in the right head-space without feeling like I’m in imminent danger,” I said.

“Heal her,” said the demon holding his fading wife in his arms, “or you will be.”

There was no change in Cheng but, just for a second, I saw the monster I had encountered when I first went to Monsterland staring at me through Cheng’s youthful eyes. I may have peed myself a little, but it did the trick.

My hands burned with energy and Mandy moaned as I directed it through her chest. It took a while, there was a lot of real estate to cover. As she regained consciousness, she reached her hand to her chest, pushed two fingers into her cleavage, and pulled out a fun-sized Snickers. She thrust it at me.

I was feeling a little light-headed, so it was good thinking on her part, but I felt a bit strange eating boob chocolate.

“Why do you keep sweets in there?” I said, ripping the wrapper open. The chocolate was partially melted, like when you pocket-bake food by accident.

“Low blood sugar,” muttered Mandy.

Women, I submit, are an odd mixture of dainty and absolutely disgusting.

Cheng was visibly unhappy. The squad looked nervous.

“I’m sorry, truly,” said Samson. “It just went off.”

“You came into my home with a weapon,” said Cheng. There was fire in his voice.

“Hey, calm down,” I said. “I think it really was an accident.” An accident that would have hit me in the back if I hadn’t ducked. I stood up and went over to Samson. “Show me.”

Samson looked over at his squadmates, and then pulled up his sleeve. Thin rods of polished wood encircled his forearm up to the elbow. They were attached to a bracelet that looked like cheesy new age jewellery, so nothing that would stand out on Samson, who was wearing plenty of other Etsy impulse buys.

I picked up a cushion from the sofa and held it in front of Samson’s hand. When I bent his hand down, a dart came fizzing out and struck the cushion. The way the whole thing operated to mechanically fire the dart was quite interesting, like Spider-man’s web shooter without the obvious metaphor for teenage ejaculate. I pumped the instrument a few more times (not a euphemism) and more darts shot out. I pulled them out of the cushion and examined the tips, which were coated with greenish goo.

“Non-lethal?” I asked.

“It was just a precaution,” said Jack. “Nothing personal.”

“Sure,” I said. “In case I started anything.” It was a fairly reasonable precaution to take, under the circumstances. “What if you use more than one on a single person. Can you overdose?”

Jack hesitated. “It’s… possible.”

“Hmm.” I looked at the four small darts in my hand, and then at Samson’s exposed forearm. I jabbed all four into his arm and scraped double train tracks across his skin. He let out a yell and his eyes widened.

He hadn’t tried to retract his arm. He was trying to show good faith to prove it had been a genuine misfire. I believed him. It wasn’t the accident that concerned me.

Samson staggered and sat down heavily onto the sofa. The others were all on their feet.

“Remember,” I said,“I can heal him.” This seemed to calm them a little.

Samson sat there, shivering. Cheng had risen to his feet, supporting Mandy, who now had a nasty red pimple on her chest. Might actually get the tart to cover herself up for once in her life.

Samson fell onto his side and stopped moving.

“He’s going to die,” said Jack.

“I said I can heal him. I didn’t say I was going to.” I walked back to where Cheng was. The atmosphere was a little tense.

Two of the other men jumped across and began giving Samson CPR. It was like a scene from a movie, the type where they try to save their comrade- in-arms even though it’s too late, and eventually have to be dragged away with tearful cries of, “He’s gone, he’s gone.”

“He’s gone,” said one of the men leaning over Samson. Not tearful, just matter-of-fact.

“You killed him,” said Jack.

“No, you killed him,” I said. “Can’t expect second chances, Jack. Could have been worse, though. Imagine if I let him do the honours.” I nodded towards Cheng. In many ways, I had saved them from a much worse fate. “I’d really started to like you guys. Always a bad sign.”

Jack looked at me, sizing me up. “You don’t see yourself as one of the good guys, do you?”

“No,” I said. “If anything, I identify as monster.”

“That’s how we think of you, too,” said Cheng, holding on tightly to Mandy. He didn’t sound like he meant it in the inclusive ‘you’re one of us’ sense.

Orion came back in. “I’ve spoken to—” He paused to take in the scene. “What happened to Samson?”

“He couldn’t handle his own toxicity,” I said. “Or mine.”

Orion exchanged a look with Jack. Neither said anything, but they seemed to reach an understanding. Orion turned his attention back to me.

“The Council will meet with you.”

“Great. When can they get here?”

“No, I’m afraid you have to go to them.”

“Where are they?” I asked. “Island with a dormant volcano shaped like a skull?”

“No,” said Orion. “Chelsea.”

A shiver ran through me. Land of the upmarket chavs, with over-tanned monsters roaming wild and the most glamorous arseholes you’ll ever see puking in the streets at two in the morning. I should have saved a couple of those darts.

67: Dead Zone

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain - orbit.

VGV Motherboard.

 

CS Robri Mayden was in the chair. It had taken him many years of relentless effort to become the chief supervisor of one of Vendx’s flagship vessels. There wasn’t another ship in the entire fleet that could match the specs of the Motherboard, and the only bigger ships were the ones used for transport.

“Extraction team has reached the target location,” said a sharp, excited voice in his left ear as the message scrolled across his vision. The voice belonged to his onboard text-to-speech application which could imitate tone and emotional content of a message as well as the words.

“Keep me apprised,” he said back. His message was converted to text and sent. Every communication between Vendx employees was recorded and filed for future analysis and training purposes.

He should have been overseeing the rebuilding of Genarys Prime, a world devastated by ecological disasters which was now correcting the mistakes of the past with a long-term contract with Vendx to completely reconstruct their infrastructure. Smart Sewer™, PowerGrid™, Oceanx™, HorizonTime™. Somehow, the sales team had convinced the civic leaders to accept the full catalogue option, the first time anyone had gone all-in across the entire range.

Having the Motherboard there to oversee the fitting would have added that extra touch of class. A sign to the customer that they were getting the premium experience, the huge ship in orbit visible to anyone with a magnifying device or to anyone in possession of a Vendx Super-I™ ocular implant — and even to those with a similar, inferior product from one of Vendx’s rivals.

Not that there would be any need to worry about the competition in the future with the non-competitor clause banning Genarys Prime from signing of any non-Vendx contracts for the next thirty standard years.

Yes, a very successful transaction for the company and a nice bonus for those involved. As the CS of the flagship, his cut would have been considerable and the demands on his time minimal.

But instead, he’d been sent to this tiny planet in the least interesting part of the quadrant to extract an FVG trainee. And it was not going according to plan. In fact, it was going somewhere entirely different, and nobody seemed to know where.

“Have you got a lock on the message’s destination?” he growled into the comm, his own ocular implant (Super-I plus™) isolating the message to the forward observatory with a glance to the top right of his HUD.

“No, Chief Supervisor.”

“Have you managed to block it?” He would have normally kept his voice low and calm, the comm microphone being able to predict the intended tone and apply the appropriate macro to his words, but he was far too aggravated to need the software to modify his tone. His irritation at having been redirected to this pick-up assignment, like some common delivery barge, was rapidly turning into anger because of the poor performance of everyone beneath him. And they were all beneath him.

“No, Chief Supervisor.”

“Why the hell not? Rip it out of the space stream it’s embedded in, brute force if you have to.”

“I’ve tried, sir. It’s unlike any signal encryption I’ve ever seen. The Headzup says it isn’t even a message.”

“Obviously it’s a message,” said Mayden. “That’s how we were able to read it.”

“I think… Sir, my guess is that we were meant to see part of the message.”

“Is that what Headzup told you?”

“No, sir.”

“Then where in the checklist did—”

“This configuration isn’t on the checklist. Nothing about the message observes standardised broadcast etiquette. Not even a handshake port for identification. It’s like someone cut off all the free optional extras available.”

“Why would they cut off the free extras?” said Mayden. “They’re free.”

“I don’t know, sir. It doesn’t make sense.”

None of this made any sense. The largest, most powerful, most modern ship in the entire fleet sent here to grab some miscreant who’d been fooling around with a simulation machine. It happened all the time, some eager machine-head trying to uncover some of Vendx’s secrets. If they were good enough, they got offered a very lucrative contract to come work for Vendx, not that they had much option but to accept. The alternative was termination.

And suddenly they were in the middle of some primitive declaration of war between technological cave dwellers. Or that’s what they were meant to think and back off. Who would even consider playing a bluff in such a tense situation? No strategy software he could think of would make such a low-scoring suggestion. What was the chance of success? One percent? Half a percent?

“Disrupt the stream,” he said.

“The whole stream? The data loss would be quadrant-wide.”

“Complete block, no signals in or out, make it dead, now.”

He glanced to the left, the chair he was strapped and wired into turning with his neck muscles. “Information Desk, have you found anything on this Ulanov character?”

“No, sir. Nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist.” Nervous, hesitant. You couldn’t hide your true feelings on the Motherboard.

“What are you people even doing? Did you access the guild records?”

“Full archive access, sir.”

“And he isn’t listed?”

“No, sir. I’ve tried alternative spellings and cross-referenced by job title. No person with the necessary skills or certification to compromise our systems is on their roster.”

“Full archive dive?”

“Everything except the restricted section.”

There was an understanding between Vendx and its customers that from time to time access of files was required, but there would be some areas exempt. Everyone had their secrets. But this went beyond account numbers and financial records.

“Crack it.”

“Sir, that would violate our contract with—”

“You don’t think they haven’t already voided the agreement by employing this hacker to compromise our systems? Whoever he is, if they need to keep his details in their restricted files, it only proves they hired him illegally. Break it open.”

“I can’t do it without them being aware of it.”

“Do it.”

Whatever this Ulanov character’s background was, he was a person of interest now. His qualifications would reveal how he had done all of this, and how to counter him.

“Commander Creed of the Octanaria is hailing us, sir.”

“Put him through. Yes, Commander?”

“Chief Supervisor, did you see the message?”

“Yes, of course. It was a decoy.”

“A decoy, are you sure? We were able to decipher part of it and—”

“A decoy, Commander. Ignore it.” He wished he was as confident about it as he sounded. “Observatory, did you disrupt the stream?”

“Sending the code to the carrier ship now, sir.”

Mayden switched back to the Commander of the Octanaria. “Is the drone shield holding?”

“Yes, of course.” The man sounded offended at the question when he had no right to be. If he’d taken care of this as he was supposed to, Mayden wouldn’t need to clear up the mess he’d made. “We have the whole sky over the city, one hundred percent peak coverage, with a ninety-three percent median.”

“Only ninety-three?”

“That’s four points above the minimum requirement,” Creed responded tersely.

“Good,” said Mayden. At least the man had some pride in his work. “Make sure you keep it there. I expect them to try and brown-out the system.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know yet, but keep on top of it. If they break through, it’s going to cost us a lot more than our performance bonuses. I assume you’ve put out the fire in your hull.”

“That was a minor fault.”

“Did you reauthenticate?”

“No, we didn’t have time. Why would we need to—”

“Do it. The explosion may not have been an internal malfunction.”

“Wh-wh… you think they… Who are these people?”

“I don’t know, but they wouldn’t have sent me if this was a regular pick-up.” He was only just beginning to realise that himself. “They may be keeping details from us for security reasons.”

“That doesn’t help us get the job done,” said Creed.

“No, but it does mean we can make a blind-entry claim, assuming we can take the target alive.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right. Is the extraction team on site?”

“They’ve just breached. Keep the sky clear for them.”

“Yes, Chief Supervisor. You can count on it.”

The man was a true professional and Mayden felt confident that the mention of a bonus claim had focused him on the task at hand. They had to take the target alive, that had been very explicit in the order. Personally, he would have liked to have bombed the city from orbit and made a slingshot around the planet to be back on his way, but there was clearly something special about this individual. He was looking forward to finding out what it was as soon as the package was on board.

“Chief Supervisor, we’ve lost contact with the extraction team.”

“What? The comms are down?”

“No, sir. They aren’t responding. Life signs aren’t showing.”

Mayden’s throat went dry. Who were these people? He couldn’t afford to let this assignment slip out of his hands, no matter what.

“Deploy termination team.”

“Sir?”

“Do it.”

“B-b-but which team?”

“All of them.”

***

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

Point-Two was almost sure he was going to die. As much as he admired Ubik’s ability to work miracles under pressure, even he would be hard-pressed to beat twelve organics with his dancing army of battlesuits.

As if things weren’t lopsided enough, the suit Ubik was in had an arm missing, so he could only sync up with the left arm of each suit behind him. What could he get them to do in the face of certain death? A synchronised wave goodbye?

To his credit, Ubik had managed to stop the invaders in their tracks. The sight of Ubik prancing around with twenty suits mimicking his every move would give anyone a moment’s pause. But they were about to resume their assault, Point-Two could see it in the shift of weight in their bodies.

Point-Two looked around to see what everyone else was planning to do, but they seemed to be as confounded by Ubik’s antics as the assault team. All except Jace. He was furiously operating his tools inside the drone that had been following Ubik around, with the soul box containing Ubik’s grandma sitting on top shaking and twitching.

Was it still connected to the network? Was Ubik just trying to buy time while Jace and the soul box tried to achieve some task Ubik had set them?

Point-Two had no way of knowing, but if buying time was all they needed to do, then he could help. He checked what Fig was doing but there was no sign of him. Was everyone in on the plan but him?

The Vendx organics were on the move, ready to bring the curtain down on Ubik for the last time. Point-Two ran forward, aiming to use one of the battlesuits to hide his movements, just in time to see Ubik fly past him in the other direction, a large hole in the middle of his chest.

Chapter 436

My plan to overthrow the totally fairly elected current President of America seemed to be becoming a reality. I say plan, what I mean is vague daydream with no real chance of happening, just like all my other wishful thinking.

If I did go back to my fantasy realm and make it possible for Peter to come home — a home he had left almost a century ago and had no real familiarity with — then he stood a good chance of becoming the next commander in chief. Not just of the US, of the whole bloody world.

Perhaps that would be a good thing. Some people need a firm hand to get them to do what must be done. Mandy would never have settled down with a demon and revelled in the joys of motherhood if I hadn’t threatened to set her on fire.

Forcing people to do things they don’t want to do really speeds things up. Fascism is a very effective way to hit your delivery dates, the same way slavery is extremely cost-effective and brings in your monumental vanity projects well under budget.

If you look back at the great advances in human development, you can see very clearly that the key to progress was for one group of people to put their humanity aside, their morals in one of those savings accounts you can’t access without giving thirty days notice, and their ethics with their watch and wallet stuffed into the toe of their shoe while they build sandcastles on the beach with their kids.

You can achieve a lot if you strip away the rules of polite society and just hold a gun to people’s heads. It doesn’t even have to be a gun, it can be an iPhone or a pair of running shoes.

“It will be very simple,” said Orion. “The doorway we have set up will bring you to a place called Monsterland. I’m sure the name is more frightening than the place itself.”

“No,” I said. “It’s about right.”

“Ah, alright then. All we need is for you to guide our team, led by Jack, there, across to the city of Fen-garrad.” He rolled the Rs and said it in a Spanish accent for some reason. “And that’s it. What would it take to make you amenable to such a simple request? Sky’s the limit.”

His tone was light and casual, no pressure, no threats. Perhaps losing his brother to Cheng’s appetite had made him an affable villain. There’s no reason evil people can’t be reasonable about their plans for global domination.

“I plan to destroy the world with my doomsday device, is next Thursday good for you?”

Orion was basically offering me anything I could dream of to go with his boys on a rescue mission. A quick jaunt over to the world of myth and legend and back before teatime. And no matter how absurd my demands, I was pretty sure he would be able to deliver. He’d put two million in my account in less than a day, any sort of material request — a car, a plane, my own private island — wouldn’t be too difficult to arrange over the phone.

Of course, you could afford to pay exorbitant prices if the recipient wasn’t going to be coming back to claim his reward. Buy high, sell low, like really low, like six feet under. I couldn’t see them just leaving me in peace after they got what they wanted.

How could they just let me go off and do as I pleased after Peter came back? For that matter, how could they let Cheng? No matter how much either of us insisted we had no interest in their affairs, there was no way they would just accept us at our word. They had to be working on some kind of backup plan to get shot of the both of us.

Staying in Flatland would probably be safest, but even then, would Peter just abandon the place? No, I couldn’t see him doing that either. He would want control of both places.

There was another option, though.

“It’s a very tempting offer,” I said, “but I can’t really think of anything I want at the moment. I’m a very hard person to shop for, even when I’m the one doing the shopping. You’ll have to give me some time to think it over.”

I could have just said, “No,” outright, but people who are committed to a cause rarely accept no as an answer. But maybe, you can use to string them along for a bit.

“There’s no need to decide now,” said Orion. “You can choose your reward afterwards. My credit is always good.”

A guy who didn’t know how to take maybe for an answer.

“Your credit may be good,” I said, “but my ability to trust people isn’t. I expect to be paid up front, no refunds. And I frequently don’t provide value for money.”

“Okay,” said Orion, “I see how it is. That’s fine. How long do you need to work out what you want?”

Now there was a question. Twenty years and counting was the answer.

“I have no idea, but let’s say a couple of days. Give you guys a chance to sharpen your knives and iron your bandanas.”

None of the tough guys looked amused. To their credit, they didn’t look particularly annoyed, either. It was only our first time meeting, tough. Not to flatter myself, but I like to think I wear people down over time. My first impression is usually a non-impression — no one ever remembers who I am. I’m more of an acquired distaste.

“Just so you know,” said the bearded guy I’d pegged as the leader, “we’re quite looking forward to go. This travelling between worlds may be no big deal to you, but it’s quite a fascinating prospect for the rest of us. I’m not sure you appreciate how exciting it is to be in your shoes.”

Ah, the joy of not knowing what the fuck you’re talking about. When they say ignorance is bliss, they ain’t fucking kidding.

“I’m not sure… sorry, what was your name again?”

“Jack.”

“Yes, that’s right. Jack, I’m not sure you appreciate how horrible it is over there. No flushing toilets and the wifi is patchy at best. Also, monsters that literally shit out rabbits — don’t ask, it isn’t pretty. The important thing to understand is that none of you will come back alive.”

“You came back alive,” said a wiry chap who looked like he knew the correct way to set fire to a village. “If you can, we got a pretty good shot, I reckon.”

I couldn’t fault his logic. If someone as useless in a fight as me had managed to survive this death trap, how could it not be a walk in the park?

“I made it out because I always ran away from danger, which is the opposite of what you want me to do. I didn’t try to take anyone’s stuff, never forced myself on any virgins, didn’t pull any swords out of any stones and claim I was their new king. You lot, on the other hand, want to bum rush the place and grab everything of value like you’re doing another circuit through the National Museum of Iraq. It isn’t going to be unarmed brown people with wonky teeth, you know? These fuckers don’t have to blow themselves up to make a point, they’ll just set their dragons on you.”

I was doing my best to paint a vivid picture.

“Wow,” said the guy who I’d healed. “Sounds amazing. I always wanted to travel to new worlds.”

“Then you should have become an astronaut,” I said. “Join the space program.”

“No point,” said the big guy at the back of the group. “NASA’s just a front for laundering money. I know the guy who runs it, does my taxes for me. Haven’t paid a cent in years. He’s good — real good.”

A bunch of romantics, all I needed. They probably thought Peter was going to usher in a new era of stability and magic. I think most people would be okay with it, as long as they weren’t the ones in the gulags. Obviously, there would be those who complained and moaned about their loss of freedom to do this or that, the right to choose your own god or sexual partner or whatever. And those people would be locked up for their own protection. Protection from what? From what the authorities would do to them if they didn’t shut the fuck up and get into their cell.

Then again, if Peter could make the world a better place, why not the current administration? Sure, a few kids get locked up in cages where they die from lack of care and malnutrition, but kids die all the time from silly accidents — jumping off a roof, being unvaccinated, drone strike at a wedding.

“You want to bring back Peter,” I said, “make him the next president and take over the world using magic.”

“No,” said Orion. “I don’t think Uncle Peter would be interested in such a high profile role. We have someone in mind already, someone who most voters will find attractive and familiar. Trustworthy.”

It made sense that Peter would prefer to work in the background. That was how he operated in Flatland, pulling the strings and avoiding the public eye. Whoever they put in the big chair, they wouldn’t be the one calling the shots. They never are.

“I assure you,” said Orion, “the world will be a much better place once we have the ability to unify everyone in a common cause. There are just too many powerful individuals at the moment, all of whom think they are best suited to lead, and willing to put all their resources into obstructing anyone else who gets even slightly ahead.”

“You’re saying spite is holding back the human race?” I said. “Nobody wants anyone else to win, even if they have to ruin it for everyone to make sure?”

“Very much so,” said Orion. “And understandably. Most of the time, the goal of the people who get an opportunity to do something momentous ends up being trivial and ineffectual. A very wealthy industrialist once decided it would be fun to go to the moon, so we did. He had no ambition beyond that, so nothing more came of it. What we need is a long term plan with a point to it.”

“And what plan is that?” I asked. “Invade another world and start a trans-dimensional empire?” Orion didn’t say anything in response. Nailed it first try? “There’s no oil there, no unobtanium, either. But there are people like him.” I pointed at Cheng. “And they will fuck you up.”

“We don’t want to invade anyone,” said Orion. “We want to improve things here. We can’t do that with our current level of technology, but we can if we obtain the secrets that the universe has kept from us all this time. What you just did when you healed Samson’s eye, imagine the transformation to the world if that kind of ability was more widespread.”

“I imagine,” I said, “the people who had the ability would use it to bully and extort those who didn’t. And anyone who tried to offer it freely, undercutting the ability of the profiteers to get what they wanted, would end up dead in a ditch, cause of death: accident ditch drowning.”

Orion nodded and his hands flitted about like he was encouraging me to continue. “That is certainly a possible outcome if left unregulated. But that’s why we need strong leadership, not populism that leads to petty squabbling. A firm guiding hand will prevent any of that kind of nonsense. We will work together, all creeds and colours, with a single purpose.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“Improved well-being for all.” He smiled beatifically. It was almost like he meant it.

My suspicious nature told me to not believe a word coming out of his mouth.

“You don’t believe me,” said Orion. “I understand. Why should you? But with your unique powers, there is little anyone can do to you and few who could stop you if you chose to prevent our actions. You don’t even have anyone close to you we might hold hostage.”

He sounded very certain about that last point, like he’d checked.

“You can’t make any of us less eager to go, Colin,” said Jack. “You just can’t. But I’ll give you my word, you guide us over there, and me and these men will put your safety ahead of our own. Now, look at me, look me in the eyes. I ain’t bullshitting you, kid. We won’t let you get hurt and we won’t hurt you, even if someone orders us to. I swear it on the flag of the United States of America. May not mean much to you, but it means everything to me.”

“You got my word.”

“Mine, too.”

They all swore on the stars and stripes that they wouldn’t fuck me over. It was ridiculous, but I kind of believed them. There was an excitement in their eyes, a real desire to travel to an alien world and see it for themselves.

I understood, I really did. In another life, I might have been just as excited by the idea. Personally, I’ve always been desperate for some kind of evidence there was more to life than this pile of garbage we call home. Aliens, ghosts, fairies… something. And I’d found it. Proof positive. And not for one moment had I enjoyed it. Well, smoking pond weed with frogmen was kind of cool.

These mercenaries, hired killers, they wanted to see something magical, something out of a dream. They wanted to talk to fairies and fly with dragons. They were in for a big surprise.

Seeing my healing powers had probably only made them more keen. I’d made believers of them. These hard men, these shadowy agents of the dark side, they weren’t much more than dreamy kids wishing they could do magic like Gandalf and the gay one from the boarding school.

Their stupid earnestness made me kind of believed them. At least, I believed they were being sincere, but as we all know by now, what people are convinced they’ll do when shit hits the fan is very different to what they actually do when shit hits the fan. Fan-shitting is a key element people don’t take into account during these declarations of good intent. I, on the other hand, make it my primary focus.

“It’s very nice of you to offer to babysit me over there but you seem to have misunderstood the situation, you arrogant bunch of fucks. I’d be the one who ended up having to save you. Yes, I know. Everyone thinks the same — at least I’ll do better than him. There’s the baseline I can only go up from. And you know where they are now? Dead. They’re all dead. And you lot can’t even cope with him.” I pointed at Cheng. “I rate him at about five out of ten. No offence.”

Cheng nodded, accepting the apology with good grace.

“Wait till you meet his dad and his uncles. Wait till you meet Peter and he fucks you over like he does everyone. You’re acting like schoolgirls going to their first boyband concert, secretly thinking you might get to suck on some Korean dick. AIDS is what you’ll get, and herpes and pregnant. No offence,” I said to Mandy.

“Wait, what?” said Mandy. “Why are you—”

“There’s nothing you can offer me that will make me go back with you, because you’ll be a liability. You protect me? Ha! Who’s going to protect you?”

I may have got a bit overheated. It just got a bit much to have people treat me like the weak link after all this time. I guess I had forgotten that was how I was seen, last pick in any team game.

“He’s right,” said Cheng. “None of you are a match for me, and yet Colin was able to overcome my armies without even raising a weapon. You will all die, except for him.” He was smiling. “I almost want to go back myself to see it.”

“No,” said Mandy, now really pissed off. “You aren’t going anywhere. If Colin wants to get these poor men killed, he can do it on his own.”

Suddenly, everyone was taking a dump on Team America, who were looking a bit miffed. It wasn’t really fair, but it was still fun.

“Then who would you want to take with you,” said Orion. “What will it take to convince you we are serious and only want to retrieve my uncle? Or are you so stubborn, you can’t see past your own certainty?”

“No, I’m not stubborn. You want me to go, seriously, introduce me to the people who tell you what to do. I’m curious who’s really in charge.”

Orion looked at me a little warily. “You wish to meet with the Council of Four.”

“Er, what now?” I said. Had to be a coincidence.

“No one has met with them directly,” said Orion.

“Because they only appear as giant wooden puppets?” I said as a joke no one would get (like most of my jokes).

“Yes,” said Orion. “How did you know that?”

66: Raise the Dead

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

The room’s attention was on Ubik. Ubik’s attention was on himself. He needed to think of a way to get everyone to do what he told them. Obviously, he couldn’t just ask, that would never work. He had to convince them some other way. He was making a mental inventory of everything he had on him that might come in useful.

“What are we doing?” said Captain Hickory. “We need to get out of here.”

“There is nowhere to go,” said Princep Galeli. “Once we leave the building, we’ll be even easier targets.”

He seemed resigned to making some kind of last stand. Ubik would have to keep an eye on him. People who thought they were doing the heroic thing were the ones who usually screwed it up for everyone else. There had been many times when one of his carefully worked plans had fallen apart because someone else decided to go out in a blaze of stupidity.

“There’s always a way out, Gal,” said Hickory. “You know that.”

Galeli looked at Fig then back to Hickory. “I’ll take my chances here. You are free to make your own decision, of course.”

“And the rest of the Academy?” said Hickory. “The trainees and the instructors — what about them? Shouldn’t you at least give them a fighting chance?”

“They are safest where they are now,” said Galeli.

The two men were on the verge of getting into a fight over the best way not to end up dead.

“Okay, alright, let’s not give up hope quite yet,” said Ubik.

Hickory turned to face Ubik, his eyes glowing red and his hair crackling with static. “I don’t know what you are or what makes you think you can take on the whole Vendx corporation alone, but you aren’t in your junkyard now. You can’t run and you can’t hide.”

Ubik felt like Hickory’s gaze was going right through him. He didn’t mind it. He had nothing to hide.

“I’m not the person Vendx are interested in,” said Ubik. “He is.” He pointed at Fig, who didn’t react. “We’re just lucky they haven’t figured out who his father is.”

“Wouldn’t that make them more likely to back off?” said PT.

“Would it?” Ubik said, passing on the question to Fig.

Fig frowned. “I don’t know. They should… but something tells me they would seriously consider the other option.”

“What’s the other option?” asked Bev. She was clearly the most junior person in the hall, but undaunted by the situation. Ubik wondered if that could be of some use to him.

“To vaporise the city and leave no evidence behind,” said Fig.

Ubik was impressed. He hadn’t thought Fig would be so astute about such matters.

“But if they knew who your mother was…” said Weyla.

“Oh,” said Ubik, “is your mother famous, too?”

“She has… a reputation,” said Fig.

“They wouldn’t dare touch you,” insisted Weyla. “The whole Corps would—”

“I am not a woman,” said Fig. “And my mother would only be able to blame the personnel here right now, who I’m sure Vendx consider expendable.” He turned to Ubik. “They’re going to go into maintenance mode, aren’t they?”

Ubik nodded, finding it harder and harder not to be impressed. But then, if Fig really was Ramon Ollo’s son, he grew up with access to all the information in the known worlds, even the artificially constructed ones.

“What does that mean?” said Bev.

“It means,” said Ubik, “full automation with no input from the control ship — no human involvement. That’s how they avoid taking responsibility for their crimes. They don’t order anyone’s death or destruction, they leave their systems to decide while they’re undergoing their regular updates. An algorithm decides if a threat needs to be neutralised while normal readings aren’t available to the bridge.”

“Isn’t it obvious what they’re doing?” said Bev. “If they turn on auto-pilot every time things get messy, and everyone winds up dead, someone has to notice.”

“They go into maintenance mode all the time,” said Ubik. “Every day. Several times a day. No one dies, usually. Maybe point five percent of the time there’s a need to open fire while there isn’t a human hand on the controls. That’s well within acceptable limits for statistical variance. And the Central Authority is hardly likely to find issue with it since they operate in the exact same manner.”

“That isn’t right,” said Bev. “It’s abusing the system.”

“You should read their promotional material. Ninety-nine point five percent of Vendx customer interactions are rated four stars or higher. Those are good numbers.”

Bev’s face twisted as she matched up the numbers. “And they only end up killing people point five percent of the time.”

Ubik smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

“At least tell us what you plan to do,” said Hickory.

“Nothing,” said Ubik. “We’re waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” asked Hickory.

“The resurrection protocol. That’s how we’ll know we’ve entered maintenance mode.”

“And what is—” Before Hickory could finish asking his question, there was a buzz of sudden activity all around them. The suits lying on the ground began to move, awkwardly twitching and bumping against each other. Then they one by one got to their feet, their limbs moving like puppets with strings attached.

“I thought they were dead,” said Bev, backing away towards Hickory, which was the only direction not containing a battlesuit.

“They are,” said Ubik. “The suits are being controlled by the drone shield above us. No signal gets past them, but they can send their own signals. It’s us against the machines now.”

He walked in between the suits, all standing still like statues, inspecting them closely.

“What are you looking for?” asked PT.

“No idea,” said Ubik. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

The suits all took a step forward. It was strangely hypnotic because of the way they moved exactly at the same time. They began marching to different parts of the hall, but every movement was crisply synchronised so they all moved at the same time and paused at the exact same moment.

The reached the walls and turned around, forming a perimeter around everyone.

“They aren’t armed and no one is controlling them,” said Weyla. “We can destroy them before they can do anything to us.”

“No don’t do that. They still have disruptors,” said Ubik, “although they may let you go, since you’re Seneca. See if they stop you.”

Weyla approached one of the suits. It didn’t react to her. “We can leave?” she said to her sister.

The two women began slowly moving towards the main door.

“Hey, wait,” said Ubik. “Take her with you.” He pointed at Bev.

“I’m not leaving,” said Bev.

“I’m not trying to save you,” said Ubik. “You can go to your ship and get help.”

“Oh,” said Bev, looking at Captain Hickory for approval. He nodded and Bev moved to follow the other women. The suits instantly shifted to focus on Bev.

“I don’t think I pass the test.”

“Can’t you act more Seneca? Be more assertive and full of anger. PT, can’t you give her some tips on how to move like a woman?”

“Hey, I already move like a woman,” said Bev.

“I know that,” said Ubik placatingly. “I mean a real woman.”

“I can’t train her in five minutes,” said PT. “Her whole body is wrong.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Bev.

“Okay,” said Ubik, “we’ll just use them to help us instead.”

“Help us do what?” asked Galeli.

“I’ll show you, just a sec.” Ubik ran to the part of the gallery he and PT had come down from. He climbed up the support column back to the suit PT had been inside of.

“Don’t start any fights,” he called down in case anyone was considering a final showdown. The two Seneca women still hadn’t left, which was interesting.

The empty suit was just as they’d left it. The lights were on indicating power but this suit had not joined in with the others, which was just what Ubik had hoped. This suit was already outside of the network when they first came across it. Whatever the issue was, the connection to the network had been compromised. Ubik climbed inside. The right arm was missing, but otherwise it seemed to be in good shape.

“By now,” he shouted down, “the Vendx researchers will have evaluated the situation and decided if it’s worth pursuing.”

He began running through the onboard software as he continued to speak. The others were less likely to do something if they thought he was going to tell them something they needed to know.

“Resurrection mode,” he continued, “suggests they’re still interested in harvesting Fig for their R&D department. They can scrape up his DNA after we’ve all been shredded, but that’ll be very messy and won’t provide all the answers they need.”

The suit’s systems came back online and he felt the magnetic anchor lift. He could move.

He walked the suit to the guard rail and jumped over it, landing on the ground with a loud thump. The other suits ignored him.

“I’m just one of them now.”

They were all giving him dubious looks, which was understandable. The suit had an arm missing and was a generation older than the other, more polished suits standing sentry around the hall. They weren’t seeing the suit through his eyes.

He began to move the left arm in a waving motion while stepping back and forth, back and forth.

“What are you doing?” asked Fig. He didn’t seem quite as dubious as the others, just curious.

“Connecting to the network,” said Ubik.

“By dancing?” asked PT.

“No. I’m establishing an uplink but trying to avoid releasing control at the same time. Commands are given at the start and stop of movements. Every step has a tiny pause at the beginning and end, which is when the command code is entered. If you never stop or start…”

The readout on the HUD was showing an attempt to find a local server. Three dots blinked at him endlessly.

The room was just watching him step to the right, step to the left, twist and turn.

“But why?” asked Bev. “What good is being on the network going to do? Can you hack into their command system?”

“Nope, it’s isolated during maintenance mode.” Turn and turn, arm round clockwise and point to the side, round in the opposite direction and point to the other side. The important thing was to keep moving.

“Do you think he knows what he’s doing?” asked Hickory, his anger softened now by mild confusion.

“Who knows?” said Galeli.

Ubik liked it when people were too confused to hit anyone and in particular him. “Like I was saying, they probably still want Fig, so that means an extraction unit sent in to find out why the network went down, or at least that’s what the report will say. They arrive just before the rest of us die and Fig gets yoinked, records show they arrived just after all of us died, no survivors. Not hard to fake.”

The suit next to Ubik dancing twitched.

“The way the network functions, by the way, is on a sympathetic neural link. It’s much more efficient to all move at the same time, so everything on the network will snap to the grid whenever possible. Like this.”

The suits on either side of Ubik stepped forward and began copying his movements. As odd and clunky as they looked, with three of them performing them in perfect synchronicity, it took on a bizarre elegance.

Ubik moved around the hall, collecting more and more suits until he had a whole dance troupe at his back.

“The team they’ll send will be organics, by the way. Six, probably. Selected to deal with us as quickly as possible. No point fighting them. They’ll be here in an hour or so, we have time to—”

The main door burst open and twelve red-eyed soldiers stormed in. They were early.

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Eight

After Nic had finished his classes for the day, had gone over the bare minimum he would need to cover to not fall behind — the lessons were becoming progressively harder and more reading-intensive — which would take him maybe an hour, maybe two, he returned to his room and lay on his bed, certain that he held the knowledge to keeping Ranvar safer from shadow dragons but uncertain where it was hidden or how to access it.

His schoolwork was the least of his worries but he was determined to not let it be the thing he sacrificed in order to achieve the task ahead of him. Assuming he — or someone else — managed to avert the coming crisis, he would still need to secure some sort of future from himself. If, as he suspected, he was merely a pawn in some wider strategy, then he doubted much consideration would be shown his way once the danger had passed. He was not well-connected or likely to be offered his pick of the best opportunities once his usefulness was at an end.

It wasn’t actually that much of a burden to have to keep part of his focus on something so mundane as homework. Rather than wear him down, having to switch modes and work out what needed to be done and how to complete it efficiently kept his faculties sharp and his mind active. He couldn’t afford to drop any balls, and removing one might well unbalance the rhythm he had managed to sustain so far.

It also helped that with so many students now no longer present in classes, the expected standard of the end of year exams would be greatly reduced. Their absenteeism worked in his favour.

Confident that he was still in control of his destiny — something he would have been unable to claim a few weeks ago — Nic turned his attention to the matter of the dragons now in the possession of Gweur. Here was a problem that no textbook would help him solve. Without their own dragons, how could Ranvar possibly defend her borders?

The most likely answer seemed to be the mages of the Royal College. They had the power to oppose anyone who dared threaten the safety and security of Ranvar, they could bring the shadow dragons falling out of the sky, couldn’t they?

But the Gweurvians were aware of this. They wouldn’t come charging in with no way to defend themselves against magical attacks. Were their dragons immune to Arcanum? He had seen the Arcanum core that powered them, but he had been lucky to be allowed that close. Dragons were best used at long range and provide cover. He doubted they would make the same mistake again.

It was a sunny afternoon that gave no hint of the dangers that surrounded the school. They Gweurvians seemed to favour nighttime activity, which wasn’t surprising. Would there be more visitors tonight? The increase in the number of Secret Service agents when there were far fewer people to protect suggested they considered it likely. Nic saw them spread out across the school grounds when he closed his eyes.

When he tried to locate the shadow dragons, the results were the opposite — nothing to be seen. He knew they had crossed the border, but he hadn’t been able to keep track of them. They had just disappeared.

Could they be summoned and dismissed as needed? If so, the riders would be left behind, but there were no signs of them, either.

Could they be hidden from him? He didn’t yet understand his own abilities well enough to be sure. He sensed that if he could master this ability, the tactical foresight it afforded him would be a huge advantage in this sort of situation. But he was still trying to grasp how to use it effectively, not even knowing the correct terms for the things he wanted to see. For all he knew, the shadow dragons were right in front of him, but he wasn’t using the correct appellation to identify them.

What he really needed was a tutorial in the various different functions of his new ability. Or a manual. For once, he would have appreciated Winnum Roke’s advice, but she had been removed from his mind. He felt empty-headed with only his own thoughts to draw from.

Nic could have quite easily spent the rest of the afternoon and evening scanning Ranvar’s borders and the lands beyond. Even without knowing what to look for, it was a pleasant way to pass the time as long as he didn’t think about the possibility of war and the deaths that would bring.

He preferred to think of different targets to search for and it would turn over the image in his mind like the porters burning raked leaves, stirring them with long sticks so that sparks flew into the air. Lights flickered and dimmed as Nic watched.

He couldn’t see any dragons nor any Gweurvian spies. They could come and go as they pleased, it seemed. They could choose their own time and place for battle in the streets of the capital or on the school’s playing fields.

The thought of them having the initiative made Nic uncomfortable. It was considered a huge tactical advantage to be able to choose where and when you wished to fight. With control of the skies and who knew how many allies gathered, it was looking more and more like a well-planned and coordinated attack.

Ranvar, meanwhile, was losing all its advantages.

Nic got up, unable to find what he was looking for and reluctant to waste the rest of the time he had. He quietly left the cottage and walked across the campus to the school library. As impressive as it was to be able to search the world for whatever he wished to see, it was only as useful as his ability to know what to look for.

The library was moderately busy, those students left to continue their studies carrying on with their daily routine. The new librarian was a neatly dressed man, everything pulled in tight so he looked narrow enough to slide in between two pages of a closed book, who had been sent down from the Librarium. Nic had seen him there on occasion, one of the assistants to Mr Gheri.

Trying to find information on shadow dragons was going to be no easier here, but the library was where Nic felt most at home. Any library, it made no difference if it was housed in a stately mansion or a shed. It was the books that counted. It wasn’t even the knowledge they contained, it was the way they sat on the shelves forming wall after wall, a barrier between you and the rest of the world.

“We have a fine selection of tomes on the subject of dragons up on the third floor,” said the new librarian, Mr Cuttle.

“Yes,” said Nic. “I was hoping you might have something about their history more than their biology.”

“Their history?” said Mr Cuttle, his eyes looking down his long nose in the exact same manner as every librarian Nic had ever encountered. They had to be trained to do it at some secret initiation ceremony. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Anything to do with the mythology of dragons. Where they came from, how they were created.”

“Ah, you want the fiction section.” Mr Cuttle leaned across the reception desk. “Dragonriders of Vengeance was always a guilty pleasure of mine.”

Nic had heard of the book but had never read it. A glimpse at the print of a shirtless man on a dragon on the inside cover had told him more than enough. Simole would probably like it. “I was hoping for something more traditional.”

“Folklore? We have some old texts in the archives, I believe. They’re rather simple retellings of old tales.”

“Yes, that sounds promising,” said Nic. Perhaps the most basic version of the story would be the most revealing.

The librarian took a large bunch of keys from behind his desk and led Nicto the rear of the library, to a scuffed door. He asked Nic to wait and returned in a few minutes with a small pile of books that were little more than pamphlets. To call them basic was an understatement.

Nic took them and promised to return them once he’d finished. He didn’t imagine it would take more than ten minutes.

He found an empty table, of which there were many, and flicked through the pages.

A passing draft of air caught his attention, the scent familiar, and he looked up just as Dizzy passed by, books in her arms. She sat down at a table with her back to him, no indication that she had even noticed he was there.

Nic could see the names of the books but would have recognised them anyway. They were from the Advanced Economics Analysis reading list. It seemed Dizzy was making sure she regained her place at the head of the year. If fewer students made it easier to maintain your position, it also made it easier to climb.

The ‘advanced’ part of the class had turned out to be memorising a lot of facts and figures. Mostly figures. The different economies of the neighbouring regions and how they fluctuated under changes of policy had been meticulously recorded over several hundred years. It was possible to predict future changes by evaluating the variables and adjusting for social and political variance. There were some very complex equations and some even more complicated correction tables you were supposed to know by heart. You would, of course, have access to the tables in most normal situations, but having them in your head was considered essential for anyone thinking of applying for a position in any of the governmental departments. Every decision you made was expected to take into account the financial ramifications, home and abroad. Stability was founded on secure economics more than armies and soldiers.

In fact, armies and soldiers had tended to have the opposite effect, creating more strife rather than lessening it. Sometimes, that was unavoidable.

Nic sat at his table and closed his eyes. He tried to bring up the tables from the textbooks Dizzy had open on her desk. If his ability could show him a book as easily as it did other targets, it would make his academic life a lot easier.

He could vaguely see the page, but it was from his own memory and not some supernatural implant. He would just have to remember them the old-fashioned way.

Nic returned his gaze to the pamphlets on the table. They were frayed at the edges and on the verge of falling apart, but no extra care had been taken to preserve them. They weren’t considered valuable enough. Carefully turning the pages so as not to cause any more damage, he read through the short paragraphs on each side to confirm the general assessment of the writing had been accurate.

The first small book was called Dragon Tide and was written in verse. Nic groaned internally, never a big fan of poetry or any other attempt to obfuscate meaning in the name of art. There were undoubtedly some things that were impossible to convey in a direct or factual manner, but they were usually so difficult to get across hardly anyone attempted it, in any form. The subject of most art tended to be very clear cut and not in need of abstract interpolation. Beauty, Nic felt, was best represented in clarity.

The verse itself, from what Nic could tell, was about a sea dragon — a species that did not exist and never had — that came on land and took the form of a man. He took a human woman from the isle of Anrogga as his wife and left her to go back to the water when she became pregnant, although this was couched in euphemistic terms. She was left to raise the child while staring out to sea, which probably made the child-rearing much more difficult than it needed to be.

Nic doubted the story had very much to do with dragons and more than likely was aimed at lovelorn women and widows. Personally, he didn’t think there was anything romantic about abandoning a pregnant woman, but it was a condition not that uncommon among the brides of soldiers. Rather than a sense of being betrayed and abandoned, it offered comfort in the form of hope. They weren’t dead, they had returned to the sea. It felt a cruel sentiment to Nic. He knew only too well what it took to raise a child alone, and there was little time for gazing at the sun setting in the hope of seeing a loved one again.

The other stories weren’t quite so maudlin, but they did have a tendency to rehash the same clichés. A hero who was noble to a fault, a damsel who required rescuing, and a beast that embodied fear and death. In his experience, only one of those stereotypes bore any resemblance to reality.

He flicked through the pamphlets, expecting less and less from them, and also treating them with less care. There really was no need to save them for posterity.

The last one was a little different. It was printed on green paper, for a start, making the faded ink hard to read. It had an imprint of two dragons that looked like fairly accurate representations, one black and the other just an outline so it appeared to be green. Below the dragons facing each other was what he assumed was the title: Dektu Narada Vim.

Nic didn’t recognise the language, had never seen the words before, and he was at least a little familiar with most modern tongues. This bore no resemblance to any of them.

The rest of the text was the same, strange words he had no idea how to pronounce. He sat bent over the paper, his finger under each word as he mouthed what he thought they would sound like in the hope it might give him a clue to their meaning. A mysterious new language might contain the secrets he was looking for.

“What are you doing?” asked Fanny.

Nic looked up to find his table surrounded by Fanny, Davo and Brill.

“Are you hoping to move up to big boy books soon?” asked Davo.

“Do you recognise this language?” said Nic, turning the paper around so they could see.

Davo picked it up as the other two stared over his shoulder. “Old Ingreet,” said Davo. He passed it back.

“What?” said Nic. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Really?” said Davo. “We sell a set of soup bowls with it as part of the design. They’re very popular.”

“Why?” asked Fanny.

“Because people don’t want to eat soup out of the pot,” said Davo.

“No, not why you sell soup bowls,” said Fanny. “Why do the bowls have ancient writing on them?”

“Because it looks nice,” said Davo, like it was obvious. “Your problem is you eat too fast to appreciate your surroundings.”

Nic was confused. He had never heard of Ingreet, old or otherwise. He looked at the page again. It still looked like gibberish.

“Where does it come from?” asked Nic. “Which country?”

“This country,” said Davo. He seemed a little confused now, too.

“Before the monarchy?”

“Of course before,” said Davo. “Before the five tribes, before the Veld, before everything. Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… You’ve heard of it have you?” Fanny and Brill both nodded. “Do you know what it says?”

“No,” said Davo. “Unless it’s a soup recipe, I doubt anyone cares. Speaking of which, we came to drag you to the cafeteria. Left to your own devices, you will very likely starve to death.”

“It’s pasta night,” said Fanny, by way of encouragement.

“Mm? Oh, yes, alright.” He rose with the green booklet still in his hand. He put it with the others and picked up the pile.

How could he have not heard of an entire language? Even if it was old, he should at least be aware of something to do with Ranvar’s past.

He returned the books to the librarian and considered asking for something on Ingreet, but decided against it. There was something strange going on and he wanted to tread carefully. Plus, he was hungry.

The pasta came with a red sauce that was sweet and spicy. They ate and chatted about classes, with Nic still wondering about the green pamphlet. Maybe he should have copied it into his notebook and asked someone to translate it for him. Who, though? Was there a teacher he could ask? He really had no good reason to think it would tell him anything, for all he knew it was indeed a soup recipe, but it preyed on his mind.

The one person who he thought would know about it was Dizzy. If he had managed to somehow miss this part of Ranvar’s history, she wouldn’t have. He turned and looked around the cafeteria but she wasn’t present.

Nic stood up, his pasta unfinished. “I have to go do something. I’ll meet you back at the cottage.” He left them eating and went back to the library.

Dizzy wasn’t there either. The whole place was eerily quiet, which was quite an achievement for a library. The librarian was busy behind his desk. There was definitely some in-depth research Nic needed to do on Ingreet, but there were other matters he had to deal with first. But he did want to confirm with Dizzy that Ingreet was a real thing, because the other possibility was somewhat disturbing.

The girls’ Upper Class dorms weren’t too far and Nic hurried over there, eager to find Dizzy and have his suspicions put to rest. The woman in the reception booth looked up as he walked in through the double doors.

“Yes?”

“I’d like to speak to Delzina Delcroix. Could you tell her Nic Tutt is here to see her?”

“Tutt, Tutt…” said the woman as she looked down at something. “Ah, yes, I thought I recognised the name. I have instructions from Miss van Dastan not to let you in once it gets dark.”

“I’m not here to see Simiole,” said Nic, not liking the way the woman was looking at him. “Could you tell Dizz… Miss Delcroix I’m here, please?”

The woman didn’t seem keen but it wasn’t dark yet and the girls who were wandering around were not in their nightclothes yet.

“Wait in there.” She pointed to a door.

There was a small visitor’s room with two sofas and a table with four chairs. It didn’t look like it was used very often. Nic sat down and waited.

Simole appeared first. “You’re early, aren’t you? I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

Dizzy came in behind her. “What do you want?”

“What do you know about Ingreet?” asked Nic, getting straight to the point.

“It’s a language?” said Dizzy. It was clearly a question she hadn’t been expecting.

“There’s no such language,” said Simole.

“Yes, there is,” said Dizzy. “It’s just very old.”

“Say something in it, then,” said Simole.

“I… I can’t,” said Dizzy. “I’m not fluent in it.”

“Okay, but you would know a phrase or something,” said Simole. “What can you tell me about it? Who’s the expert? What books are the best ones on the subject?”

Dizzy had a confounded look on her face. “I… I can’t think of any.”

“Right, because there aren’t any,” said Simole.

“I found a book in the library the Davo said was in Ingreet, but I’d never heard of it. Are you saying someone made it up,” said Nic, “and convinced everyone it’s real? Like they did with Brill’s brother?”

“Yes,” said Simole. “Exactly the same person, I would guess.”

“Brillard doesn’t have a brother,” said Dizzy.

“I know,” said Nic. “It’s a long story.” He turned back to Simole. “But why? And why let me find information about shadow dragons in a language that doesn’t exist?”

Simole shrugged. “I don’t know how demons think. I find it easier to ignore what they say and do and wait until they get in range. You can’t trust them, Nic.”

“I don’t,” said Nic.

“You seem to do nothing but,” said Simole.

Whether or not that was true, even if he was being toyed with, he had been given some sort of information about dragons, and dragons were the problem at the moment.

“If you want to know about shadow dragons,” said Simole, “why don’t you ask the expert on shades and shadowy creatures?”

“Who?” said Nic.

Simole was looking past him at Dizzy. Nic turned around. Dizzy didn’t look very pleased to have been excluded from the conversation up till now.

“I don’t have any control over shades any more,” she said in a voice too level to be genuinely calm.

“No, but you did,” said Simole. “Maybe you can help our boy better understand what he’s dealing with.”

“Why don’t you?” said Dizzy.

“If I did that, what would be the point of having you here?” said Simole, smiling.

“Are they made of the same thing?” asked Nic, quickly intervening. “The shades your father made and these dragons?”

“He didn’t make them,” said Dizzy.

“Then who?”

“My father,” said Simole. “He’s the only one who could have. Why he would give them to Dizzy’s dad, I don’t know.”

“And your father made the shadow dragons, too?” Nic asked Simole.

“Possibly,” said Simole. “I can’t really see it, though. He doesn’t have that great an imagination, to be honest. Shapeless man-things is about as creative as he gets.”

“Could your father have made the dragons?” Nic asked Dizzy.

“No. I would have been aware of them.”

“Then… the new minister, your fiancé?”

“He isn’t my fiancé,” said Dizzy.

“He seemed to think he was,” said Simole. “Be a bit odd if he just decided by himself.”

“He’s quite an odd person,” said Dizzy. “Do you really think he would make dragons, though? For Gweur?”

“You know him better than we do,” said Simole.

“No, I don’t. I always made sure to not spend any time around him if I could help it.”

“Why?” asked Simole.

The conversation between the girls was making Nic uncomfortable. “First, can you tell me what you know about the shades your dad used? What are they made of? What’s the best way to fight them?”

“The same things you use against anything else,” said Dizzy. “They’re stronger at night.”

“So light hurts them?” asked Nic.

“No,” said Dizzy. “But they lose a lot of substance and go transparent. They find it hard to interact with things in direct light. They can manage alright in heavy shadow, though.”

“They go transparent?” said Nic. “So they’re still there, just harder to see?”

“Yes,” said Dizzy. “They’re still there. Harder to detect, even with magic.”

Nic leaned back in the sofa and closed his eyes. He saw the world from above, the sun on its way to setting in the distance. He asked to see the location of any shadow dragons and saw nothing.

“Invert colours.”

The world flipped before his eyes, dark to light and vice versa. He could see them now, dozens of them circling the capital.

Nic sat up, eyes open. “I know where they are. I have to tell someone.”

He ran out of the room and slammed through the dorm’s front entrance, ignoring the door lady’s protests. He needed to find a Secret Service agent.

The campus was quiet and still. There were no signs of any agents, but they were everywhere now. He would find one easily enough. He was about to close his eyes to locate the nearest one when a figure appeared beside him, wearing a red mask. He was about to tell him he needed a message sent, but something didn’t seem quite right. Especially when the agent took off his mask.

His face was surprisingly old. “Hello, there. Nic, isn’t it? I would have guessed anyway, you’re the spit of your father.”

Nic was taken aback, too surprised to hold his tongue. “You… knew my father?”

“Certainly. Best trainee I ever had. My name’s Rutga, nice to meet you.” He smiled, but for some reason it sent a chill down Nic’s spine.

65: Top Percentile

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

Ubik had no idea what he was doing. Not that he ever did, but this time things were particularly chaotic.

He was in a room with a lot of dead bodies. Not the first time that had happened. Then there were the guild members, local and just visiting. His fellow trainees, Fig and PT, who he considered different enough from the rest of the guild to get a special mention. And, of course, the two Seneca ladies.

How was he going to mix all these ingredients into something easily digestible?

As a child, he had discovered a talent for thinking clearly in the midst of absolute bedlam. The main advantage of this was that other people had the opposite experience. The more convoluted things became, the harder they found it to keep track of everything.

This meant that even if he wasn’t the smartest person in the room, he could force everyone into being dumber than him by putting them in the middle of a maelstrom.

He could put the noise into the background and remain focused. Which meant he always tried to push things towards chaos, even before he had any concept of what to do once he got there. An answer would present itself. Probably.

His ability to remain unaffected by the madness probably came from his childhood fantasy that he was a machine, an old fashioned robot in the shape of a boy, alone and abandoned, probably replaced in the family home by some newer, more energy efficient model. He didn’t have to worry about not having anyone to look after him, machines only needed servicing, not parents. A firmware update every six months and you were good to go.

Machines, however, did not bleed, and they didn’t poop, either. It had been a handy way to cope with his early years when everything felt terrifying and overwhelming, but his humanity sadly asserted itself as he hit puberty. He still felt an affinity for machines, but more as a distant cousin than as a sibling.

He had managed to retain his ability to turn down the volume on his surroundings and keep working on a problem when everyone else was running around in a panic. He could even interact with them as though he was in the same situation they were. But he was always somewhere entirely different.

Even now, he was aware of himself telling people he would save them. How? He had no idea. Fifty percent of them? A number he’d picked out of the air. The real number was probably a lot, lot lower.

He was mocking one of the Seneca women while flirting with another. His words were coming out from some other part of his brain, no piloting required. He had no interest in aggravating or seducing either of the women, but everyone else seemed hyper-wary of them, so keeping them on edge served a purpose — it kept everyone else on edge.

Was that the answer to getting out of here in one piece? The Seneca Corps had such a threatening reputation, merely the mention of their name was enough to make people tremble in their boots. But would it bother Vendx?

The two women weren’t willing to use their Seneca connection as leverage, their pride holding them back. Ubik wouldn’t necessarily need their permission, but did he really want to bring a whole Seneca fleet down on them?

When faced with numerous opponents, he had brought them together to face off against each other, but it was more the uncertainty of the situation that held everyone in check. Once the fighting started in earnest, events would quickly get out of his control.

Ubik's mind was racing to find the best solution while his mouth operated independently to stall as long as possible.

“How could you possibly have declared war on behalf of the guild?” said an aghast Princep Galeli. “You don’t have the appropriate authority or identification codes.”

Ubik had not actually declared war on anyone’s behalf. He wouldn’t know where to even send such a declaration. But he knew that war was one of the things considered most taboo, and therefore the easiest way to short-circuit everyone’s thinking.

The outlawing of war by the Central Authority several hundred years ago was considered a key turning point in human civilisation. To break that accord was to invite swift retribution from the Authority. But like with most things, people found a way around it. Or got a special exemption.

Ubik’s declaration had just been a loud shout into the cosmos, on all frequencies. Perhaps someone would pass the message along to the appropriate department, perhaps not. The important thing was to make some noise.

“I got the codes from Captain Hickory,” Ubik heard himself saying. “When I was on the Red Devil, I hacked the ship’s computer. Because I was bored.”

Everything he said sounded plausible. It helped enormously that both Fig and PT had taken to building him up as some kind of mad genius. It had made the others more likely to believe his lies. Not that he couldn’t have stolen the captain’s codes if he’d thought of it at the time, but there hadn’t seemed any point since he’d made the ship’s computer recognise him as the captain’s superior.

“You declared war under my name?” said Captain Hickory. His eyes were glowing red. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

“It’s fine,” said Ubik. “No one’s going to do any warring. It’s just to make Vendx wet their pants a little. They hate this kind of publicity. The whole PR department will be screaming at Chief Supervisor Mayden, poor guy. This is no easier for him than it is for us.”

Hearing this reasoning was as surprising to Ubik as anyone. That’s how it had always worked. He would push himself deeper and deeper into a corner, taking everyone along with him and then, from somewhere deep in his brain, answers would flow.

One day, he was sure, his luck would run out and the solution he came up with would not work. So far, that hadn’t happened, but that only made it more likely that the odds were about to be balanced out.

He relied far too much on his instincts, waited for them when they were late, acted on them as soon as the arrived. It was a foolish approach but surprisingly effective.

He looked around the hall. They were all staring at him, mad at the position he’d put them in, desperate for his help to get them out of it. The fact they were already in an impossible predicament only helped him. They could hardly blame him for putting them at risk — he’d already got their odds of survival up to fifty percent!

“Why is he grinning like that?” said Leyla. “It’s freaking me out.”

“This is Chief Supervisor Mayden.” The voice was weaker, more static, and it was coming out of a different suit. They’d started thinking more clearly, but far too late.

“Hello,” said Ubik, brightly. “Chief Engineer Ulanov here. How can we help?”

“What did you just do? That message…”

“Oh yes,” said Ubik. “Sorry, you caught us at a bad time. We’re in the middle of an unresolvable dispute with the local government over planning permission for a new gazebo. It’s gotten a little out of hand, you know how it goes.”

What was a gazebo? He vaguely recalled Grandma mentioning it, a building of some kind. He was desperately trying to think of a fix and saying anything he could think of. Something to make Vendx back off. They had two cruisers over the Academy and the Motherboard in orbit. And, of course, the fifty thousand drones. Could he use any of them?

“Don’t worry,” he rattled on, “it’s nothing to do with you. I expect the Central Authority will send an investigation team and you know how unbiased and unswayable those guys are. They’ll be able to see what role you played here. I’m sure you’ll be completely exonerated of any wrongdoing. Although, I’d check with your public relations officer, if I were you. I expect they’ve been in touch, have they?”

Bad publicity. It wasn’t much of a gambit, but it was all he had for now. Every Vendx employee hated the PR department above all else. Their eyes would shrink with fear at the very mention of the name.

“Yes, I’ve spoken to my PR officer. “ Mayden sounded shaken at having been reminded of the conversation. “She tells me the Authority are very thorough in their approach.”

“What are you stupid?” hissed Weyla. “They’re going to wipe us out before the Authority can get here.”

She had a point. Ubik’s grand scheme could have encouraged Vendx to abandon their designs on young Fig and cut their losses but that wasn’t how Vendx operated. Never cut your losses, always come away with a profit. Net gain was the Vendx way.

“Go on,” said PT, “you might as well.”

“Might as well what?” said Ubik.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. We’re in too deep to back out now.”

PT was surprisingly calm, watching Ubik with analytical eyes. Ubik wasn’t used to that kind of confidence aimed in his direction. He turned to face Fig, who had a similarly sanguine expression.

“What about you?” said Ubik. “Any bright ideas?”

“Yes,” said Fig. “I need to get home and talk to my father about something. You should come. You’ll like him, he’s a bit of an engineer as well.”

“Organics?” asked Ubik. That was where the money was, after all.

“Yes, but also tronics,” said Fig. “He invented the sim-U, well, the prototype.”

There was a minor explosion in Ubik’s brain, shifting his attention onto Fig, dragging even the part focused on finding a solution into this far more interesting conversation. “Your dad is Ramon Ollo?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of him?” said Fig, as though Ubik might not have been aware of the greatest engineer alive.

“I think I might have read an article or two about him. Can I really meet him?”

“Absolutely,” said Fig. “As soon as you get us out of here.”

Ubik smiled. He could feel the cogs turning. Now that he had a proper reason to leave, there was no way he wouldn’t come up with an exit strategy. And the answer came to him almost immediately. Not just a fifty percent survival rate but a ninety-nine percent survival rate. The only problem was the one percent. Who would it be?

Chapter 435

I had a dream that I got back to Flatland and rushed to find Jenny but because of the time dilation, she was an old woman. It was like that scene in Interstellar where Matthew McConaughey finally returns and his daughter is on her deathbed, surrounded by her family — the message of which is, Don’t get too worked up about it Matt, I got on fine without you.

In my dream, Jenny had her kids and grandkids surrounding her, plus her husband and ex-husbands, a swarthy gardener and a pool boy. She’d managed to get through the five stages of breakup grief — anger, guilt, sex with strangers, why was I upset again? and marriage to a balding but rich stockbroker — and come out the other end just fine. My worry she would be eternally bereft without me turned out to be unfounded.

It was a ridiculous dream because the time dilation worked the other way around — I’d have been the older one and only a short time would have passed for her. But these things don’t follow strict logic. When you get down to it, not even the laws of physics follow the laws of physics, so you can hardly expect magic to.

As a way to reassure me, Jenny could take care of herself and was a strong enough person to build a happy life without my help, it didn’t really do anything for me. As a way to convince me I was worthless and unneeded, it ticked all the right boxes.

I quietly left Jenny to her unbridled joy and woke up feeling refreshed and hungry. Say what you like about having satanic powers of the occult, they certainly leave you feeling peckish. No wonder they’re always sacrificing chickens.

“Lord Lucifer, accept this chicken’s blood as you accept our devotion to your unholy cause, and also this half a litre of vegetable stock and pinch of five-spice seasoning.”

Everyone was more or less where I had left them, my nap only lasting about half an hour. If I was going to pass out every time I did anything magical, I really wasn’t going to be able to achieve very much. Hopefully, I would get better at managing my energy consumption with practice, but that would take time and effort. Time, I had. Effort… I felt like taking another nap just thinking about it.

From what Cheng had said and from my own attempts at getting my head into the correct space to perform my supernatural abilities, it had quickly become obvious that things weren’t going to work the same way here. I couldn’t just twiddle my fingers and expect to put on a light show of epic proportions.

Pushing myself into a corner and forcing my magic to emerge or face the risk of death seemed like the only way to really hurry things along, so I’d provoked Orion’s team into being my catalyst. It probably helped that Cheng hadn’t been there to act as a safety net.

Shades, the guy whose surgery scars I had healed, was sitting on the edge of the sofa opposite me while one of his colleagues examined his face.

“Man, it’s like, totally fixed. Can’t even see a scratch.”

“Shit,” said Shades. “Jesus fucking Christ.” I felt he could have been a little more grateful but all he did was swear and finger the area around his perfectly good eye. “Fuck me with a handlebar.”

Orion was standing to my left, face to face with Cheng, who was now dressed in chinos and a polo shirt. So that was what a monster’s wardrobe looked like. Both of them had polite smiles on their faces and weren’t blinking. Despite Cheng’s youthful appearance, he didn’t appear to be the junior one. Something about the way he held himself suggested he was more than he seemed, but then I’d seen the kind of monster he was on the inside.

“Are you two having a staring contest?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re awake,” said Orion, smiling like a shark. “I wanted to thank you for healing my man, and for the demonstration. You are turning out to be everything I hoped you would be.”

“And it only cost you a couple of million bucks,” I said. “Bargain.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” He smiled even more. “I think our meeting is kismet. A plan by the gods.” His eyes were twinkling now, making me think that perhaps he had a bit of a monster on the inside, too.

There is actually a superhero called Orion in the DC Universe, a Jack Kirby creation who is the son of Darkseid but adopted by Darkseid’s great enemy, Highfather. They switched sons because what better way to ensure a lasting peace than a baby hostage swap?

Kirby’s Orion was your classic born-to-be-bad guy with anger issues, who learned to use his power for good because of the love he was shown by his adopted family. Nurture triumphing over nature. Was this Orion going to be so easily swayed from the dark path he was set on? Would Cheng end up eating him, too?

Then again, in the comics, Orion obtained the Anti-Life Equation which his biological father craved and used it to defeat him, only to then use it to create a Utopia on Earth which he achieved by taking away free will. Pretty deep for a comic, especially if you're fourteen. It often feels like the only way people will ever be truly happy is if you force them, and even then they find a way to complain about it. If you give them a choice, they always choose to fuck things up.

“I’m not going to accompany your boys on a trip of a lifetime,” I said.

“But you have to,” said Orion. “You’re the perfect man for the job.”

“Very flattering, but I’m not the problem. They are.” I pointed across the room at five guys named Moe (since I didn’t know any of their names, technically this wasn’t necessarily wrong).

“I assure you, they are all experts in their chosen field,” said Orion. “They won’t need you to babysit them.”

I stood up and felt woozy. A bar of chocolate flew at my head from Mandy’s direction and with my cat-like reflexes, I let it hit me in the face and then picked it up off the floor. It was a Mars. “Thanks. Are you a Marianne Faithfull fan?”

“Never heard of her,” said Mandy.

“That’s a relief.” I took a bit of the chocolate and noticed that Team America had stood up when I did. They didn’t look like they were about to attack me, but they seemed a little tense. Possibly offended. “What?” I said through a mouthful of gooey sweetness. “You guys have no idea what’s waiting for you over there. Don’t think just because I survived so can you. I’m a legendary player, you’ll just be noobs twinked out in high-end gear. Guns won’t help you. Or will you use the old smallpox in blankets trick? Bunch of evil f—”

“We won’t be taking guns,” cut in Orion. “Metal can’t travel through the gateway.”

“Really?” I said, pulling out the chain around my neck. “My spoon made it through just fine.” Everyone stared at my spoon. Not a euphemism. “It’s metal. I suppose you thought you were going to be transported naked, Terminator-style. Sorry to disappoint, no excuse to show off the muscles and the tatts. Vanity isn’t very manly, you know that, right?”

“That spoon came from another world,” said Orion. “Might I see it?”

“No,” I said, putting it back inside my top. “Get your own fucking spoon.”

“That could be the most important discovery of the modern age,” said Orion, still reeling from my display of otherworldly cutlery.

“It’s not polite to covet another man’s spoon,” I said. “Says so in the Bible.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Orion. “It’s just that what’s normal and everyday to you is beyond the experience of every other person on this planet. You’ll have to forgive our occasional lapse into stupefaction.”

“Not every person,” I said. “She’s seen just as many spoons as I have.” I pointed at Mandy. “More than she’s willing to admit, probably.”

Mandy pulled a sour expression. She didn’t have to pull very far.

“Yes, you’re right, there. Mrs Cheng is off-limits, though.”

“Lucky her,” I said. “Who do I have to eat to get the same consideration?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Orion, showing a little discomfort for the first time. Just a little, though.

“You don’t seem all that upset about your brother,” I said. “I find it disconcerting. Most of the people I’ve met who aren’t bothered by killing have turned out to be sociopaths who can’t be trusted to keep their word.”

“Like you,” said Mandy.

“Like me,” I agreed.

“I assure you, I can be trusted,” said Orion.

“That’s what a sociopath would say,” I pointed out.

“My brother was not a very pleasant man. Quick to temper and willing to use violence even when there was no call for it. They say twins can feel each other’s emotions, but I never felt anything from him. I don’t plan to continue his reckless approach. We were alike only in appearance.”

He sounded like he was grateful to Cheng for clearing his path to the throne.

“Who takes over if Cheng eats you?” I asked.

“I have no intention of eating anyone,” said Cheng, polite and friendly. “Now that we have an understanding, there’s no need.”

“Never say never,” I said.

“Thank you,” said Shades, from over the other side of the room. “I’ve been on painkillers ever since the operation, not been able to think straight. Sorry for roughing you up like that.”

It appeared that down south they taught their good old boys some manners, along with inbreeding and how to lose wars and then insist it was best two out of three.

“No problem,” I said. “Next time you touch me, I’ll set you on fire from the inside and incinerate your internal organs.” My hand burst into flame. “Shit, didn’t mean to do that.” I quickly ate the rest of the Mars bar before I fainted and tried to stick my hand in the fish tank, which turned out to be an 8K TV. Astonishingly realistic but not very wet.

I would have to learn how to turn off my power as well as turn it on. As an experienced user of super-powers, I can exclusively reveal that the number one skill you have to learn is how to not kill yourself.

You can fly? Great, but can you land? X-ray vision? Don’t burn out your retinas, you don’t get spares. Mind-reading? Imagine being on a bus next to two women chatting. You put on your headphones but you can still hear their inane conversation in your head. It never ends. The voices, the grumbling, the withering commentary on that dress Susan wore to Brian and Phyllidia’s wedding.

I stared at my hand and said, “Stop fucking burning.” The flames went out. Okay, irritated commands FTW.

Everyone was staring at me again.

“See?” said Mandy, probably annoyed I was stealing the spotlight from her. “That’s what he’s like. He said the same thing to me and he meant it.”

“He isn’t a threat to you any longer, my love,” said Cheng.

“He’s a threat to everyone. You haven’t seen him kill people, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Didn’t even care. I don’t know what kind of monsters you think you’re going to find out there, they won’t be as bad as him.”

Clearly, Mandy held some unresolved resentment towards me, although her disparaging remarks were actually building me up in the eyes of these men, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. They would expect me to live up to her claims, which would be hard to do while running away from danger at full speed.

“Your husband eats people,” I said.

“Yeah, and you’re the one who introduced him to me,” said Mandy. How this made me the bad guy, I had no idea.

“If I can say something,” said Orion. “I understand you have reservations and that you don’t trust us, even though we deposited a great deal of money into your bank account with no guarantees, but at least come and see what we have managed to achieve so far. It isn’t far from here.”

“How come you set up shop here?” I said. “Shouldn’t it be over there, Area 51 or something?”

“It was considered safer with the unrest that’s coming,” said Orion.

“What unrest?” I said.

“It isn’t important, you won’t be greatly affected. We are going through a process of change, that’s all.” He smiled in a way that made me think there was some kind of Purge being prepared. I was probably being too optimistic, as usual.

“I guess I should cancel my plans to visit the Grand Canyon,” I said.

“Oh,” said Orion. “Were you thinking of coming over?”

“I had this fantasy I was sent back to get rid of your president in a ‘kill Hitler before he can do any crazy shit’ scenario.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere for that,” said Orion. “He’s on a state visit to this country at the moment.”

This was news to me. I had been so busy catching up on recent events, I hadn’t been paying much attention to current ones.

“Hey, if I help you guys,” I said, “will you get rid of President Dumb-fuck for me?” Maybe this was how it worked. I did them a favour, they did the whole world a solid.

“No,” said Orion. “There’s no need, he won’t be around much longer?”

“How do you know that?”

“We put him in the White House, we’ll decide when he leaves.”

“We? Who’s we? The Illuminati?”

“No, no, just some powerful people who guide world events occasionally.”

How was that not the Illuminati?

“Wait,” I said. “You own Trump?”

“Oh, no. He’s a Russian asset, bought and paid for. We don’t control his actions, that’s the Kremlin’s operational territory.”

“Then why would you make him the president?” I could easily believe Orion was part of some shady conspiracy that controlled the US government, but it seemed unwise to give the reins of power to someone they knew was in the thrall of a foreign power.

“To make our next candidate more palatable,” said Orion. “Once people have had enough of him, they’ll gladly accept what we have planned for them.” That smile again.

It made total sense. It was the same approach game devs used. Have a terrible mechanic you want to implement that you know gamers will object to vehemently and boycott your game? Put out an even worse one and then backtrack to a ‘better’ version which you originally planned to go with anyway. Players think they forced a change, the devs get to fuck them over while making them think the game company buckled to gamer pressure. Everyone wins. Except you.

“So, he’s out?”

“As soon as we get our preferred candidate correctly positioned.”

Without knowing who that was, I still felt it couldn’t be any worse, which showed how well their plan would work. It could even be Peter.

Now that I thought of it, who else? If he could use his powers here, then being President of the US of A would be the ideal place to work from. And everyone would be so grateful he wasn’t the last guy, they’d do whatever he said.

Was that Peter’s plan all along? Get me to be door-opener, delivery boy and kingmaker for the cheap, cheap price of two mill cash. And he actually would be better than what we had right now.  All the Utopia you could ever want with none of the free will.

64: Uniquely Suited

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

“Hello?” said the voice from the Vendx suit. “Anyone there? Jesper, why can’t I hear anything? Well, fix it. Come on, we’re supposed to be professionals. Wait, they can hear me? Are you sure? Well turn it off, tur—” The suit went quiet.

“You don’t want to talk to them?” said Figaro.

“I’m not good with new people,” said Ubik. “Always been very shy around strangers.”

Figaro turned to PT. “Why doesn’t he want to talk to them directly?”

PT’s headed bobbed up and down as he thought about it. Figaro was finding PT a handy sounding board and a useful source of alternative opinions. At least he had a logical way of thinking that was easy to follow.

“I think,” said PT, “he doesn’t want the blame for whatever he’s planning to fall on his own shoulders. Even if he gets away with it, if people know he was responsible, they would come after him.

Figaro found his own head bobbing in time with PT’s. “Yes. Sounds about right.”

“Aren’t you two the insightful couple?” said Ubik. He was dragging the suit that had been speaking to them over to Jace, lifting and scraping it across the other bodies. “You should, ugh — damn these guys are heavy — should open up a therapy practice for, eeeh — nobody’s going to help, huh? — okay, big push, one, two, heave — your own practice for troubled souls.” He dumped the body at Jace’s feet, arms and legs clattering on the floor.

“Hi. Ubik.” He put out a hand.

“Jace.” Jace took the offered hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

Ubik pointed at the body lying between them. “Can you patch into the suit and piggyback on the signal.”

“Sure,” said Jace, rolling the bag off his back, “but they’ll have a valve clamped on it. We won’t be able to send anything out.”

“Not yet,” said Ubik. “You’ll need to take this off first.” He ripped a bunch of wires off the suit like he was pulling out weeds.

Jace’s eyes widened. “You blocked their incoming message so they couldn’t listen in on us. How did you know they’d choose this suit?”

“They didn’t,” said Ubik. “I made this suit more attractive so the signal came here first. Magnetised the frequency.”

Jace’s mouth fell open. “You know how to do that.”

“It’s an old trick my Grandma taught me. I’ll show you sometime, after we get out of here.” He leaned closer to Jace and spoke in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re in the fifty percent that survives.” Ubik turned and looked startled, like he just realised the two of them weren’t alone. “That, ah, goes for the rest of you, too, of course. You’ll all be in the fifty percent.”

The knowledge and manipulation of tronics were impressive while the buffoonery was confounding. The combination of the two was clearly designed to keep everyone off-balance and under Ubik’s control. Figaro had never seen leadership like this. Everyone here was dependent on him, whether they wanted to be or not.

Jace had opened his bag and was using his tools on the suit. He seemed to be the only one unfazed by Ubik’s antics.

“Okay,” said Ubik, “Princep Galeli, I think you should speak to them.”

“Me?” said Galeli, slightly flustered. “What should I say?”

“Oh, you know, greetings and salutations from Fraiche, city of the spars. I don’t know, be friendly, find out what they want, make up some excuse why you can’t give it to them.”

“And what will you be doing?” Galeli, his tone switching to suspicious.

“Nothing. Observing from a distance, bothering no one. Official innocent bystander, that’s me.”

The suit crackled and whined.

“They’re back online,” said Jace.

“Why is the reception so bad?” asked Bev, who was watching Jace work.

Jace looked to Ubik, like he was seeking permission to talk. The slightest of nods passed between them.

“They’re squeezing their signal through a very small opening,” said Jace. “It’s barely the width of an atom. The amount of power it takes to broadcast… pfft, don’t even.”

“Luckily,” said Ubik, “the amount of power it takes to hitch a ride is a lot less once they’ve done all the hard work.”

“I still don’t see—” Jace’s words were cut off by another voice.

“This is Chief Supervisor Mayden of the Vendx Galactic vessel Motherboard, here to offer our assistance.”

He sounded like he’d practised his opening remarks while he’d been waiting.

“This is Princep Galeli of the Gorbol Training Academy. Thank you for coming so quickly. I’m afraid the mechanics you sent to, uh, assist us seem to have suffered some kind of catastrophic failure. Their suits, I think. Can you determine if they’re faulty from your end?” The princep sounded very calm and reasonable. It was a good thing the Vendx officer couldn’t see the enormous antique grenade launcher he was currently carrying.

“Yes,” said Chief Supervisor Mayden. “That’s what we’re seeing here. Faulty suits.”

Ubik was bent over Jace, his hand sticking out to the side, waving the princep to keep going.

“It may not be advisable to send any more of your people right now,” said Galeli, “until you’ve identified the fault or the same thing might happen to them. For all of them to fail at the same time, it could mean they reacted to something here. Our simulation machine has been acting a bit odd of late.”

Figaro was impressed with the princep’s coolness under pressure. Neither side wanted to make overt threats that might come back to bite them. The rules of engagement for any kind of conflict were very stringent. Punishment by the Central Authority was severe for the aggressor, which was why everyone tried to show the least amount of aggression possible while trying to kill each other. Well, nearly everyone. His gaze fell on the two ex-Seneca who were watching along with everyone else.

“We think we may have isolated the problem, Princep Galeli,” said Mayden. “It seems the trainee who last used the sim-U is the cause of the problem. If you send him out to the landing pad, we can have him checked and cleared in a jiffy.”

Ubik was shaking his head at Galeli and waving his hands across each other. Apparently, Ubik wasn’t ready to sacrifice Figaro. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said Galeli in an apologetic tone.

“Why is that?” asked Mayden, equally polite, merely inquisitive.

“Because he’s…”

Ubik made a cutting motion across his throat.

“Because he’s dead?”

Ubik waved no, no, no.

“Dead tired. Exhausted. Sedated. We had to sedate him. Can’t be moved.” Galeli glared at Ubik who put on an air of total innocence.

“I see. This is a problem. Perhaps we could send in a hazard team to investigate. They should be safe from any… unusual effects of the machine.”

Ubik was waving no again.

“Sorry, no, my chief engineer is telling me that isn’t possible.”

“Your chief engineer?” said Mayden. “Perhaps I could speak to him directly.

“Certainly,” said Galeli. “I’ll put him on.”

Ubik started miming all sorts of refusals. Galeli mimed back that this was his show and he should be on stage, at least that was how Figaro interpreted it. Everyone else followed the princep’s lead, encouraging Ubik to speak up. The consensus was that Ubik would be less of a threat to everyone else if his own life was as much under threat as theirs. Figaro suspected this might have been part of Ubik’s plan, too.

“Hello, Supervisor,” said Ubik. “This is Chief Engineer Uuuulanov.”

“Uuuulanov?”

“Just Ulanov. Sorry, I have a cold. How are you? Nice weather up there?”

“We’re in orbit.”

“So… quite sunny?”

“Listen, Chief Engineer, can you establish an uplink on this trainee’s sim-U recordings? I think that will help us get to the bottom of this.”

“I can do better than that,” said Ubik. “I have a recording right here. Just scan me.”

“You have the whole recording on you?” Mayden sounded dubious about this claim.

“Yes, on a portable recorder, it’s one of the new wireless models.”

“I wasn’t aware we made one of those,” said Mayden.

“Oh, it isn’t Vendx,” said Ubik. “It’s from Grossman-Rays.”

“You bought it from a Rigogo subsidiary?” Mayden sounded less than impressed.  Rigogo were one of Vendx’s major competitors. As Ubik would well know.

“It was on sale,” said Ubik.

“I see. And you can upload the data?”

“Yes, one second.” Ubik took out the soul box of his Grandma and put it up to his mouth. “Grandma? Can you show me the blueprint I gave you earlier.”

“Of course, my dear.” The box emitted a blue light in several layers, forming a small replica of the simulation machine.

“Did you make a copy of the sim-U?” said Galeli.

Ubik put a finger to his lips.

“What was that?” said Mayden.

“Ah, nothing,” said Galeli. “I also have a cold.”

“Okay, start the scan,” said Ubik.

The ever-present background hum dipped in volume. Figaro’s skin stopped pulsating quite so noticeably.

“Grandma, please tell them all about yourself. Don’t stop till you finish.” The hologram of the simulation machine began flickering.

“Got it,” said Jace.

“Send,” said Ubik.

There was sharp, high-pitched scream that faded as quickly as it appeared.

“What was that?” said Galeli.

“Cut it,” said Ubik. Jace nodded. “Okay, I think that went quite well.”

“What did?” said Galeli.

“Jace,” said Captain Hickory. “What did you do?”

“It was brilliant,” said Jace. “Their signals designed to lock on and not let go. No one wants to be scanned, they have all sorts of ways to shield themselves and get free. What they don’t expect is someone to grab on and not let go.”

“That’s what you did?” said Galeli. “Grabbed onto their signal?”

“Forced them to stay connected long enough to send out a message,” said Ubik. “Once Grandma starts talking, there’s no getting away from her. Very chatty.”

“What did you send?” said PT, not sounding at all optimistic.

“A message to the ship, yes?” said Hickory.

“They wouldn’t be able to do much,” said Ubik. “We sent out a declaration of war.”

“That’s illegal,” said Weyla.

“Vendx will just deny sending it,” said Figaro, also not understanding. War had been outlawed for centuries. Any act of war was considered a war crime.

“Oh, it wasn’t them declaring war on us, it was us declaring war on the rest of the planet. That should bring everyone running.”

“When you say ‘us’?” said Galeli.

“The Free Volunteers Guild,” said Ubik.

“You committed a war crime,” said Weyla.

“Hey, it’s better than being killed,” said Ubik.

“The penalty for a war crime is death,” said Hickory.

“Only if you’re convicted,” said Ubik.

Figaro looked at PT. He was the only one who didn’t look panicked.

“What now, Ubik?” said PT.

“You think there’s more?” said Figaro.

“Oh, yes,” said PT. “Things are about to get a lot worse. Look at him. He can’t wait.”

Figaro looked at Ubik. He couldn’t read Ubik’s body movements but there was no mistaking that grin.