V. Moody's Blog, page 38

Chapter 434

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Mandy. Her tone and attitude made it clear what she thought the correct answer should be. “I feel like this won’t end well.”

“Good and bad are relative concepts,” I said. For some reason, Mandy brought out my inner pompous twat. “I just want to see what they’re up to. Frankly, if they were capable of getting over there and taking over, they already would have. If they need me, it must mean they’re desperate.”

“They only need you to help open the door,” said Mandy.

“If that’s what they say, then I’m pretty sure that’s not the real reason.”

Mandy sat up a little straighter. She was seated across the kitchen table from me as Cheng walked back and forth behind her with the kid in his arms. Charlie Cheng looked annoyed and fidgety, as he had been for the last half hour. Somebody was about to get a mouthful of acid bile, if not from the kid then from the mother.

“You don’t know that,” said Mandy. She didn’t like it when I was dismissive of her thoughts, which was pretty much all the time. She also had the habit of breaking things down like a lawyer so I couldn’t refute her inescapable logic. “What else would they need you for? Like you said, if they were capable of going, they’d go. The only reason I can think they’d want your help is if they’re stuck on the door part.”

She’d apparently put some thought into this. I could sympathise, it must be hard for anyone to think of a reason to keep me around unless it was an unavoidable twist of fate.

“You’re trying to think of a reason for things you don’t have the full facts about,” I said.

“Neither do you,” she responded.

“I know, that’s why I don’t bother thinking about it from that angle. I operate on a higher level that involves seeing the branching paths of destiny and identifying the one true outcome.” She looked at me like I was making fun of her. “It’s the same way we know when a guy is being friendly to our girlfriend he isn’t her friend, he’s just lining her up for a shag if she happens to get drunk enough to let him.”

Mandy’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need any special powers to know that, that’s just every guy acting friendly to a girl.”

“My point exactly. You don’t use evidence and facts to work that out because the sneaky fucker makes sure he acts the part. But that’s what makes it obvious. No one’s that innocent without putting on an act. Orion is too undemanding of me. Remember, I’m the guy who went to Monsterland and faced up to your husband when everyone else shat their pants just thinking about it, and defeated him utterly.”

“You didn’t,” screeched Mandy, startling the kid so much Cheng nearly dropped him. “You didn’t even fight him.”

“That’s right,” I said. “I lumbered him with you, instead. He still hasn’t recovered.”

“True,” said Cheng, doing his best to placate the shocked child in his arms. Yes, kiddo, fifty percent of your DNA came from Shrieky Mc Shrill.

Mandy stood up. “You shouldn’t encourage him,” she said to Cheng, taking the child away from him. “If Colin screws this up, we’ll be the ones who have to deal with the mess he leaves behind. It’ll be fine for him, he’ll be dead. I don’t want my happily ever after being ruined by him.”

You don’t often hear someone claim they’ve managed to achieve a ‘happily ever after’ ending. Most people wouldn’t even know how to describe what it looks like. Mandy, however, had got hers and wasn’t about to let go of it.

Even if she was wrong — and she was — thinking you’ve got what you wanted is as good as actually having it. They’re the same thing. Happiness works just as well in virtual reality as it does in the real world. Better, probably.

But a story that ends with, and they all lived happily ever after… doesn’t mean anything. Satisfaction is a temporary affair that quickly wears off. That’s why the end of a movie never feels quite right. The big fight, the death of the villain, that part feels like the end, because something actually ends. The rest where the guy and girl admit they do actually like each other while walking the dog on the beach just feels like a slow fizzle.

Most movies would do a better job of providing closure if they ended with the love interests finally getting to a bedroom and having sex. Full penetration, graphic close-ups of genitalia smashing into each other as the credits roll.

Usually, the ‘love’ scene is in the middle of the story, which is just distracting and uncomfortable as your dad folds his arms and your mum grits her teeth.

If they put it at the end, you’d know the hero finished with a solid win, and it wouldn’t really matter what happened next. It’s sex, you just go to sleep and don’t think about anything, that’s your reward — nothingness.

Plus, for those people not interested in seeing an actress exploited so she can feel wanted (until she’s forty and tossed aside), you can just leave the cinema early knowing you won’t miss anything.

Of course, now they put an extra scene after the credits, so there’d be times you’d have to sit through the actors fucking for ten minutes just to find out what Samuel L Jackson was going reveal about the next phase of the MCU.

“Are you listening to me?” said Mandy, snapping me out of the quiet place I retreated to when she got on a roll.

“Yes,” I said, with no idea what she had just said. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? You’re the one who invited these crazy bastards to my house. Couldn’t you have met them down the pub like a normal bloke.”

“No. I don’t like pubs, they’re full of normal blokes.” I had agreed to meet Orion and his team of experts who he planned to send to Flatland, and the safest place to do that seemed to me to be right here. With Cheng around, it would be far less likely they would pull any devious shit.

“If you were real man, you wouldn’t need to hide behind Cheng,” said Mandy.

“I know,” I said. “What’s your point?”

Mandy had nothing to say to my clever comeback of admitting she was right. She turned to Cheng, who was doing the same for her as he was for me, only I didn’t have to sleep with him, so which one of us was the smart one, eh? I decided not to think about it too much in case it raised uncomfortable questions.

“Just keep an eye on him,” she said, handing back the kid. I got the feeling it wasn’t Charlie she was talking about.

They arrived after lunch. Three identical black cars at the gate, tinted windows and flashy rims. I watched them on the security camera as they rolled in.

“Looks like a lot of people,” I said. It wasn’t that I was worried they would outnumber us and overpower us physically, it was more that I wasn’t good at talking in large groups. You end up feeling you have to say something to not be left out and then when you do speak up, no one hears you and you feel like an idiot.

“Seven men,” said Cheng. Did he have x-ray vision? Quite possibly.

I had spent the last couple of days practising my own supernatural abilities without success. I had tried to get myself back into the right headspace to trigger my powers, but I found it hard to not let my mind wander. Perhaps having these guys come over and intimidate me would help get me focused.

Mandy let them in. Mr Orion — he already sounded like a villain out of a comic book — was silver-haired and bore an uncanny resemblance to Peter. Even if he hadn’t told me they were related, it would have been pretty obvious.

Behind him, there were five large white men. Grizzled, tough, a couple with beards — proper manly beards, not the patchy male-feminist disappointment I always ended up with — all of them with tattoos.

They were big guys, in height and width, wearing trousers with lots of pockets and more belts that were necessary. Bandanas, chains, bangles and bits of strings around their wrists. It seemed very high-maintenance to me.

I would have bet money these were the sort of men that would turn Mandy’s head, but not this new and online-courses-improved Mandy. She seemed more preoccupied with them not leaving marks on her carpet and insisted they remove their boots in the hall.

It turns out nothing saps the swagger of a cocky bloke than having to reveal the terrible state of his socks. There was some grumbling but they complied. Only then did she let them into the living room.

“Isn’t there one missing?” I asked once the introduction were through (don’t ask me their names, I wasn’t paying attention).

“No,” said Orion in his soft raspy posh-American. “There’s only my driver. I left him outside with the cars.” He did seem a bit surprised at my correctly knowing how many there were in his entourage.

“Is this him,” said one of the Chippendales, giving me the once over. He also had an American accent, more pronounced and southern sounding. He wasn’t very impressed by what he saw but then he was wearing wraparound shades indoors, so his judgment was hardly going to be reliable.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” I said. “And take off those glasses when you're indoors.”

There was a noticeable change to the atmosphere. I had possibly clapped-back a little too vehemently considering they’d just walked through the door, but sometimes it’s best to move the discussion to the end phase before anyone can start with the wheedling and the finagling.

The guy towered over me, tattoos of eagles on his neck and the Declaration of Independence on his back, probably. He could have squashed me with one hand, but I was inured against intimidation by size. I’d been pissed on by a literal giant, so six-two and mildly irritated meant nothing to me — plus, it helped that I had a demon to back me up.

I realise that’s kind of lame, hiding behind Cheng while acting all tough, but in my defence, it’s not like an American soldier wasn’t familiar with the concept of fighting with an overwhelming superiority. They did nothing else.

I turned around and noticed that Cheng wasn’t in the room. Perhaps I’d pushed too early.

“I’ve just had eye surgery,” said Shades. He took off his glasses to reveal one eye was swollen and red, seeping white fluid.

The reasonable thing to do would have been to apologise and start over. What I did was wince and say, “Put them back on for fuck’s sake. Are you really sending someone in that condition over there?”

“He’s the best explosives man in the business,” said another of the men. This one had the largest beard, which possibly indicated some kind of status among his kind. “He’d be worth taking even if he was blind.”

High praise indeed. “You’re going to blow shit up?”

“Only if necessary,” said Orion. “We want to be prepared for any eventuality. That’s why we want your help.”

“To do what? What is it you want from over there, Orion? Yeah, yeah, you want to bring Peter back, but what else? Dig for oil?”

“You don’t dig for oil, you drill for oil.”

Had one of the Yanks said that, it would have been a nice way to have another go at them. But the sniper was Mandy, of course.

“Thank you, drillhead.”

She gave me a confused look.

“All we ask,” said Orion, jumping in, “is that you accompany our small but highly-trained team and give them a heads-up in case of any problems. That’s it. You absolutely do not have to involve yourself any further than that. A simple matter of an experienced traveller offering guidance.”

“Right, because I’ve lived with the savages and know their ways.”

“More or less, yes,” said Orion.

I couldn’t fault him for speaking plainly. He was very calm and unruffled by my attempts to ruffle him. The others were a bit wary and found me suspect, I could tell, but he was fully accepting of me and willing to answer my questions. Fucker was easily the scariest person in the room, and I was including Mandy in that list.

“I don’t think they’ve got what it takes,” I said. “It’s not like some third world country where the locals only know how to grow rice and the women are too scared to report being raped by the spreaders of democracy. There are monsters there. Big ones. No CGI.”

“The US Marine Corps knows how to fight monsters,” said one of the men.

“Navy SEALs don’t mess with women and farmers,” said another.

“Army Rangers are the monsters,” said a third.

“Did I ask for a retard roll call?” I said. “You have no idea, so put your cocks away, there are no vulnerable teenage girls here.”

“I get the feeling you don’t think very highly of the American military,” said Beardo.

“Really? I don’t know what gave you that idea. You lead the world in high-def photographs of naked prisoners, top quality torture techniques and evading sexual assaults charges on your own people.”

“You better ease back there and watch your mouth, son,” said Beardo. The others were also tensed for action, I could tell because of the wealth of experience I had when it came to people wanting to hit me.

“You can’t even stand up to to the stooge in your own White House. How the fuck can you be that stupid not to see he’s in bed with your greatest enemy? A bed that’s soaked in Russian hooker urine. The Islamic nutters convinced you to spy on each other — so much for hating you for your freedom — and Putin’s hackers tricked you making a giant retard your President.”

“I’m warning you for the last time,” said Beardo, a steely edge in his voice. “We have no political allegiances here, but we respect the office of the president.”

The way he spoke, the way he handled himself, I could easily believe he was a badass on the battlefield. Nowhere as a big an ass as me, though.

“Yes, well, the office of the president has a giant retard in it. You can’t miss him, he’s the satsuma behind the big desk.”

All five of the team were on their feet. They were more pissed off about my disrespect toward their bearded leader than their orange one. He’d asked me nicely to shut up and I’d ignored him. Now they all wanted to teach me some manners.

“Please,” said Orion. “This isn’t why we came here.”

“Better we see how we get on now,” I said. “Over there will be too late.”

I glanced over at Mandy who was watching with eyebrows bunched and lips pinched together. She was forcing herself to keep quiet. Still no sign of Cheng.

I had probably pushed them as far as I could without starting a fight I couldn’t possibly win on my own, so I decided to push some more.

“You Confederate flag flying racists shouldn’t get so worked up about people kneeling during the National Anthem, you should prostrate yourselves next to them and beg the founding fathers for fucking forgiveness.”

Shades was the first to break rank. He came at me with his jaw set so hard his teeth were probably crumbling like the Antarctic ice shelf. He grabbed me by the shirt and lifted me up. It was now or never.

I let myself go. No fear, no concern for the danger I was in. No shits given. I felt the heat surge through me. I reached out and took off his glasses to get a better look at him. And he at me.

Shades let me go and backed away, his face twisted with what was probably fear, it was hard to tell with his face all fucked up from the surgery. I’m not sure what he was seeing that made him freak out, but I was feeling pretty good.

“Come here a minute,” I said. “I want to show you something.”

“No, get away from me.”

The others began to move towards me.

“Stop,” said Cheng from behind me. “Leave them.” His voice had gone a lot deeper than usual, like, crucifix-in-vagina deep.

“You heard him,” I said. “Man up and stop pissing yourself. You want to know what it’s like over there, I’m going to give you a taste.”

To his credit, Shades stopped backing away, baring his teeth at me but standing his ground. I raised my hands and put one on either side of his head. The heat increased and passed out through my palms.

Shades screamed and then fell back. He touched his face, poking and slapping.

“You… you healed me.”

His face was back to normal, an ugly mug if ever I saw one.

“You’re welcome. That’s all, you can go now.” I plopped down on the sofa and fell asleep. I really should have eaten something before burning all that energy on healing magic. I could feel my mouth smiling as I drifted off. I could do magic, let’s see the full metal jerk-offs do that.

63: Enabled

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Main Hall.

 

The vibrations settled down but Figaro’s skin continued to pulsate in time to the low-level hum permeating the air all around him.

“Is that a ship?” said Gipper, staring up at the ceiling. “Never heard an engine like that.”

“No, not an engine,” said Ubik, still dangling in the air from Weyla’s grasp. “That’s a Gordian Net. 46,656 drones forming a hexagonal shield over the city, preventing any signal getting in or out.”

“I’ve never even heard of it,” said Captain Hickory.

“It’s proprietary hardware Vendx don’t sell to anyone,” said Jace.

“You know about this?” said Hickory.

“I’ve heard it spoken about, rumours, gossip,” said Jace, his face paling. “The other rumours are less comforting.”

“What other rumours?” asked Hickory.

Jace looked like he was fighting to find the right words.

“Well,” said Ubik, cheerily taking back the floor, “they only use it when they plan to wipe out a large population and don’t want anyone to know about it. Sort of like a giant rug to sweep dead bodies under. Afterwards, they’ll blame some faulty wiring or something, make a formal apology through their PR department and claim to have implemented new safety features in the latest model, ten percent off if you pre-order now. The price of doing business, eh?” He slowly twisted in the air to face the Seneca woman holding him. “Do you think you could put me down now? As a man, I’d rather die on my feet than while suspended by the neck by a large woman. Large in the voluptuous sense, of course.”

She pulled a disgusted face and looked like she was about to drop kick him.

“Put him down, Corporal,” said Figaro. She looked stunned by his use of her rank, but let Ubik go. He landed in a heap, intentionally not staying upright and making a big show of his painful landing.

“How did you know my rank?” she asked, her face pinched with consternation.

“The way you move,” said Figaro. “I grew up surrounded by the Corps. You move like a corporal, she’s obviously a sargent.” He nodded towards the other woman who was sitting on the ground, still recovering from the stranglehold he’d put her in.

“Interesting,” said Ubik, lying on the floor. “PT could tell they were Seneca by the way they were standing, and you can tell their rank by the way they move. You’re both pretty freaky about the whole body movement thing. Did you take a lot of dance lessons when you were younger?”

“Yes,” said Figaro and PT together.

“Okay, then,” said Ubik. “That explains it.”

“How did you sneak up on me like that,” the woman on the ground asked in a hoarse whisper.

“If I told you that,” said Figaro, “I might not be able to do it again.”

Ubik got up smiling as he brushed himself off, easily the least perturbed person in the room. What did he know the others didn’t? Quite a lot it would seem. He was just so hard to read. You had to assume he was smart enough to know how his antics would be taken, and also that the reactions he received were the ones he expected. The question was, why did he want to create so much antagonism around him?

Without the ability to read his body movements, it became a lot harder to work out where he was headed, physically or mentally. Instead, you had to observe his actions, match them to the response from whoever it was he was toying with (often without them even realising) and reverse engineer his motivation. It was exhausting but also fascinating.

“Nice to meet you, by the way,” Ubik said to the sitting woman. “I’m Ubik. And you are?”

Her eyes narrowed, a moment to consider killing him, then a stay of execution. “Leyla.”

“Leyla and Weyla? Are you sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Twins?” said Ubik with a completely unnecessary leer.

“You’re being creepy,” said Leyla.

“Says the woman surrounded by the bodies of the men she just murdered,” said Ubik with speed that suggested he’d just been waiting for the chance. “I think you win the creepy crown this time, Leyla.”

She seemed a little thrown by the sudden reversal. “It was in self-defence.”

“I imagine they have that written over Seneca HQ in giant letters,” said Ubik. “Anyway, no time to chat about mass murder when we’re about to be killed by the suits of the men you just executed.”

He was pushing it, and obviously on purpose. Figaro looked over and exchanged a look with PT. They both knew Ubik was up to something, and neither had any idea what it was.

“And these suits are now primed explosive devices?” said PT, pointing at the suits lying all around them, lights flashing ominously.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “All Vendx suits are rigged to self-destruct — prevents them falling into the hands of corporate rivals — but they can also be used to create disruption waves. It’s in the contract, small print, very small, need an electron microscope to find it. Good blast radius though. Gives the corporate rivals a surprise when their organs all explode. And the beauty of it is that only biological constructs are affected, so then the clean-up crew can come in and take their gear still in perfect condition. Although that will also be booby-trapped, so round and round we go.”

“That’s why you didn’t just run off,” said PT. “This many suits, the disruption wave will just keep going until it catches you.”

“What?” said Ubik, sounding offended but clearly not. “I wouldn’t abandon you guys. All for one and no man left behind. It’s the guild motto.”

“It is not the guild motto,” said Princep Galeli.

“Oh,” said Ubik. “I must be getting my mottos mixed up.”

“If they’re going to wipe us out,” said Bev, the only non-Seneca female present, and keeping her distance from the two who were, “then what are they waiting for?”

“They want him,” said Hickory, pointing at Figaro. “Alive.”

“Yeah,” said Ubik. “They could just make all our hearts and kidneys go pop and take their machines away, but they need Fig for experimental purposes, so they’ll be in touch with an offer wrapped in a threat, coated with sprinkles and poison. But the Gordian Net stops any signals getting in, so they have to set up a pulse field to leave tiny gaps just big enough to squeeze a few menacing words through. Hey, did one of you guys set up a bypass in the Vendx communications array?”

“Yes,” said Jace, “that would be me.”

“Nice work, man, really enjoyed what you did there. Very smooth, cutting through the second and fourth relays to create a feedback loop, loved it.”

“Thanks very much,” said Jace, blushing slightly. “Had to bounce it around though. Couldn’t make it stick because of the reson—”

“—ating sphere coupler,” Ubik finished for him. The two of them were grinning at each other like flirting lovers.

“This is all very interesting,” said Captain Hickory, “but perhaps we can focus on the matter at hand — our imminent deaths. If they’re going to open a hole in this net to negotiate with us, can’t we use the same hole to get a signal out?”

Ubik and Jace exchanged a disparaging look, two pros surrounded by noobs.

“They know when and where the pulse will appear in the net,” said Jace, a sad lilt to his voice, “we don’t. Fifty thousand drones, remember.”

“But there’s a way to make our own hole, isn’t there?” said PT with a cold certainty that made Figaro think this was someone who had a much better idea of how to read Ubik than he did. “And you know how to make it, don’t you, Ubik?”

“I might have an idea or two,” said Ubik. “I’m still ironing out the details, running a few tests, you know how it is. Maybe our Seneca friends could take point on this one. If they speak to Vendx when they get in touch…”

“We are no longer with the Corps,” said Weyla.

“But they don’t know that,” said Ubik.

Weyla looked as horrified by the suggestion as Fig would expect her to be. “I would never misrepresent the Corps like that.”

“Even after they kicked you out?” asked Ubik.

“Who said they kicked me out?” said Weyla, her jaw tightening.

“That thing you said about a broken heart, did you leave because they didn’t approve of who you chose to love? I thought that kind of thing was approved of in the Corps. Obligatory, according to my Grandma. Wait… was it a guy? You left the Corps for a guy?” Weyla looked away. “Holy crap, it was. And where is he now? You didn’t eat him after mating, did you?”

Weyla looked upset, her shoulders down, her eyes tearing up.

“Sometimes these things don’t work out,” said Leyla gently.

“He dumped her?” Ubik burst out laughing. “She sacrificed everything for him and he dumped her. What a player.”

“How can you be so cruel?” said Leyla.

“How can you have such poor judgement?” said Ubik.

“You little—”

“No,” said Weyla, putting out an arm to stop Leyla attacking Ubik. “He’s right. It was my failure more than his.”

“It takes two to tango, as my Grandma likes to say. That’s a dance, the tango.” He turned to PT. “You and Fig probably know it, huh?” He snapped back to Leyla, suddenly straight-faced. “So that means you’re both single, right?”

“You’re being creepy again,” said Leyla.

“Still with the creepy jibes. I can take a body count if you want. We can post it on one of those advice sites and see who they think is the more creepy.”

“What exactly are we doing here?” said Captain Hickory, at about the end of his patience. “Can’t we at least move away from all these bombs.”

“Won’t make a difference,” said Figaro. “Distance means nothing.”

“We’re waiting for Vendx to get in contact,” said PT. “Then we’ll see what Ubik will do.”

“He will put his plan into action,” said Figaro, “but we probably won’t be able to tell what the plan is. It could be a way to save all of us.”

“Or,” said PT, “it could be a way to sacrifice all of us so he alone can escape. In which case, we’ll have to try to kill him first.”

“I doubt we’ll have time,” said Figaro.

“I’ve been working on ways to stay ahead of him,” said PT.

“And how’s that been going?” asked Figaro.

“Not well. I need more time. His movements are all over the place.”

“I know,” said Figaro. “It’s like watching an amoeba having an epileptic fit.”

“Guys, I’m right here. I can hear everything you just said, and quite frankly I’m hurt that you think I would only save myself. I reckon at least half of you will make it out of this alive.”

“Which half?” asked PT.

“Hopefully the bottom half, right ladies?” He winked at the Seneca women, which Figaro had never seen anyone ever do.

“This is Chief Supervisor Mayden,” said a crackly voice coming out of one of the suits. “I understand you’ve been having some issues with our equipment.”

Everyone looked at Ubik.

“So,” said Ubik, “who wants to speak to them?”

“Aren’t you going to do it?” said Weyla.

“Me? Oh, I’m more of a background character, here to watch and learn. You guys go ahead.” He grinned and threw in a mildly psychotic laugh.

It was hard to pin down exactly what he was up to but Figaro was sure Ubik wasn’t worried at all, which meant he had a way out of this. And also, which Figaro found a little worrying himself, Ubik was having fun.

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Seven

Nic woke much earlier than he wanted to. His early morning training sessions had habituated his body into getting up at a particular time and being tired made no difference. That was just normal.

Even though the agents had allowed him to go to bed because he was exhausted — and he had been completely drained of all energy by events — his eyes still snapped open before the first grey light of dawn.

He remained in bed for a while, trying to convince himself to go back to sleep. Logically, he needed as much rest as he could get for whatever the day would bring, but his mind was not listening to him. What he wanted to do was get up and run around for a bit, which was a very strange feeling. He considered resisting, but what good would that do?

Restless and twitchy, he got out of bed and got dressed in his gym clothes. If his body now craved exercise, that was probably a good thing. The sort of thing that would make it easier for him to get in shape, in the long term. In the short term, it was just annoying.

A jog around the school grounds, one circuit, should be enough to get it out of his system, he decided. He made his way out of the cottage as quietly as he could and stood shivering outside the front door, already regretting this new-found enthusiasm for wearing himself out.

As Nic started to run, he felt a presence beside him and nearly fell over, thinking he was about to be attacked by someone chasing him. He veered to the side slightly but then realised there was a Secret Service agent, wearing a green mask, running next to him.

It was a little tricky to see the agent clearly, he was more of a blur than a solid person, but Nic could just about make him out.

He kept running, slightly self-conscious of the person observing him. Should he try to run as fast as possible to make a good impression? Retain good form so the agent would report back with a positive assessment of his progress?

The agent didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Nic, just kept pace with him.

Nic felt a little foolish for reading too much into what was most likely a simple assignment to keep an eye on him. With various elements moving against Ranvar, and with Nic seemingly in the middle of things, it made sense to make sure they knew where he was at all times.

The sun was up now and the porters were out and doing their usual maintenance jobs. They ignored Nic as he ran past. Could they see the agent jogging beside him? Did they even notice Nic? They seemed far more interested in doing their job and getting on with their own lives.

Nic closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the school from above. He asked for the location of all agents on school grounds and multiple lights appeared, far more than there had been last night.

There were even lights lining the route he was taking around the school. He opened his eyes — if he kept them closed too long there was a strong possibility he might run into a tree — and looked for the agents he’d seen from above. There was no sign of anyone watching.

Had they increased their presence on campus because of him? All the important children had already been removed, so there wasn’t really anyone else they would be here for. Nic felt mildly embarrassed about flattering himself into such an important role. The whole Secret Service here to watch over him, how grand.

He had to remind himself it wasn’t so much that he was a VIP, more that he attracted people who were important and dangerous, so sticking close to him was an excellent way to get to them.

As Nic ran, he got faster and faster. Rather than tiring himself out and losing his breath, he felt energised by being outside, not having to think or observe others, no calculations running through his mind. It was freeing and exhilarating to simply cut loose and not care what was up ahead.

Something painful happened to the back of his left leg and he quickly came to a halt, hopping the last few steps. He hadn’t bothered to warm up properly, even though the agents who normally trained him always insisted on it. And he’d made such a basic error with all these people watching.

He hopped over to a bench and sat down, along. The green-masked agent wasn’t in sight, nor were any of the others. Nic had a burning sensation biting into the back of his thigh. He rubbed at it but without much relief. The black-masked agent had always been very good with these sorts of injuries, but he wasn’t here. Nic thought about asking the green one for his help. Would that be too forward?

He closed his eyes and checked the location of the agents again. There was one standing right next to him. Nic opened his eyes while maintaining his second sight as best he could. He turned his head and saw the agent standing there, hands behind his back, legs slightly apart.

“I don’t suppose you know how to fix a strained muscle.”

The agent ignored him, looking straight ahead.

“The other agents, the one who help train me, they do this thing where they sort of hammer my muscles to loosen them up when I get tight.” It felt like an imposition, like he was asking a favour from a stranger. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t.”

The agent turned his head and looked at Nic through the green masks tiny eye-holes, making eye-contact with Nic.

“You can see me?”

“Yes,” said Nic.

“How?”

“Oh, um, well…” What was he supposed to say? The truth? That probably wasn’t a good idea. “My senses have sort of gotten heightened.” A partial truth would do, he decided.

“That’s how you knew about the dragons?”

“Yes. In a way. It’s difficult to explain.” He got up from the bench, which made him wince. It would probably be better to head back and avoid answering any more awkward questions.

“Stop. Lift your foot up.”

Nic raised his foot behind him and rested the tip of his shoe on the bench.

A sharp twinge pinched the back of his leg. Followed by another and then another. His leg went numb for a moment, and then very loose.

He lowered his leg and stamped his foot on the ground.

“Thanks. Good as new.” It did feel a lot better, although the memory of the pain still lingered, like he was wearing trousers that were too tight. At least he could walk again. He started to walk and then jog back to the cottage. He sensed the agent still trailing him, just a half-step behind, but he didn’t look directly at him.

When he returned to the cottage, none of the others were up. It was only just past sunrise and they were enjoying their rest.

Nic took a shower, the water so hot it nearly scalded him. He turned it colder and colder until he was being blasted with freezing cold water. The shock of it shook his brain in a way Nic enjoyed. He couldn’t think straight or dwell on any one subject. Everything went blank when his skin turned blue.

Icy water struck his head like icicles and ran down his face like claws. His body shivered and then all feeling passed beyond his reach. He felt nothing and stood under the relentless flow sinking deeper into it.

He came out of the bathroom to find Davo standing in the kitchen in his monogrammed robe and carrying a fluffy towel.

“You took your time,” said Davo, “what were you doing in there?”

“Taking a shower,” said Nic, unable to not sound guilty. “Was I long?” He had lost track of time once his mind went blank.

“Nearly an hour. Now there won’t be any hot water left.”

“Oh, it’s okay. It was a cold shower.”

Davo arched a single eyebrow. “I see. That girl preying on your mind is she?”

It took a moment for Nic to grasp what Davo meant. “No, nothing like that. I just went for a run and felt a bit overheated.”

“You can’t run from your problems,” said Davo. “And you can’t freeze your desire.”

“It was just a shower.”

“Have you two finished?” asked Fanny, yawning as he entered the kitchen.

“He has, I haven’t,” said Davo.

“Well, hurry up, what are you standing out here for?”

“He only just came out,” said Davo. “After a one hour cold shower.”

“Oh,” said Fanny. “Girls, eh? I get the same way after I watch a lacrosse match. It’s the short skirts.”

“No,” said Nic, patiently. “I was just cooling off after a run.”

“Did someone say cold shower?” said Brill, coming into the already crowded kitchen. “Excellent for the health. Helps with circulation.”

“Yes,” said Nic. “Exactly.”

“Especially,” continued Brill, “if you’ve been having fever-dreams about the opposite sex all night. Miss Delcroix got you tossing and turning, has she?”

Nic put his towel over his head and walked back to his room using his new ability to guide his way.

***

Lessons were scheduled as normal but the absence of so many students made the classroom feel empty.

The second year of the Upper Class was limited in number and most of Nic’s classes were already quite small, apart from Military Strategy, which attracted all the people looking to become career soldiers. Most of them came from military families and planned to continue the family tradition; it was expected.

Their connection to the army also made them the most likely to be withdrawn from the school. Information about what was happening was scant and mostly unfounded gossip, but those in the army would have the best idea of just how bad things were about to get.

Nic was sure that the people left behind could also tell things were in a precarious condition merely from seeing who was gone. The students all knew each other, were familiar with each other’s backgrounds having practically grown up together. If all the people with military connections had returned to their homes, it made it very clear that there was about to be some kind of conflict in the very near future, and not just the usual scrimmaging on the outskirts of the country, but something that would affect everyone.

The atmosphere was tense and strained. No one knew what was going on, but they knew enough to be worried.

Nic looked around the barely half-full classroom as Mr Varity tried to talk about the advantages of controlling the high ground in a battle — elementary stuff but for some reason, it was taking Varity twice as long as it should to get through. He kept repeating parts he’d already covered and when he finally moved on to start talking about dragons and air superiority, he suddenly stopped and sat down behind his desk, shaking slightly.

There was a moment of confusion in the class as the eight students present looked at each other. After a few minutes of waiting for Varity to continue, one of the girls at the front rose and asked if he’d like her to fetch the school nurse.

“Hmm, no, no, I’m fine,” said Mr Varity, raising his head like he’d just woken from a nap. “I apologise, I’m not quite myself today. It’s all this talk of war and invasion. Pure speculation, I know, but it’s hard not to fret when your family lives so close to the border. It is, of course, good strategic sense to attack from the last place the enemy expects. A nation in the west attacking from the east… very smart, and hence very likely to be true.” His voice drifted off into mumbling and he stared down at his desk.

Nic had always liked Mr Varity. He had been a little difficult at first, treating Nic and the others the same as he’d treated all the Also-Rans over the years. There was no reason not to. But he had turned out to be more interested in teaching than holding onto a pointless prejudice, and had been very helpful to Nic.

“Sir,” said Nic, standing up, “I’m sure your family are fine. The attack is from the east, but it isn’t going to target any of the border villages and towns.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right. Not intentionally, at least. But there are obstacles that need to be cleared in order to get to your target, such is the way of war. It wasn’t so long ago — well, before any of you were born, of course — that one of our neighbours decided to launch an attack over a minor diplomatic squabble.”

“The Jaminikan Incursion,” said Nic.

“That’s right, that’s right,” said Varity. “Trust you to have read up on it. A meaningless thrust of no real consequence, quickly dealt with and punished accordingly, but, you see… by the time our forces were able to be deployed, three villages had already been burned to the ground. Dozens dead — women, children, farmers, labourers. No one of any great importance, except to their loved ones. I’ve always had a love for the elegance of great warfare, the wheeling of cavalry, the charge of men with weapons held aloft. But the truth is, the truth is…” He lost his train of thought and stared into the middle-distance.

The class became restless again, unused to seeing an authority figure brought to a standstill by dread.

It was hard to know how to reassure him his family were not in danger. There were no ground forces to run rampant through quiet, undefended villages. Dragons flew over them without stopping, without sparing even a thought over the women and children, or the farmers and labourers. Those were not their targets.

But who would believe the attackers rode shadow dragons? And if they did believe him, wouldn’t they become even more terrified?

“Where do your family live?” asked Nic.

“Mm? Oh, a small village called Invesk. I doubt even you have heard of it.”

“East? Past the Yorel River?”

“Yes, to the south of Great Bend.”

Nic could see the large curve in the wide river called Great Bend. He was above it, flying east. He could keep his eyes open and look at Mr Varity, and at the same time see the floodplain stretch out beneath him. He had seen it on maps many times, but seeing it like this, movement and sound, grass swaying and water rushing, it was like being a bird.

And people, he could see them here and there. Farms and villages.

“How far south? As far as the forest?” He could see the vast tract of woodland in the distance.

“No, not that far,” said Varity, his voice a little hard to hear. “Where the river narrows, a bridge and a straight road, pink from the clay in the soil.”

“Yes, a village with two white towers.”

“That’s right, the old temple. It’s a community hall now, where they hold dances. My family owns the house to the north. A red slate roof, the only one in the village.”

Nic soared closer, lower. He could see the house clearly, its windows open, the garden green and full of vegetables.

“Someone likes lettuce a lot,” said Nic.

“Ha, yes, my mother keeps rabbits. Spoils them rotten.”

“Does she bathe them, too?” He could see a small, fat woman, old but feisty, struggling to scrub an animal in a soapy bucket.”

“She does, she does,” said Varity. “Insists on keeping them clean.”

“She seems fine. Happy. There are no enemies here, no invaders. They would have been through here by now, if they were coming this way.”

Nic blinked and looked at Mr Varity, who had tears running down his cheeks and relief in his eyes.

“Thank you, thank you, Nic. I don’t know how you… I’m sure you weren’t supposed to, and I won’t ask how, without Arcanum. But thank you.”

The rest of the class was also staring at Nic, not quite so benevolently. They all knew he was a little different, given special treatment no Also-Ran had ever received, but he shouldn’t have flaunted it like that. He had acted rashly and unnecessarily, but he was still glad he had.

The bell rang.

“That was stupid,” said Dizzy as they left the classroom. She had waited until he was ready to leave and appeared beside him, her scent warning him before her voice hissed in his ear. “You exposed yourself for no reason.”

He thought she might demand answers, ask him exactly how he’d done it. But she just chastised him for being too open. She was probably right.

“I don’t think it’s right to let people be scared like that,” said Nic. “It’s hard when you feel helpless and can’t do anything.”

“It’s normal,” said Dizzy. “Giving people false hope isn’t a good thing.”

“Hope is never false,” said Nic. “By definition.”

“I don’t want to argue semantics with you. Just try to be a little more cautious about who you reveal your abilities to. I’ve been asking for weeks and you refuse to say anything, and the first time that old fool starts blubbering, you show your whole hand. Maybe I should have tried tearing up to get you to talk.” She sounded annoyed at his poor judgement. The fact he’d said too much or that he hadn’t said it to her?

They were out in the quad, on their way to the Arts Course. The whole quad was eerily empty.

“It’s different for us,” said Nic.

“Us?” Dizzy stopped, expecting him to do the same. He did, of course. “What makes you think there’s an ‘us’? What do we have in common, Nic?”

“We’re both on the outside looking in,” said Nic.

Dizzy stared at him, then started walking again without saying anything.

***

There was just five of them in the Arts Course. Rumi had gone but she had always been fairly quiet, so the change wasn’t as dramatic as in Nic’s other classes. Mr Periwinkle came in with his pile of textbooks and handed them out. They spent the lesson going over the various hand movements required for basic spells.

It felt silly and pointless when there was no actual magic involved, and no one to offer guidance. It was also tiring and surprisingly stressful on his wrist. He didn’t want another injury and warmed up his hands and fingers, while the others looked at him like he was doing it as a joke.

Simole refused to join in and put her head down on the desk. She had not had a good night’s sleep, as she told them while glaring at Nic spinning his wrists.

The rest of them examined the diagrams in the books they’d been given and then tried to imitate them without any idea if they were doing it right. Dizzy seemed to have the most fluid movements, but whether or not they were correct was impossible to say.

Periwinkle let them get on with it, claiming it was something they would know when they got it right. It would just click into place, apparently. He sat back in his chair and placed a book over his face, joining Simole in catching up on some sleep. What had he been up to last night? Nic wondered.

It was a fairly undemanding way to pass a couple of hours and another school day was over. It didn’t feel like he was learning very much, or that he was heading towards a career in clerical work. Nic wasn’t sure where any of this was leading.

Nic waited for everyone to leave, including Dizzy, before going up to Mr Periwinkle.

“I wanted to ask you something,” said Nic.

“Yes, Mr Tutt?” said Periwinkle.

“The dragons, the ones made of shadow, did he make them?”

“The High-Father created them, but he did not bring them into being here. That is the work of another, but it still leads back to him, as all things do.”

“And they only manifest at night?”

Periwinkle looked mildly surprised. “Yes. You learn fast, don’t you Mr Tutt?”

“Is there a way to stop them? A weakness?”

“The dragons? They are insubstantial and easily destroyed. But they can be resummoned just as easily.”

“I see,” said Nic. “The caster is the weakness.”

Periwinkle shook his head in wonderment. “As you say.”

“I think the High-Father wants there to be a war.”

“And you don’t?”

“If it was just between the people who wanted to fight, I think it would be fine. Their lives are theirs to do what they want with. But the rest of the people who only wish to live their lives the way they see fit, I don’t think they deserve to be caught up in the High-Father’s plans.”

“He doesn’t work like that,” said Periwinkle. “If war is coming, it will be instigated by others, not him.”

“Was it like this on your world?” asked Nic.

Periwinkle paused and Nic could see the Librarian underneath, the way she sat, the way she held her head. “It was… similar. There were those who were filled with excitement at the prospect of claiming power. Things had been stable for so long, there were those who craved change, at whatever cost. They each believed they would be victorious in the end, of course.” She sighed. “In the end, it was everyone who lost. Everyone but him.”

“I don’t want that to happen here,” said Nic.

“What you want is not going to matter. The players in this game have immense power.”

“And I’m just a piece on the board.”

“Yes,” said the Librarian. “You would need to claim some of that power for yourself if you wanted to challenge the outcome, but that also happened on my home. It changes how you think when you can turn the things you dream of into reality. You become like him. Do you believe you can avoid that fate, Nic?”

“Does it matter if the alternative is so terrible?” said Nic.

She smiled. “That is how I failed my world, by thinking the very same thing.”

The truth was what he wanted was academic. He had no way to prevent what was about to happen. He would just be able to see it coming before everyone else.

***

Dizzy watched Nic leave the classroom and head back to his room. She waited until she was sure he was gone before entering.

Mr Periwinkle was sitting behind his desk, eyes closed, seemingly lost in thought. She stood there watching him. His eyes slowly opened and turned to look at her.

“Yes, Miss Delcroix?”

“I don’t know what you are, I only know you came with them. Are you here following orders?”

“Yes,” said Periwinkle.

“Will you turn against us when told to do so?”

“I won’t be told to do so, you should have no doubts about that.”

“Will you help us?”

“I cannot say.”

“If Nic finds a way to defeat them, as unlikely as it seems right now, and he needs your help, will you help him?” She watched closely for the answer; the true answer.

“If there is a chance, a real chance, then I would like to think I would.”

“Do you hate them?” asked Dizzy.

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you fight back?”

“Revenge does not bring the dead back to life,” said Periwinkle.

“It can stop more dead from joining them.”

“And then what?” said Periwinkle. “Your world is not so perfect for everyone as it is for you. Unhappy people will always strive for change. Slowly or quickly, it doesn’t make much difference.”

Dizzy could feel herself starting to get frustrated but swallowed it down.

“But you’re right,” said Periwinkle.

“About what?” said Dizzy.

“The way you feel about him.”

Dizzy could feel herself losing her temper, anger welling up inside her. “You know nothing about how I feel. Are you the one sending me those dreams?”

“Dreams? No. I do not have that ability. Someone else, or maybe just you. Are they bad dreams?”

“Yes. Like a fever. I wake up soaked in sweat, reeling. I want them to stop.”

“I’m sorry, I have no way to help. But what about you? Will you help him when the time comes?”

“He doesn’t need my help. Or want it. He sees me as a burden, something he has to protect. He’ll die trying to save me.”

“Perhaps that’s what he needs. Something to fight for.”

“That isn’t what I want to be,” said Dizzy, the heat of the words burning her throat and mouth. “He can find that elsewhere.” She’d had enough of this conversation, already regretting starting it. She turned to leave.

“By the way, your dreaming problem. Have you tried taking a cold shower?”

“Yes,” said Dizzy. “I take them frequently. It doesn’t help.”

62: Conflict of Interests

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

The first thing Point-Two had done when he first climbed into the suit was to locate the eject button. A battlesuit like this one always had an emergency escape option. The manufacturers didn’t like them because it gave the impression things could go wrong. Things could go wrong, but making it official was bad advertising.

Even with the eject option available, most times you wouldn’t want to use it. A broken-down suit was still be a safer place to be than out in the open, exposed to enemy fire. And also exposed to friendly fire.

The ‘button’ was at the bottom of the visor, a protruding black wedge about level with his bottom lip. You were meant to bite it. It wasn’t electronic, it was mechanical so that it would work even in the case of power loss. You had to bite it hard. The neat, uniform indentations in the wedge’s surface suggested that someone had used it before, and also that Vendx had an excellent dental plan.

The suit was a solid piece of kit, though, there was no denying it. Point-Two had used plenty of similar suits on the Garu, and none had come close to the level of functionality of this one.

He had always found the amount of data available in a regular suit to be paltry and very uninspiring. In this suit, it felt like with every breath he took he inhaled data in vast volumes. He liked it. The data streams were fast and full, overloading him with information about his surroundings.

Point-Two just had to absorb it all and work out his best line of action with the greatest chance of success. It was exactly what he’d been trained to do, but he’d never had the chance to work with this much input.

Normally, he could take everything in peripherally and let himself act on instinct. In this case, however, there were too many variables. And each of those variables had their own agenda. He had to think fast and be wary of others thinking faster.

Case in point: he had a cable attached to his arm, on the other end of which was a human torpedo. Weyla, previously of the Seneca Corps, wasn’t just falling, she was diving. You might even say she was flying.

Her organic power seemed to be high-speed movement, which probably also gave her a forceful strike on impact. She was aiming for Fig — her arm extended, her fist clenched — who was standing over the body of Weyla’s fallen comrade.

But the strange thing was that Fig wasn’t moving, he was waiting. His posture, his positioning, even without the suit’s telemetry, Point-Two would have seem that he was deliberately making himself an easy target.

Weyla didn’t appear to be suspicious about the lack of concern her target was showing. She appeared to be too enraged to care. Too enraged to notice the cable attached to her foot.

What would happen once the cable went taut? The suit was sturdy and well-built, but momentum was momentum. If Ubik thought putting a leash on a Seneca organic would pull her up short, he wouldn’t have attached it to a mere man in a suit. Point-Two would just go flying after her.

Ubik had to expect the suit to somehow be heavy enough to counter the dive. When the suit was offline, it turned into a block of metal. He had seen how immobile it had been. That wasn’t just inertia, that was intentional anchoring. They wouldn’t want anyone walking off with an abandoned suit. An electromagnetic deep sink of some kind? The same reverse-power tech the Antecessor ships used to seal off airlocks in the event of a breach?

But did Ubik really think the suit would be able to hold back an organic in full flight? That was also Antecessor tech.

If it did work that way, it would require the suit to be powered down, which would mean he would be trapped inside.

He bit down on the eject wedge just as the HUD went dark. No power, but that shouldn’t have made a difference. He wasn’t ejected.

The teeth marks. Someone had used the eject button, but Vendx wouldn’t bother to fix and return the suit to its owner. The teeth marks were recent. The previous owner had also tried to eject, and failed. That’s why he’d been stuck in the hallway where they’d found him.

Point-Two was stuck in here.

Maybe Ubik’s plan would work. The idea of relying on Ubik made Point-Two’s stomach churn. Not because he didn’t have faith in Ubik’s ability, it was just that there was usually collateral damage where Ubik was involved. And he was in the collateral seat.

Weyla was nearly on top of Fig, who was shifting his weight onto his left foot. He was going to sidestep her lunge, waiting until the last possible moment so she had no time to readjust. But he was making it too obvious. So obvious, Point-Two could only imagine he was deliberately showing her where he was going. Would she spot the feint? Was he expecting her to spot the feint?

As someone who had watched countless duels between great athletes, Point-Two was mesmerised by the battle between the two before they’d even engaged. He was fascinated right up to the point when his arm was ripped off.

The suit’s arm. It came away at the shoulder leaving Point-Two’s arm out in the open.

The cable hadn’t been enough to stop Weyla, or even slow her, but it had thrown her off-course and out of control. She went spinning to one side, unable to prevent herself flying into a wall.

Unable to prevent herself, but not unable to be saved from a serious collision. Fig leapt into her path and spun her around, nullifying her momentum and bringing her down in a heap. He rolled out of their embrace and was back on his feet. Why save her?

“Wow, nice move,” said Ubik.

Point-Two grabbed Ubik by the throat with his free hand and brought him up to his helmet. “Get me out of here.”

“Can’t,” croaked Ubik. “Panel.. on... arm.”

The control panel for the suit was on the arm that had been ripped off. For all it’s fancy extras, Point-Two was beginning to miss his old suits with their simple functions. Sometimes, basic was better.

Ubik’s hand slapped against the helmet as Point-Two squeezed his throat. He let him go.

“It was a good idea,” said Ubik, hoarsely. “I’ve seen the specs. The suit shouldn’t have failed like that.”

“Get me out.”

“Okay, okay, give me a moment to think.” Ubik’s eyes moved up and down and side to side, like he was looking for something. “I suppose I could…”

The power came back on, all cells full, all data updating live. Point-Two immediately opened the suit before it went dead again. He fell out backwards and landed on the floor. “How did you do that?” He hadn’t even seen Ubik touch the suit.

“It wasn’t me.”

“But the suit jumped to full power,” said Point-Two.

The suit shorted out, sparks flying out of the shoulder, and it went dark again.

“Not possible,” said Ubik. “Not unless… oh, no. We have to leave.”

“What?”

“The cavalry are here. Not ours.” Ubik jumped over the balcony.

Point-Two had no idea what had got Ubik so spooked, but he trusted Ubik’s innate sense of self-preservation. If he was running, everyone else should, too. Point-Two jumped down into the hall where Princep Galeli and a small team were approaching Fig. Ubik seemed more interested in the Vendx troops lying on the ground. He was crouched with his pet drone hovering by him, connected to a battlesuit.

Weyla was back on her feet. Unsteady but unharmed, looking at the cable attached to her foot. Then she looked over at her fallen comrade and rushed towards her.

“She’s not hurt,” said Fig. “It was only a sleeper hold.”

Weyla checked for signs of life and then turned to Fig. “How did you…?”

A trainee had taken out one of Seneca’s finest, or ex-finest. Point-Two was interested in how he’d done it, too.

“I sneaked up on her,” said Fig, like that was all there was to it. “Take her and go. I’ve already saved you once. I don’t plan on doing it again. They’re nearly here.”

“Who?” said Weyla. “Who are you?”

“Trainee Matton,” said Princep Galeli, running up with the others, all carrying heavy weapons that looked like exhibits from a museum, “are you alright?”

“Matton?” said Weyla, eyes widening. “No. It can’t be.”

“This is not your affair,” said Fig. “I don’t know why you’re here, but if you leave now, there won’t be a problem.”

“Alright,” said Weyla. The rest of the room couldn’t quite believe how cooperative she was being.

The other woman moaned and sat up, rubbing at her throat. “What…? What happened?” She looked dazed. “There he is.” She pointed at Point-Two.

Weyla turned to face him. “You. Don’t make this any harder. Come with us quietly.”

“No,” said Fig. “You’re not taking anyone. I don’t know who you’re working for, but they aren’t paying you enough for this. Leave him and go.” There was a steely edge to Fig’s words that didn’t come from tone or emotion. He was like the suit once it powered down — anchored and immovable.

“The people who sent you,” said Point-Two, “they told you to kill me?”

“No, to bring you in alive,” said Weyla. “That’s why they hired us and not some thugs. We could bring you in without hurting anyone.”

Point-Two looked around at all the bodies. “Anyone?”

“They started it,” said Weyla. The unofficial Seneca motto.

“Hey,” said Ubik. “Little help here?”

Weyla moved so fast Point-Two only saw a blur. She had Ubik hanging by his neck, his feet kicking air.

“Hello again,” said Ubik. “This is all very lovely, but you might want to help me deactivate these suits.”

There was a moment of confusion as everyone looked at Ubik and then at all the suits lying on the ground, not being very active.

“Aren’t they already inactive?” asked Gipper, carrying the biggest gun Point-Two had ever seen.

“Yes, for now,” said Ubik. “Can’t you hear them coming?” He pointed up.

Everyone stopped to listen. Point-Two couldn’t hear anything.

Then the hall began to shake and one by one the suits began to light up.

“So,” said Ubik, “who here is good with explosive devices?”

Chapter 433

“You want me to lead a team of special forces thugs back to slaughter the people of Flatland?” I asked.

“You wouldn’t technically be leading the team, more of a consultant,” said Orion on the phone. “With your knowledge of the place, they can get in and out as efficiently as possible. Think of it like Ripley going back to face the aliens with the colonial marines.”

This guy… this fucking guy had done his homework, knew how to press my pop reference buttons. It didn’t go unnoticed by me that he hadn’t denied the slaughter part of my question.

“And I suppose you’re Carter Burke.” Come on, fucko, let’s see how deep you can go with this shit.

“I’m no Paul Reiser,” said Mr Orion. “I’m not going to try and bring back a sample of alien DNA.”

“Then what is it you’re after in Flatland?”

“Uncle Peter,” said Orion.

“He’s your uncle?”

“I’m his great, great grand-nephew, on his sister’s side. We wish to bring him home, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a terrible wish. Peter being here would certainly make life better for people over there. And somewhat worse for me, assuming I came back. Would I want to come back? My payment of two million bucks wouldn’t be much good to me otherwise.

“Why can’t you just go back over there yourselves and get him?” I asked. “Couple of choppers, rappel down swinging ropes, run around while looking down scopes. I’d just get in the way.”

Now, I’m not saying I’m psychic or anything, but having been lied to, betrayed, manipulated and misled a fair few times, I like to think I can spot a huge bag of dicks when I’m offered something to suck on.

As far as I was concerned, if these guys needed me to come along on their little weekend away in the magic kingdom, it could only be because they needed a human sacrifice. I may not be much to look at but I am human, and I do sacrifice well. Very well. Many people say it’s my best quality.

“It’s not quite as simple as that,” said Orion, the lilt in his voice suggesting he was trying to find the right words so he didn’t come across as a duplicitous douchebag. “We require your help opening the door to that world. Only someone who has been there can… provide the necessary energy.”

There was the d-pause again.

“So you want to suck the life out of me and leave me all husk? I’ve been through this before, I know how Uncle Peter powers his devices. He failed to use me as one of his living batteries and I don’t plan on letting Peter junior do it either.”

“You misunderstand, it’s nothing like that.” Orion sounded like he was trying to be the aggrieved one here. Good luck, bruv, I was born aggrieved, moulded by it. “You have a unique energy signature that is the key. The power to open the gateway, we already have. Uncle Peter may have needed to go to extraordinary lengths over there, but here we have electricity. We won’t need anything like that from you.”

He sounded quite convincing. Obviously, he was lying through his teeth and as soon as they’d got what they needed from me, they would put me in a cage and do experiments involving my anus — not for scientific purposes, just to put on their Instagram story.

They had handed over the money far too easily for me to trust them. You don’t just hand over a couple of mill if you don’t expect to get it back on the backswing.

“It would be great to believe you, but I’ve met Peter, I know how he operates. It doesn’t matter if he’s here, or there, he wouldn’t leave me in peace. There’s no reason for me to bring him back.”

“I assumed you would stay there,” said Orion, “with your friends.”

Would I? It was true there was very little for me here, but it was still home. And if I had my powers… the idea of being able to do real magic in a world where it didn’t exist was not without its temptations.

Like most healthy, normal men, well, like most men — I was never very healthy and normal would be pushing it; men I can get away with on a technicality  — I dreamed of being a hero when I was growing up.

Not the hero who becomes a firefighter for terrible pay and lousy working conditions, I mean the type of hero who goes into unwinnable fights and wins anyway because he has special powers. A cheater, basically.

The whole comic book industry is based on people having a massive unfair advantage and a lot of good luck. Of course, those stories aren’t meant to be taken at face value, they’re metaphors for the human experience, or something. But for young boys looking for something to aim for, they are a catalogue of possible future employment options.

Obviously, I wasn’t dumb enough to think anything a member of the Justice League does is actually possible — in the real world they can’t even defeat most film critics — but the idea of going into a fight with a huge superiority is very attractive.

Some might say that’s the definition of a bully, but it’s only bullying if you’re the bad guy. When some billionaire vigilante beats the crap out of a hoodlum, that’s protecting the innocent, which, as we all know, is what billionaires are all about.

Now I was suddenly in a position to actually carry out those dreams. If I could master the abilities I had learned while I’d been away, I might actually get to change things. It was tempting.

Normally, of course, I would be very against getting involved with anything to do with other people. If the world wanted to run off a cliff at top speed, who was I to stop it?

But in Flatland, my powers weren’t all that special. There were other people with powers and the whole thing would have turned into a giant pie fight if I’d joined in. Here, though, I’d be the only one. No one could touch me (literally if I kept phase shifting without meaning to).

I didn’t like how much I was drawn to playing the hero. The hero who got to tell everyone how to do things his way. It was pretty much the opposite of how I’d lived my life up to this point.

Sour grapes? Only claiming to be uninterested in the game because I didn’t get to play with god mode on? There are always people like that, who fight for the weak and vulnerable because they’re one of them. As soon as they get a chance to switch sides, off they go, never looking back.

I didn’t want to be one of them.

It’s all very well being principled when you have no other choice, it’s when you do have another more comfortable option that you find out who you are. Although the real question is, do you care who you really are when the fake you gets to live a life of luxury and uncut drugs? It’s a bit of a conundrum.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” I said.

“For how long?” asked Orion.

“I don’t know. When were you thinking of going?”

“We’re ready now. We can pick you up and be on our way within the hour.”

They were very keen. I’ve never liked people who were that keen on anything. Relaxed people are far less likely to murder you, in my experience. Bit of a generalisation, I know, but human survival is built on prejudice and assumption.

“That sabre tooth tiger just ate Dave. I think he might eat me, too.”

Of course, the problems start when you start getting selective about your prejudices.

“Okay, everyone. I’ve decided this sabre-tooth tiger menace has gone far enough, so we’re going to go hunting and kill all the black ones.”

“Why only the black ones?”

“Shut up, Jim, and do what I tell you. We’re taking care of the big black sexy ones first. It’s your wife they’ll come for next.”

“You’re going to go, aren’t you?” said Mandy after I’d hung up on Orion. I’d said I needed a day to think it over.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“So you’re just going to leave Jenny there and carry on with your sorry life, alone?” Mandy sneered at me like she was expecting me to say the wrong thing and planned to point it out once I had.

“If I go with these people, assuming they can do what they say, they’ll just try to kill me or worse. If I go back, it would be better to do it my own way, without the backstab crew backing me up.”

“And how will you do it your own way?” asked Mandy.

I shrugged. “Cheng will probably come up with something in a few years, right?”

Cheng tilted his head from side to side. “It is certainly possible. I would like to see how they have managed it, if they are telling the truth.”

“Why don’t you go ask them?” I said.

Cheng made a face like he didn’t think that was a good idea.

“Before they wanted you,” said Mandy, “they wanted me. I have the same unique energy, apparently.”

“And? Did they make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

“No,” said Mandy. “They kidnapped me. But then Cheng rescued me — it was like a movie, kicking in doors and smashing windows. They won’t bother us again after that.”

“Really? I would have thought they’d come back with some even more messed up plan. Evil people don’t usually give up so easily.”

“The guy you just spoke to,” said Mandy, “Cheng killed his brother.” She said it casually, no big deal, feeling cute, might commit a bit of murder later. “And then he ate him.”

I looked at Cheng, the amateur chef. “You ate a person?”

“I felt it sent a message,” said Cheng, meek as a kitten.

Way to assert dominance. He was king of the monsters, though. Maybe the evil ones weren’t the ones on the other end of the phone.

“He ate him in front of his brother,” said Mandy. “So he won’t try that again.”

“And how do you feel about your husband eating someone?” I asked.

Mandy pursed her lip. “S’alright. I was pregnant at the time so I was eating some weird stuff, too.”

“I don’t recommend it,” said Cheng. “He didn’t taste very good.” That thing I said about relaxed people being less likely to murder, forget it.

Not to toot my own trumpet (every guy’s dream) but when I put these two together, I really nailed it.

“Okay. So they won’t fuck with Cheng. Good to know. Maybe I should meet them, see this team they’ve put together.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to trust them,” said Mandy.

“I’m not,” I said. “I don’t even trust you.”

“That’s just insulting,” said Mandy. “Why would I turn on you? You have nothing I want.”

At least I could be sure this was the real Mandy. She might have matured a little due to giving birth and all those online courses, but deep down, she still thought like a self-centred tart.

“It’s not about what I have that you might want. What if they threatened your kid? Would you be willing to turn on me then?”

“We would get Charlie back and eat all their faces,” said Mandy.

“Okay, what if Charlie was ill and they had the cure? Willing to sacrifice your high horse then?”

There was a pause. “Yes, probably. But once he was better, we would avenge you.”

“Not much use to me if I’m dead,” I said.

“No, but it would make me feel better.”

I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to accept Orion’s invite, but I was curious about their set up. Were they really prepared for what they would face in Flatland? Shape-shifting trolls, enraged ogres and dragons that spat acid. I assumed they had information, but that didn’t tell you the full story. I couldn’t afford to risk letting them get hold of me, at least not until I was able to use my abilities more consistently and with better power management. It wouldn’t be very intimidating if I created a fireball and then passed out.

Mandy and Cheng offered me a bed for the night, which seemed like a better idea than to traipse all the way back to my flat, probably followed by ninjas and SAS rejects. My life was no less odd for having returned to this world.

The guest bedroom was huge and the bed had silk sheets. I had to stick my hand in between the side of the mattress to stop myself sliding out and falling on the floor. I fell asleep quickly and woke up very early, while it was till dark outside, to the feeling that I wasn’t alone. I half-expected to turn around and find Biadet lying there, but she wasn’t. Charlie was sitting on the pillow, his mouth quivering like he wasn’t sure if he was going to burp or throw up. I was obviously hoping for the former, although his gas was probably toxic.

He opened his mouth and something even weirder came out.

“You should go back, Colin.”

“Huh?” I said, my reputation as a sparkling conversationalist intact.

“Go back and find her.” His voice was babyish. Would have been really freaky if he’d spoken like Darth Vader.  “I have no idea why, but she misses you.” Then his chubby cheeks inflated and he threw up.

I woke up with a start, alone. It was morning, the sun was coming in through the window (it was English sunlight, so very weak and not at all warm, although better than Scottish sunlight, which will give you frostbite).

A dream? It hadn’t felt like it, but it seemed the most likely explanation — my subconscious telling me what it wanted me to do. Might have been worth listening to if it had just once given me good advice in my entire fucking life. They say trust your instincts. I say, the same instincts that led me to listening to you? No thanks.

“I’m going to meet them,” I said over breakfast.

“I knew it,” said Mandy, the kid sitting in her lap.

“What do you think Charlie?” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. Mandy probably thought I was trying to be cute with him, but I was looking for an answer. He was still the son of a demon, wandering around the house in the middle of the night, handing out unasked for advice was hardly the strangest thing he might be capable of.

Charlie gurgled at me.

“Shouldn’t he be able to talk by this age?” I asked, searching Charlie’s face for signs of inner wisdom, but he had Mandy’s eyes, so that was the end of that expedition.

“No,” said Mandy, slightly annoyed at my insinuation that her kid was retarded. How could he be when he hadn’t been vaccinated? Surely there could be no other reason the child of a massive fuckwit would grow up to be an autistic little shit. “His psychological development is perfectly normal.”

“Isn’t that strange, considering how perfectly not-normal he is?”

“What are you trying to say about my baby?” she said, wrapping him in her arms and giving him boob-shaped earmuffs.

“Nothing. But he might have appeared in my bedroom last night and spoken to me in perfect English.”

“It’s your psychological development I think we should be worrying about,” said Mandy.

“It’s quite possible that happened,” said Cheng. “Not physically. He may have projected himself into your consciousness.”

Great, another trespasser in my head. I thought those days were behind me.

“What did he say?” asked Mandy, pouting. Probably felt she should be the one to get nighttime messages from Obi-Wan Kebaby.

“That I should go find Jenny.”

Mandy kissed the top of her son’s head. “I told you. He’s going to be a great healer and bring people together.”

“His father eats people.”

“He’ll take after me,” said Mandy. It would probably be less unpleasant if he took after his father, but I kept my thoughts to myself and called Orion to set up a meeting.

61: Public Announcement

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

Point-Two was far from ecstatic about appropriating another man’s battlesuit without it being cleaned first. Once you spent a few hours inside one of these things, it absorbed all sorts of body fluids and odours.

“Hurry up,” said Ubik. “We don’t want to miss anything.”

“You mean the dying and killing?”

“Don’t be so judgemental,” said Ubik, tucking Point-Two in at the edges to help get him in quicker. “Death is nothing new, population numbers are going to remain stable whatever happens. I just want to see what cool moves these chicks have.”

“Keep calling them chicks and you’ll see their moves close up.” Point-Two stepped into the suit from the rear and slid his hands through the arms.

He felt a cool, wet slickness, hopefully from perspiration. The suit had a complex wicking system to remove moisture, but it probably cut out when Ubik electrocuted the previous occupant. The man was now lying on the floor, out cold but still shaking from the aftershock.

“You in all the way?” said Ubik. “Zip it up and let’s go.”

“Alright, alright. It’s a lot more complicated than a regular suit.” The suit’s UI lit up the inside of the helmet. There was an array of buttons that appeared to be outside of the suit, none of which he was able to reach. “I can’t move.”

“Hold on.” Ubik came around to Point-Two’s front and poked about in the open panel on the suit’s right arm.

Point-Two looked down at the last guy to let Ubik do that and braced himself.

There was some movement on his arm, a tug, some prodding. “Try now.”

The world collapsed under him and Point-Two nearly fell over, then regained his balance. He had full range of motion in his arms and legs. “Okay. I think it’s working now. Lighter than I thought it would be.”

“Assisted mobility,” said Ubik, his head appearing in front of Point-Two’s, peering into the helmet. “If you lose power, the whole thing turns into a ball and chain. Here.”

Ubik was holding out the gun he’d taken from the Vendx soldier.

“But it isn’t assigned to my biometrics,” said Point-Two. “Can you override it?”

Point-Two had never heard of anyone being able to reprogram a bonded weapon, not without the correct equipment. But Ubik was full of surprises.

“Sure, no problem,” said Ubik. He dropped the rifle on the floor, put his foot on the muzzle, and then bent down to grab the back end. He pulled up and the front end snapped under his boot with a loud crack that reverberated down the hall.

Ubik picked up the broken gun and handed it to Point-Two.

“How does that help?” said Point-Two.

“Biogenic regulator’s in the barrel. Without it, can’t tell who’s who.”

Point-Two took the rifle. Sparks jumped from the busted tip. “It still works?”

“Sure. I mean, it might get stuck in a feedback loop without the regulator and self-destruct, but I doubt it. Just don’t let it overheat.”

Point-Two was inclined to not use it at all, except maybe as a grenade. “It can’t be this easy to get around their safety protocols.”

“Not for their high-end stuff. The disposable stock, though, even if someone manages to nick it off you, probably fall apart in a couple of months. Not really worth spending money to make them super-secure.” There was a bang in the distance, like a tree falling over. And then silence.

“Is it over?” asked Point-Two.

Ubik shook his head. “They’re all camping, hoping someone else draws fire so they can get a clean shot. Extra pay for whoever bags the target, loss of no claims bonus for anyone who damages their gear or gets killed. We need to flush them out.”

Ubik grabbed the drone, which was hovering at the same height as Ubik’s head, and opened up the top. The ease with which he managed to assume control of any machine was astonishing.

“I take it their drones aren’t high-end, either,” said Point-Two.

“Hey, he can hear you, you know. They have feelings.”

The drone’s light flashed around its circumference faster than normal, but whether that was a sign of emerging nascent emotion, or just Ubik fiddling with the drone’s innards, it was hard to say.

“Oh, this is handy. Someone’s already made a pathway for me through the communications array. Pretty good job, too. Not how I would have done it, but not bad, not bad. Okay, here we go. Let’s introduce some added spice to the situation.”

Ubik closed the drone and pulled it closer to his face like he was about to kiss it.

“This is the Fraiche City fire marshall. Would the owner of the space vehicle, registration—” Ubik leaned and peered out of the window “—VX-3643-10049 please make yourself known to one of the on-site emergency service personnel. Your vehicle is on fire and has been flagged as a potential health and safety hazard. Failure to contact our officials will result in the ship being impounded and then require a substantial fee before being released. Further information can be acquired by contacting City Hall. Calls may be recorded for training purposes.”

The sounds of laser fire and shouting could be heard up ahead.

Ubik gave Point-Two a thumbs up. “Emergency services aren’t bound by any prior agreements. You know, in case of emergencies.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Everyone. That should put them on a clock. Come on, let’s go.”

It didn’t seem very smart to be heading towards the fighting, but Point-Two was already a target. This way he’d at least know where his pursuers were.

“Remember,” said Ubik. “I’m your prisoner. If we get stopped, try to sound like a low-level grunt who doesn’t know anything and is just following orders.”

“I have no idea how to do that,” said Point-Two.

“Perfect,” said Ubik. “Exactly like that.”

They reached the main hall where they’d been addressed by the Princep on their first day. The doors were open but there was no sign of any Vendx personnel. The sounds of fighting had also stopped.

“Now what?” asked Point-Two.

Ubik looked inside the drone. Point-Two had no idea what he was checking in there.

“This way,” said Ubik. He darted to the right and through a narrow side-passage with stairs leading up. At the top was a gallery overlooking the hall.

Ubik was crouched and keeping his head below the guard rail so Point-Two did the same, the suit making it a little awkward to move like that. There was no sound coming from below.

Ubik peeked over and ducked back down, pulling a face.

“What?” whispered Point-Two

“They’re here,” mouthed Ubik.

“Seneca?”

Ubik nodded.

“And?”

“Two Seneca,” whispered Ubik, “middle of the room. One floating, one with hair flying about. Around twenty-thirty Vendx guys, on the floor having a nap.”

“They beat all of them?”

Ubik nodded. “Check the perimeter for reinforcements.”

Point-Two looked at the tall window which only showed the sky and the smoking ship from his position. He began to get up but Ubik pulled him back down. “Not like that. Use the suit.”

Point-Two looked at the semi-transparent buttons around him and pressed the ones for scanning the immediate area. An aerial map of the Academy appeared in his visor. Two bright green lights represented the Seneca women. An additional fifteen red lights, three groups of five, were closing in on their position. Ubik, he noticed, was flashing yellow.

“Hmm,” said Ubik, looking into the drone’s open case. “Three teams are about to perform a coordinated attack, each has a grenadier, observing radio-silence.”

“Are you hacked into my suit?”

“Little bit,” said Ubik. “Almost, almost… Here they are.” There was a crash. Ubik popped his head up and then straight back down. “Damn, missed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s over. The new arrivals are all napping.”

“They just got here,” said Point-Two.

“Those girls are fast movers. Eyes glowing and stuff. Good thing they don’t know we’re up here. Don’t make any noise.”

“You’re the one who keeps peeking,” said Point-Two.

“They won’t see me. They may be fast, but I’m faster, trust me.”

“You. Come with us.”

Both Point-Two and Ubik looked up. One of the Seneca women was standing in front of them. Floating, to be more accurate. Her eyes were burning with a fierce white light.

“Oh, hello again,” said Ubik. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Ubik. And you are?”

“My friends call me Weyla,” she said in a flat voice. “You can call me Death.” Her eyes glowed brighter.

“Kind of prefer Weyla,” said Ubik.

“This is my prisoner,” said Point-Two, dropping his voice into a lower, gruffer register. “I don’t get my bonus if I don’t bring him in.”

“I don’t want him,” said Weyla. “I want you. Now get up.”

Point-Two raised the gun, the broken tip looking a sorry sight. Ubik put his hand on the barrel and pushed it down.

“How could you tell it was him?” said Ubik. “I thought that was really good acting. Flawless impression of a Vendx weasel.”

“Thanks,” said Point-Two.

“Welcome. Anyway, I tried. You better go with her. See you when I see you.”

“You,” she said to Ubik with a sneer. “I think you need to be taught a lesson. I’m going to do to you what men have done to women for thousands of years.”

“Buy me a box of chocolates?” said Ubik.

“I’m going to break your heart.” Her hand began to shake so fast it was just a blur.

“Don’t you think you should help your friend deal with them first?” said Ubik, pointing behind him.

Point-Two checked his map. Five new signals had appeared. Two green, three red.

“She can handle them herself,” said the woman.

“You’re very hard to distract,” said Ubik. “Very intense focus.”

“Yes,” said the woman.

There was a scream from below.

“Was that you?” Ubik asked Point-Two.

“No,” said Point-Two.

All three of them went to the guard rail and looked down. The Princep and four others were at one end of the hall. Fig was in the middle of the room, and the other Seneca woman was lying at his feet.

Five lights, Fig’s presence hadn’t shown on the map. Point-Two checked the map again with a glance. Now Fig was there, the same yellow colour as Ubik.

“No,” cried out Weyla. She jumped off the rail, diving towards Fig.

“You know when I said she was hard to distract,” said Ubik. “I only said that to distract her.” He held up a thin cable.

Point-Two followed one end of the cable to Weyla’s feet. And the other end to… his right arm.

“Brace yourself,” said Ubik.

“Shit,” said Point-Two.

Chapter 432

The voice on the other end of the phone had an American accent. I couldn’t tell you exactly which part of America since it was one of those educated accents you get in all parts of the world where people are desperate to not sound local. Any region, any accent, there’ll be people who have money and education and won’t talk like anyone they grew up around.

It’s a very middle-class thing in Britain, where middle-class means not working in manual labour but not being able to afford not working at all like the landed gentry. They should really do a wipe every hundred years and let people fight over land and resources.

Okay, the beta’s over, you go back to level one and create a new character.

But no, forever in early access.

At least when you speak in a neutral, can’t-tell-where-I’m-from tone, none of the other middle-class people can make fun of you. Equality, it turns out, isn’t about treating people the same, it’s about not giving anyone the ammunition to treat you differently.

The American posh way of speaking is another level above that. You can hear it in the voices of the very well-off and East Coast university types. When you see interviews with people like Gore Vidal or John Updike, the great recordists of the American experience, you can’t help wonder who the fuck taught them to speak like no other American ever.

“Can you hear me?” said the man on the phone, his clipped 1930s’ radio announcer accent sounding irritated. I must have drifted off and ignored what he’d just said.

“Sorry, bad reception,” I said. “And my hand’s on fire, which is a bit distracting. What did you say?”

There was a pause, probably for him to wonder if I was mental. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Hmm? Meet?” I actually was quite distracted by my flaming hand. “Why do you want to meet?” I was also feeling a bit warm. Not my hand, more my face and neck.

“You said you wanted to meet.” He sounded like he was getting quite worked up. Posh Americans get all whiny when they don’t get the proper respect they feel they deserve. Then they cheat on their wives and write a six-hundred-page novel about how enlightening it was.

“Okay, see you then.” I turned off the phone and passed out.

When I woke up, my hand was no longer on fire, which was good. I could have burned down the whole place if I’d been left smouldering on the floor. I had also been moved to the living room and was lying on the sofa.

“Finally awake then?” said Mandy as she walked in carrying a wooden tray.

“What happened?”

“You fainted. Like a girl.”

I sat up and nearly passed out again. “That’s sexist,” I pointed out, “you malingering bint.”

“I know,” said Mandy, placing the tray on the coffee table, “that’s why it’s the perfect thing to say to you.”

“I fail to follow your lack of logic,” I said. “What’s this?”

“Lunch.”

“Yes. But what is it?” The tray contained a bowl of something brown bubbling very slowly — a translucent dome getting bigger and bigger, and then pop; followed by the emergence of the next hesitant dome. There was also a plate of crackers.

“It’s soup. Homemade.”

“What kind of soup?”

“I don’t know,” said Mandy.

“You didn’t make it?”

“Cheng likes to dabble in the kitchen. He isn’t very good but he enjoys it, and you can’t get better if you don’t keep trying.”

“You have to keep up your strength,” said Cheng, appearing with two more trays. “Your magic works differently here. It uses up your energy and when that runs out… out you go.” He handed Mandy a tray with a salad on it. I got the feeling that salad wasn’t because she was watching her figure (she was married with a kid, time to let herself go) but more to avoid Cheng’s cooking.

The idea that using magic would drain my energy and leave me unconscious was a little disconcerting. I ran a hand over my hair. “Do you have a mirror?”

“Probably better idea to wait until you’ve eaten,” said Mandy, giving me a sarcastic smile over a leaf of something.

“Just give me a mirror. You probably have a full-length one stored in your cleavage.”

Mandy gave me a narrow-eyed stare but didn’t say anything. Probably because she took it as a compliment.

“Here.” She pulled a compact out of a small table on the other side of the sofa and handed it to me.

I opened the mirror and looked at myself. Rough isn’t the word. “Holy fuck.”

“Can you keep your voice down?” said Mandy. “I just put Charlie down for a nap. If he wakes up cranky he tends to spew all over the nursery. I’ve had to change the wallpaper five times already.”

“Sorry.” I examined myself more closely and more quietly. Mandy was right, I wasn’t exactly a pretty picture, but I hadn’t aged and my hair was the same length as before.

Usually, after using magic, my hair grew longer to mark the passing of time. Even though I’d skipped three years, I was probably the right physical age considering how much magic I’d used. But this time there was no ageing. I had used my stored energy the normal way when exerting myself, and had passed out when I didn’t stop. I snapped the compact shut.

“I couldn’t figure out how to turn my power off,” I said. “I don’t know how I turned it on, either.”

“That’s fine,” said Cheng, “you just need practice. Eat up for now and make sure you have a snack on you at all times, a bar of chocolate or something. As long as you keep yourself fuelled, you should be okay.” He took a mouthful of soup and grimaced. “Spicy.”

I tried some myself. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t good, either. I still wasn’t sure what it was made of and quite frankly I was afraid to ask, but eating dodgy food to survive was something I was used to.

“I was on the phone with the people watching us when I collapsed from pushing my body too hard.”

“Fainted,” said Mandy.

“I can’t really remember what we spoke about, though.”

“They called back,” said Cheng. “Mandy spoke to them.”

I turned to Mandy dreading where this would lead.

“They think you hung up on them,” said Mandy. “Playing hard to get, so I went with it and told them you think they’re all pricks and you don’t want to waste your time on a bunch of amateurs. They’re very angry with you.”

“Sorry,” said Cheng. “I told her not to get involved.”

“No problem,” I said. “Good call.”

Mandy stopped nibbling on a cucumber and stared at me.

“What?” I said. “If there’s one area where I trust your judgement, it’s stringing men along. If they think I don’t give a shit about their threats, it’ll push them into making mistakes, or at least giving a more realistic idea of what they’re prepared to do. This soup isn’t so bad. Tangy.”

“That’s the sulphuric acid,” said Cheng.

I stopped eating and looked at my spoon. It hadn’t dissolved and neither had my throat.

“He means balsamic vinegar,” said Mandy.

“Oh, yes,” said Cheng. “So many new ingredients to work with, it’s very confusing.”

“You should try a keto diet,” said Mandy. “I’ve done an online course on health and nutrition. If you need to preserve energy over a long time, that would probably work best.”

“Alright, Dr Atkins, don’t get carried away. Just because I think you know your stuff when it comes to giving people the runaround, doesn’t mean I’m going to be asking for your advice on other matters.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “I know what I’m talking about. I took the course so I could make sure Charlie was getting a proper diet. It’s very interesting.”

“So you’re going to be one of those mums. Failed all your GCSEs but now you’re an internet researcher and you know all the answers.”

“I passed all my GCSEs.”

“I suppose you think vaccinations are a conspiracy by the Illuminati. Has Charlie had his shots?”

“No, of course not,” said Mandy.

“Honestly, how much of a retard do you have to be to risk his and everyone else’s kid’s health because of something you read on mums.net?”

“He isn’t vaccinated because he’s half demon,” said Mandy.

“A quarter,” said Cheng.

“Don’t take his side,” said Mandy. “Human diseases don’t affect him, he affects them. If I take him into a room where someone has a cold or the flu, they get cured in about ten minutes because the viruses shit themselves and leave the room immediately. My baby’s going to heal the world and win a Nobel Prize.” Her chest swelled up with pride.

“Oh,” I said, making sure not to stare since she obviously expected me to.

Mandy’s phone rang. It was sitting on the coffee table, taking up most of it. Mandy picked it up.

Phones seemed to have become even bigger than when I’d last been home. There was a time when they were getting smaller and smaller, and then they started getting bigger and bigger. If you’d said to someone in 1999, “In the future, mobile phones will be so huge they won’t even fit in your pocket,” they’d have thought you were crazy.

“It’s for you,” said Mandy, handing it to me.

“Can you put it on speaker?” I said. She placed the phone back on the table.

“Hello? This is Colin.”

“Yes. Hello again.” He sounded upset. “This is Mr Orion.”

“Sorry, who?”

“We spoke earlier.”

“And your name’s Orion? Did you make it up to sound cool?”

“No. That’s my name.”

“Do you have a big belt?”

“No, why would… Oh, Orion’s belt. Very droll. Look, call me Peter if you find it less distracting.”

“Actually, I already know a Peter. I’ll call you Orion.” I sniggered without meaning to. I’m not sure why I found the name so amusing but I was a twenty year old in a twenty-three-year-old’s body.

“I’d like to continue our conversation from before,” he said.

“I’m in the middle of lunch,” I said. “Can you call back?”

“It’s very important. Many lives are hanging in the balance.”

“Okay. Speak to you in a bit.” I hung up.

“Won’t that make him more angry?” said Cheng.

“Yep,” I said finishing off the soup. “This could use a little more vinegar.”

“I just hope you don’t let your guilt complex blind you to how much damage you could end up doing if you aren’t careful,” said Mandy.

“Online psychology course?” I asked.

“Yes, actually,” said Mandy. “And also a physiotherapy course.”

“Because you didn’t know how to spell psychology so you let spellcheck guess for you?”

“Because mind and body work best together,” said Mandy. “You should try going to the gym, might make you less depressed about leaving Jenny behind.”

“I didn’t leave anyone behind,” I said. “They pushed me forward and jumped backwards.”

The phone rang again. Bootylicious by Destiny’s Child (I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly), in case you were wondering.

Mandy tapped the answer button. “Yes?”

“We were cut off,” said Orion, tersely.

“I’ve finished eating, what would you like to discuss?” I said.

“Very well. I have an offer for you.”

“How much?” I said.

“How much what?”

“Money,” I said. “How much are you prepared to pay for my help.”

“I haven’t even told you what we want from you.”

“Doesn’t matter if it isn’t worth my time. How much?”

There was a pause. “One million dollars.”

Mandy gave me a thumbs up, one gold digger to another.

“Nah, seems low,” I said. “A million bucks doesn’t really go very far these days. A medium sized place, a moderately pricey car, you’re back where you started.”

A longer pause. “I don’t think you appreciate what you can really do with that amount of money.”

“You could be right,” I said. “As a millennial, I have no real concept of what it’s like to earn money. What I do know is that the last couple of generations have fucked the economy so bad the only way to buy a house is to suck a rich guy’s dick. And both those generations are obsessed with not paying taxes and becoming rich guys, which I feel isn’t a coincidence. What about you, Orion? You a rich guy? You on the millennial blowjob plan?”

”Two million,” he said.

“Okay. Call me back when it’s been transferred into my account.” I hung up again.

“Do you really think he’s going to pay you before you’ve agreed to anything?” asked Mandy, mildly impressed by my ability to get a rich guy to consider paying me before putting his dick in my mouth. I was the baller every bimbo wished she could be.

“You’re really good at pissing people off,” said Mandy.

“Thank you,” I said. “It means a lot coming from a person like you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” said Mandy, sounding less impressed even though I had just proved her assessment of me totally correct.

“Please control yourself, woman,” I said. “You’ll wake the baby.”

“Are you going to let him talk to me like that?” Mandy said to Cheng, who looked very much like he’d prefer to be left alone with his soup, extra sulphuric acid. “You’re supposed to be the demon lord of all monsters, tell him to stop being mean to me.”

“I think you two made a good team,” said Cheng.

It was a low blow. “You take that back,” I said.

“Do you want to die?” said Mandy.

“I owe him too much to take issue with his way of speaking to you,” said Cheng. “Without his presence of mind, I would not have you in my life, my love.”

Mandy looked like she was about to melt. He’d got her number alright.

“It’s a gift I have,” I said. “The ability to spot the kind of man who would be happy with a massive slut for a wife.”

“He’s doing it again,” said Mandy, like she was reporting me to teacher.

“I’m not insulting you,” I said. “People think true love means not being a slut anymore, but in reality it means focusing all your sluttiness on one man. The bigger a slut you are, the more the guy will be overwhelmed by it and never even look at another woman.”

“Well, okay,” said Mandy. “I still object to your use of the word slut. You don’t call men that, do you?”

“Because it’s harder for us to get laid. It takes actual work, more of everything. More effort, more money, more lies. For women, it’s less of everything. Fewer clothes, smaller underwear, lower morals.”

The phone rang again before Mandy could think of a quiet way to hit me.

“I wonder what they want you to do,” said Cheng.

“Probably use my power to help them become more powerful and richer. Usual shit. I’ll just keep raising my price.”

I answered the phone.

“The money has been transferred to your account.”

“Really. I didn’t even give you my account details.”

“We have them already. Now, shall we proceed?”

It seemed they were serious and I was quite curious what they wanted, too. “Okay. What do you want from me?”

“We want you to lead us back to Flatland.”

“Oh. I don’t know how to do that. I came back by accident.”

“That isn’t important,” said Orion. “We have a way back and we have a trained team ready to go. We need you to guide them.”

Now here was an offer I hadn’t expected.

60: Planning Ahead

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

Point-Two clung to the drone as his weight sent it plummeting towards the ground. Admittedly, it was a slower fall than if he’d been on his own, but it still felt somewhat lethal.

Above him, the Vendx ship was still airborne, smoke pouring out of its fuselage but the flames no longer covering the underside of the hull.

Beneath him, Ubik was holding onto his drone with one hand while his other was stuck inside the drone’s casing, making alterations on the fly, literally.

Both drones slowed their descent as they adjusted for the additional weight, but Ubik’s changed course and headed towards a corner of the courtyard while Point-Two’s began to go back up.

If he was returned to the roof, he most likely wouldn’t receive a warm reception.

Ubik was on the ground already and rushing off to who knew where, the drone following him like an eager pet. It seemed like Point-Two was on his own. He was near enough to the Academy’s walls to attempt climbing down. The building’s surface was covered in cracks and ledges. The problem was more of switching from the up escalator to the down.

He rated his chances of making a clean transfer in the eightieth percentile. High eighties.

Point-Two took a breath, focused on a crack just above him, just level, just below, and let go. He didn’t push off — he didn’t want to add any excess movement that might bounce him off the wall — he just let go and reached out.

Three fingers on his right hand wedged into the thin gap, the stone crumbled against his fingertips, and the wall’s rough surface scraped his palms as he fell.

Point-Two looked down and aimed his feet at the sliver of ledge he could see quickly rising towards him.

His toes hit, the angle of his ankles inverted to absorb the impact, and he stopped. Then he started to fall backwards. Point-Two’s hands flapped at the wall and frame around the window. He couldn’t find anything to grip, nothing to cling to, and then everything was out of his reach.

At least he was nearer the ground than he had been. He would probably be able to avoid any broken bones if he twisted at the right moment and rolled. How he missed zero Gs where falling didn’t even exist. He took another breath and prepared to twist.

He stopped falling and hung in the air. Not quite weightless, more like a coat on a hook. Looking down, the ground was only a couple of metres below him, along with Ubik.

The drone holding Point-Two by the back of his collar began to descend.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” he said to Ubik as he gently touched down.

“What? And leave you behind, a smear on the floor? No, I wouldn’t do that. Not when I need an active target for my field test. You’re the one those Seneca assassins are after. If anything happened to you, they’d pack up and go home; probably take credit for your death anyway and make a bundle. I hear these Seneca are unscrupulous people.”

Ubik unhooked the drone from the back of Point-Two’s greys. The crooked spike probably hadn’t been designed to catch people falling through the air.

Point-Two looked up at the smoking ship. “Vendx are going to be pissed at you.”

“I doubt it. Small explosion like that, happens all the time. Probably think it was faulty wiring. It’s the dynamic obsolescence they use, gives them a very high failure rate. The old Harriers, the Sloane series, used to burst into flames all the time. Even with a failure rate of 0.1 percent, that’s a lot of screw-ups when you’re supplying the entire galaxy.”

“I don’t know,” said Point-Two. The ship looked like it was leaning to one side. A little nudge and it might come falling down. “They’re in a combat situation. They’re going to check.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Ubik. “No way to prove it was us, though.”

“What do you mean us? I had nothing to do—”

“Let’s try this way,” said Ubik. “We don’t want to get in the way of the big battle.” He set off through the covered walkway that surrounded the courtyard, the drone hovering over his shoulder.

Point-Two followed. “You still think they’re coming?”

“Of course,” said Ubik. “You can’t let people think a lowly FVG trainee got away from you? An independent contractor relies on positive word of mouth. They need you dead and your head on a stick. They’ll follow you to the end of the universe now that you’ve shown them up.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything. It was you.”

“No one’s paying them to bother with me. Hunt you down and make an example of you, I expect. Do they sleep? I can see them never resting, never stopping until they’ve got your blood coating their hands and your testicles on a necklace. Must be nice to feel wanted after being an orphan for so long.”

The doors into the main building were open. The doors were actually no longer in the doorframe. Ubik leaned in and looked down the hallway.

“I’m not an orphan,” said Point-two, not really knowing why Ubik’s needling bothered him so much.

“Sure, sorry, I forgot about Mom 2.0. This way. Quietly.”

“I’m making less noise than you,” said Point-Two, which was true.

“You know, you’re very competitive. Try to relax, you’ll live longer.”

Somehow, Point-Two doubted it.

***

“Something’s happening,” said Princep Galeli. “An explosion.”

“In the Academy?” asked Captain Hickory.

“No. Above us. One of their ships.” Galeli fiddled with some buttons to get a better reading on the two ships stationed overhead. “Minor damage, but they’ve lost one of their stabilisers. Do you think your people are here?”

Hickory shrugged. “It’s possible they worked out we were in trouble. Although, I can only see them coming to our rescue if they thought it would get them a pay raise. Frankly, if any of them showed that kind of initiative, I’d be inclined to give it to them.”

“What about the boy?” said Gipper. “You seem to think he’s the hot sauce no one can handle. Could it be him?”

“It could. Trainee Matton is very capable, but I fail to see how he could target a ship. It’s not like he has any way to get up there. I’m not even sure why he would want to. The fight’s down here.”

“Shouldn’t we go out there and help him?” said Gipper, up on his feet and ready to go. “If I stay cooped up in here much longer I’m going to explode, too.”

“Have you any idea what they can do to us with the gear they have?” said Hickory.

“Have you any idea what we can do to them?” said Gipper, full of brio, mostly unjustified. “This is the armoury, isn’t it? Don’t we have any non-Vendx weapons in here.”

“This is the old armoury,” said Galeli. “It’s more a storeroom and emergency bunker, although this is the first time we’ve used it for that. Actually, if I remember correctly…”

Galeli left the console and went over to the table in the corner. “Help me with this.”

Gipper eagerly approached and grabbed the top of the table which came off with a little effort. Inside was a lot of dust and a bunch of equipment.

“What’s this?” said Gipper, pulling out a long tube. “Plumbing?”

“Careful with that,” said Galeli. “It fires rockets. You put it on your shoulder and the rocket goes in that end.”

“What else have you got in here?” said Gipper. “Spears and swords?”

“How many rockets are in there?” said Hickory. “They might not be prepared for this kind of tech. Good thing the guild never throws anything away — the galaxy’s greatest hoarders.”

“I think I’ve got something,” said Jace.

“You’ve contacted the ship?” said Galeli. Finally, reinforcements.

“No, not that,” said Jace. “I patched into the Vendx comms.” He took out his headphones and the case erupted into shouting.

“There’s two of them. Get everyone down here now. Send every drone you’ve got.” The person speaking sounded intensely panicked.

“They’re moving,” said Bev, her ear on the doors. “They’re… leaving. Where are they going.”

“I don’t know,” said Hickory. “But if we’re going to make a move, now’s the time. Everyone grab something and make sure you know which way to point it before you pull the trigger.”

***

“What’s he doing?” asked Point-Two.

Down the other end of the passage was a Vendx soldier, standing there with one arm waving and one foot stamping.

“Suit’s locked him out,” said Ubik. “Half of it. Happens when the servos get out of sync. Not a big problem, just takes a little adjustment.”

“I’m trying!” shouted the Vendx soldier to no one. “It won’t work... Yes, I’ve tried rebooting it... Yes, I powered it down completely, it made no difference.” He sounded very frustrated.

“We should help him,” said Ubik.

“Really? He’s got a very big gun.”

“Yes, but it’s stuck in the hand that’s frozen.”

The long-barrelled laser rifle was in the hand that wasn’t moving, pointing straight up. “Can you send a glitch team? ...I know they’re busy, we’re all busy, but if I don’t get any help I can’t pick up my participation bonus. I’ve already blown my deductible, have a heart, will you? Hello? Are you still there? Damn it!”

“They make them pay for everything,” said Ubik. “Terrible way to do business.”

Ubik began moving towards the man who continued to rage silently. You could tell by the way half his body stamped and punched the air.

“What’s the plan?” whispered Point-Two as he followed Ubik and the drone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” said Ubik. “Hello? Excuse me?”

The soldier tried to turn around but his body remained rooted to the spot. “Who are you?” he said through the helmet that covered his entire head.

“We’re trainees at the Academy. Nothing to do with whatever, you know.” Ubik waved a hand in the general direction of the ships above them. “Is your suit malfunctioning? I think I can help. I have some tech training. Used to work on a glitch team before they let me go for exceeding my overdraft limit. It’s the microtransactions that get you, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The man’s suspicious tone was gone just like that. “You’re ex-company?”

“Yep, two years.” He opened a panel on the arm of the frozen side of the suit and pressed something.

The hand holding the rifle spread out its fingers and the rifle fell. Ubik caught it. “Here, let me take that. It’s alright, not like we can use it.” He gave it to Point-Two with a grin and raised eyebrows. “Biometrics, no way to get round that. Now, I’m just going to realign the servos. Might feel some static.”

Ubik grabbed the stiff arm and twisted it so the panel was easier to access. Then he grabbed something on either end and brought them together.

The man screamed, shook for about three seconds, and then went limp on one side. Smoke drifted out from the suit.

“Right, let’s get him out and you in.” Ubik opened the back of the suit and a thin man slumped out backwards onto the floor. He was still breathing and also slightly smoking.

“You want me to put on his suit?” said Point-Two.

“Yep. You wanted a plan. I’m your prisoner, we’re going to see the supervisor. You can ad lib the rest, right?”

The sounds of shouting and gunfire reverberated down the passage.

“Hurry up, I think they’re here,” said Ubik. “I don’t want to miss seeing them in action.”

Point-Two climbed into the suit. It probably wasn’t the best plan he’d ever heard, but the suit would provide him with some protection. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Six

Rutga stood on the battlements of Fort Neera, stiff and cold. The wind up here was chilly and cut through the gaps in his armour much more proficiently than any blade ever could. He stamped his feet to stop them going numb. Thicker socks would have been welcome, but Rutga’s feet had a tendency to become swollen at night for some inexplicable reason. He could barely get his boots on as it was.

A sign of old age? Did body parts get bigger as you got older? His grandfather used to have unnaturally large ear lobes, he remembered, although he had assumed that was just because the rest of him was shrinking.

The treetops swished from side to side and above them, the stars shone and twinkled. He had slept beneath many different skies, but the stars over Ranvar always seemed to him to be the most glorious. His opinion was biased, of course.

The moon was nearly full, giving an excellent view of the forest and the stars and beyond. He was the sole watch in a remote outpost with a garrison of six and the nearest town an hour’s ride away. It felt like the end of the world.

The late watch was everyone’s least favourite duty, but Rutga found it refreshing. To stand at the edge of the kingdom, looking out at the trees that formed a natural border with the small but intensely proud nation of Jaminikan. It made Rutga feel like the protector he’d signed up to be.

All the fighting and killing he’d done in the name of Ranvar, that had been a necessity, but he preferred to think of himself as a guardian, defending his family and of all the other families living under the Ranvarian flag, rather than someone who killed to order.

In truth, the people of Jaminikan were unlikely to cause Ranvar any trouble, but their intentions and his duty were not intended to mirror one another. He would stand on the wall whether there was a threat or not, whether it was night or day, cold or hot. Such was a soldier’s lot, to serve, to be sacrificed if required.

“Hey there, you look like you’re freezing your balls off.”

Rutga turned to see Private Mershwin approaching, carrying a mug of something steaming.

“Thought you could do with a hot drink.”

“It’s not so cold,” said Rutga. A sharp breezed whipped in between them, instantly drawing moisture to the tip of Rutga’s nose. He wiped it with the back of his gloved hand.

“You’re a sturdier man than me, then,” said Mershwin. “Have this, anyway. No point me carrying it back down.” He held out the mug.

Strictly speaking, it was against regulations. You weren’t supposed to eat or drink on duty, you were supposed to keep a constant lookout for the enemy. Vigilance did not take a break for beverages. But the fort was far from a place of danger and imminent attack. The whole western border of Ranvar was lined with timid nations falling over themselves to maintain good relations with their bigger, more powerful neighbour. Being stationed in any of the western border forts was considered a very comfortable assignment. It made no sense to be overzealous about the job when there was no call for it. The need to act would come soon enough.

“Thank you,” said Rutga, taking the drink. The heat from the mug immediately warmed his hands. He took a sip. Blackberry cordial. “Very nice.”

Mershwin smiled like he’d successfully completed his mission. He was a young man keen to make a good impression. Rutga had probably been the same at his age. It hadn’t really helped — you got the job you were best qualified for. That was why the Ranvar army was so much better than its neighbours’ troops. That and the dragons.

“I know it’s sort of against the rules,” said Mershwin, “but the commander doesn’t really mind as long we don’t overdo these things. We’re a pretty tight-knit bunch here, I think you’ll find. Like to keep an eye out for each other.” He smiled and looked up at the sky, stretching his young back that probably didn’t need it. “Where you posted before? Up in the mountains, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said Rutga.

“Even colder there, I bet.”

“True, but you get used to it.”

“We all thought it was rather odd they only transferred a single man, but I suppose you put in a request, did you?”

The boy was a bit nosy, but harmless. “No, they needed me and some others to do a job. Once the work was complete, they sent us off where we were needed. I was hoping for somewhere a bit warmer, I have to admit.”

Rutga took another sip. The drink was rapidly losing heat to the night air. A little alcohol would have added more of a kick, but Private Mershwin was a considerate rule-breaker; a little over the line was okay but no more. Fortunately, the rest of the garrison weren’t quite so straight-laced or his job would be that much harder.

Mershwin laughed. “Well, it’s not so bad in the summer. Not much to do, though. It’s only a matter of time before we get called up to the Eastern Front with this Gweur thing going on.”

“Gweur thing?” said Rutga.

“You know, all this unrest and what have you. They say the eastern nations are preparing to attack, some sort of coordinated plan. I don’t see them getting very far, but they’ll probably outnumber us if they really are working together. And it’s not like we’re much use out here. Not exactly busy fighting off invaders.” Mershwin snorted and his shoulders shook with good humour. The boy was actually keen to join in the coming fight. He would probably change his tune once he saw a few friends lose their lives.

Rutga drained the mug, the last dregs cold as they entered his mouth, and handed the mug back. “You could be right, but I don’t think it would be wise to leave these borders unprotected.”

“You think the Jaminis would try something?” Mershwin pulled a face suggesting he thought it unlikely. “They’re not bad people, you know. Not violence in them.”

“Everyone has violence in them,” said Rutga, “under the right circumstances. An open border might tempt them, or at least some of them. Young men have a tendency to feel aggrieved no matter what society they are brought up in. Old men, too, in some cases. Just because they accept their position now, doesn’t mean they aren’t ready to exploit a chance to improve their standing.”

Mershwin nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right. No point taking too many risks. And it’s not like we’re going to lose, even without the dragons.”

“What do you mean, without the dragons?” said Rutga, the word catching his ear. He looked up at the sky warily.

“You must have heard, about the dragons refusing to fly? No?”

“The dragons aren’t refusing to fly,” said Rutga. He had only recently returned to Ranvar and had been immediately posted here. What news he had heard had been mostly gossip and conjecture. This was the first he was hearing about non-compliant dragons.

Mershwin leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I saw a report on Commander Lefwas’ desk. I know I shouldn’t have, but it was open and it didn’t look very secret or anything. It definitely said all dragons were grounded until further notice.”

“I don’t think that can be true,” said Rutga. “What about those?”

He pointed at the moon. A silhouette that was very clearly of a dragon was flying across it.

“Oh my,” said Mershwin, looking up, his eyes shining in the moonlight, a delighted smile on his face. “Oh yes. I’ve never seen one flying at night before. So beautiful. I wonder where it’s—”

Rutga slipped the blade of his dagger between the vertebrae in the back of Mershwin’s neck and up into his skull, while placing his hand over the boy’s mouth. He gently lowered his limp body to the ground.

When his instructor had explained to him why he was so well-suited to the role of assassin, Rutga had tried to refuse the job. Just because he had the requisite skill and ability didn’t mean he relished the idea of taking another person’s life. On the battlefield was one thing, but to hunt someone and take them unawares… it took a certain kind of man to do that sort of thing.

Personally, he had hoped for something in the frontline where he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his fellow Ranvarians, forming a wall against the threats to the Ranvarian way of life.

His first assignment had been in a support role, little more than a delivery boy providing supplies for a small team sent to take care of a minor nobleman who was about to become a lot more powerful after the death of his ailing father. The son was erratic and full of rebelliousness, which was only natural for his age, but a concern for the stability of the region.

The primary team became compromised, the mage with them foolishly getting involved with one of the court ladies, and Rutga had stepped in to complete the job. It had been more luck than anything, but Rutga was good at spotting an opportunity when he saw one. That was his talent.

He did too good a job and was quickly enrolled as a full-time solo operative, a very vaunted position, at least within military circles. When he tried to refuse the assignment on the grounds that he didn’t enjoy taking lives, he was told that if only people who enjoyed murder were tasked with the job, there’d only be the insane and the cruel to choose from, and no army would want to rely on people like that. It did make a kind of sense.

Rutga left the body on the battlements and looked up as dragons swept across the sky, six in formation. They hardly looked real, more like clouds crossing the moon. The other men would mostly be in a stupor by now, the ale and beer spiked with a strong sleeping agent. The few left awake would be easy enough to dispatch. It wasn’t something he would enjoy, but their sacrifice would serve Ranvar in the end.

He headed into the fort where it was at least a little warmer.

***

Prince Ranade sat at the head of a long table feeling disturbed by current events. His ministers were seated on opposite sides of the table, forming a gauntlet of bad news. Usually, at these sorts of meetings, he would let them bicker among themselves and wait for an impression to form about what the real issues were and what was merely the normal humdrum preoccupation of each man.

They all had their own agendas which they were constantly trying to advance, sneaking in proposals in between the main discussion, as was to be expected. But not this time. There was only one topic to be discussed.

“We should attack them immediately and with our full force,” said War Minister Reshvay. “Crush them and give these other ingrates an idea of what they can expect.” The long whiskers of his moustache trembled with indignation.

“You forget we have no dragons to provide air support,” said Foreign Minister Kuplas.

“I forget nothing,” Reshvay blasted back. “We don’t need air support to deal with these peasant upstarts. Farmers and labourers, that’s all they are. Untrained, undisciplined. We’ll cut right through them. One of our men is worth a dozen of theirs.”

“They’ve been known to use magic,” said the Chief of Staff of the Secret Service, his golden mask in place. “I assume you haven’t forgotten that, also.”

“Of course I haven’t,” said Reshvay. “That’s what we have mages for, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you think these hoodlums using wild Arcanum can stand toe to toe with our mages. What do you think the Royal College has been doing all these years? We’ll annihilate them!” He slammed his fist on the table, making the small plates rattle.

“I am reluctant to use the mages unless there is no other option,” said Prince Ranade. All eyes turned to him.

It had been his wife who told him his legacy would be that of a great monarch who presided over the peaceful expansion of Ranvar’s influence. He had believed her. Things had been going so well, negotiations working much better than the covert shenanigans his father had favoured, mutual advantage forging stronger ties and closer alliances. Or so he thought.

His wife even told him they would erect a statue of him and it was important he look after his health. A fat statue would not be the legacy he wished to leave, would it?

Salads, the price of immortality.

Now, however, it seemed his legacy would be something entirely different. Everything was going wrong. Gweur was leading a revolt that was spreading, the dragons were unresponsive, demons were returning for the first time in millennia, and the mages… the mages were of questionable loyalty.

“You don’t trust the Archmage, my liege?” asked Kuplas.

“It is not a matter of trust,” said the prince. “Whatever is happening to the dragons is connected to Arcanum, which means it is connected to the mages. The Archmage may himself not be aware of exactly what is happening here. Putting the mages in front of this new magic… it may be what our opponents want us to do.”

“If I may,” said a voice from the far end of the table, “I agree with His Majesty.”

Heads turned towards the speaker, Mol Carmine, Acting-Minister of Instruction.

“Continue,” said Prince Ranade.

“From the information I’ve been able to gather,” continued Carmine, “much of what we’re seeing has been arranged very carefully and our response has been predicted and prepared for.”

“Such as the alliances formed between what we had believed to be rival nations?” asked Minister for the Interior Bol.

“Yes, I believe so,” said Carmine.

“And how is it we weren’t aware of these coalitions?” asked Minister Reshvay. “Did they suddenly spring up out of nowhere? Isn’t it your job to be aware of such realignments, acting-minister?”

“Be reasonable, Reshvay,” said Kuplas. “It’s hardly his fault, the man’s only been in the job a few weeks. If anyone dropped the ball here, it would be his predecessor.”

Reshvay made a harrumphing sound which set his moustache quivering again. “There were many aspects of Delcroix’s methods I might take issue with, but it would never cross my mind to question his diligence when it came to matters such as these. If it had happened on his watch, he would have been aware of it. I can only surmise these are recent events.”

“Or very old ones,” said Carmine, which drew the attention back to him. “If we know anything about the demons’ methods, it’s that they operate on a completely different time scale to us. A few thousand years means nothing to them. I can fully believe that whatever we’re seeing now is the culmination of plans laid long ago, slowly coming to fruition in tiny increments. Such is their way. We may not have been aware of it because it was already arranged by the time we thought to look for signs of collusion.”

Carmine had everyone’s full attention now. He seemed very comfortable holding court, the prince noted. A young man rising to the occasion, or another ambitious whelp hoping to jump the line?

“It would be foolish to be overconfident about our ability to handle these farmers and labourers,” continued Carmine. “If, as I suspect, they have been intentionally portrayed as mere yokels, it would indicate that they wish to lull us into a false sense of security. By studying us over the centuries, perhaps even encouraging us to be confident in our superiority, they will be fully aware of our tactics and methods. As His Majesty has suggested, bringing the Archmage and the other mages of the Royal College into the fight may well be part of this long-gestating plan. If the demons are behind the insurrection we are seeing — and I strongly believe that to be the case — then, they would need a way to deal with the mages. And from what I’ve seen of their work, they would be much more inclined to somehow use the mages for their own benefit rather than consider them as opponents to be defeated.

There was a long pause as the table considered this.

“Weren’t you supposed to deal with this by removing the key players in the Gweur uprising?” asked Reshvay.

“Yes,” said Carmine. “But I realised I was being manoeuvred into a trap, just as we may be now, and aborted the mission. If they were expecting us to mount a covert operation, they may have used it to embolden their followers and those not quite convinced. Exposing us as the terrible tyrants willing to take lives without remorse, and so on.”

“And what gave you this insight into the demons’ plans?” asked Reshvay. “I don’t recall seeing any of this in your reports. Have you been withholding information from us?”

“Not at all,” said Carmine. “I was actually fully-intending to carry out my mission as discussed, but a chance conversation made me realise the strategy being employed against us. It was similar to the one used by King Carthenon during the—”

“Yes, yes,” said Reshvay impatiently. “We don’t need a history lesson. I’m more interested in who this genius was you spoke to. Someone in your department? A sharp young mind I should be aware of?”

For all his flap and bluster, Reshvay had an astute mind and an eye for inconsistencies. It was what made him an excellent battle commander, one of the best Ranvar had ever had. If he felt there was something that needed ferreting out, he was probably right, even if it made Carmine feel uncomfortable. Carmine feeling uncomfortable was actually a good indicator that Reshvay was indeed onto something.

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Carmine. “As it happens, it was the boy.”

“The boy?” said Reshvay.  “Which boy? Your boy? You have a boy?”

“The Tutt boy,” said Carmine, his lips spreading into a thin smile that seemed to cause him pain.

“When did you speak to him?” said Kuplas, his interest also piqued by who Carmine had advising him.

“No, no, you misunderstand. I was visiting a friend — my predecessor’s daughter, actually, to offer my condolences — and he happened to be there. It was a passing remark he made, about one of his lessons, I think, and it sparked the thought in my head, that was all. Completely coincidental.”

“And what did you make of young master Tutt?” asked Prince Ranade.

“Your Majesty? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“How did he strike you? I would appreciate your appraisal of the young man who seems to always be at the centre of recent events.”

“Well, if I may, I don’t really have very much to say on the subject. He seems bright and, to be perfectly frank, quite normal.”

“He can hardly be that, can he?” said Reshvay, practically spitting the words out. “Nobody normal would find themselves in the predicaments the boy has, let alone come out of them unscathed.”

“That is true,” said Carmine, “although it could be down to blind luck, or someone else manipulating the situation to make him appear to be a key element when he is only meant to serve as a distraction, it is hard to know. I had thought of bringing him in for a chat since, as Your Majesty says, he seems to be in the middle of things. A more thorough interrogation might yield more definitive answers.”

“No,” said Prince Ranade.

“Your Majesty?”

“You will not in any shape or form bother the boy.”

“As you wish,” said Carmine, bowing his head. “May I know why?”

“The van Dastan girl, the Archmage’s daughter. I gave her my word he would not be interfered with. If the Archmage does become a problem, she is the only one who can stand against him, certainly the only one he wouldn’t raise his hand to. She is a spirited child and very temperamental. She seems to have taken a liking to the boy, which is perfectly natural, and would be very upset if any of you began poking around as I know you are wont to do. He is to be left unmolested, do I make myself clear?”

There was a general murmur of acquiescence to his command. It appeared Carmine hadn’t been the only one with designs on Mr Tutt. The prince was tempted to summon the boy himself, just to see what all the fuss was about.

“Under no circumstances, not even an emergency. He is not to be troubled.” More noises of begrudging acquiescence. Sometimes it was necessary to issue an unambiguous edict so no mistakes were made. Emergencies could be manufactured as required by these men. “Now, as for the matter of these rebels.” There was some noise behind the prince. He stopped speaking and waited, knowing he was about to be interrupted.

A few seconds later, his aide, Monforth, appeared beside him and began whispering in his ear.

“Your Majesty, there has been some sort of attack at the border, details aren’t clear, but I think it would be wise if we moved you—”

Prince Ranade raised a hand to silence him. He could already see the flurry of activity around the Chief as his agents blurred in an out of place beside him, giving him a rapid briefing on the matter

For the average person, all they would see was a slight mist around the Chief, as though the fireplace chimney had become a little blocked and some smoke was filling the room. But the people in this room were not average and had the ability to make out the barely tangible agents moving around the chief — able to interact with him but not the rest of the room — bowing to speak in his ear, turning their masked faces to hear his instructions.

The Chief’s golden mask remained as implacable as always, but the prince sensed a tightening of the features beneath it.

“Chief?” said the prince.

The Chief of Staff stood up, waving away the smoke around him. He took off his mask, his face and whole demeanour instantly returning to his natural age. “Your Majesty, there has been a report of dragons crossing the western border.”

There was a ripple of alarmed murmurs around the table.

“Flying?” said the prince.

“Yes, my liege.”

“Where were they going?”

“No, sire. They weren’t leaving, they were entering our territory. These are not our dragons.”

“Are you saying they are enemy dragons?” said War Minister Reshvay.

“Yes. We believe the Gweur rebels are behind this.”

“Gweur?” said Foreign Minister Kuolas. “You said the western border.”

“Yes,” said the Chief. “The Gweur influence has spread further than we had thought.”

“And you’re sure about this?” asked Prince Ranade. “All the western forts have reported the same?”

“This isn’t a report from the defensive line,” said the Chief. “This came from my agents posted at the Ransom School.” More shocked murmuring. “It was confirmed by sightings made by my agents in the field. They were seen heading towards the capital, at least a dozen.”

“The school?” said Carmine. “What has the school to do with this?”

The Chief turned to face the acting-minister. “It was the Tutt boy. He alerted my men to the threat. A sneak attack made in the small hours from a completely unexpected direction. Why the forts didn’t report anything, we have you to determine.”

The boy once again, thought Prince Ranade. It was becoming clear he was going to play a vital part in events. Perhaps a private audience was called for. But that could wait.

“I want you to activate our anti-dragon contingencies immediately,” said the prince.

“I took the liberty of already giving the order, sire,” said the Chief.

“Good,” said the prince. “At least our preparations for rogue dragons will prove to have been wise despite the cost.”

It had been his father who had instigated the extremely expensive program to defend against dragons turning against their keepers. Had he known this would happen. The old man had always been remarkably prescient about such things. His advice now would have been most welcome. Perhaps that wasn’t such an impossible notion.

“There is a slight problem…” said the Chief.

“Yes?”

“We have no idea where the dragons are now. They disappeared with the rising of the sun. We suspect they are in hiding, in preparation of a night assault.

“Hiding?” shouted a red-faced Reshvay. “The damn things are bloody huge. Let’s get some mages out there to act as beaters and flush the buggers out.”

“That might be a good idea,” said the prince. “Make your preparations and I’ll speak to the Archmage. Monforth, send for Archmage van Dastan, and send an escort to bring him back. We no longer have the luxury for dithering. Gentlemen.” He rose from his seat and the other men sprang to their feet. “Let’s meet back here in two hours.”

“Sire,” said the Chief, “your personal safety—”

“I’ll be perfectly safe in the palace,” said the prince, shooting a look at Monforth. Had he somehow slipped the Chief a message? It was the sort of thing he would do.

“Still, your personal guard should be reinforced, I feel.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” said the prince. “As long as they’re discreet about it. And the Tutt boy… increase the security around him also, but not overtly, that will only alert our enemies to his importance.” What was his importance? He would need to look into it more when he had time. When he didn’t have enemy dragons bearing down on the capital.

“Yes, sire. I will see to it immediately.” More smoke wafted around the Chief.

Prince Ranade turned and walked away, his gut telling him he needed to speak to someone more knowledgeable about the subject of dragons before he met with the Archmage. He just hoped the old man was in one of his more lucid moods.

***

Mol Carmine hurried to his waiting carriage and returned to the Ministry of Instruction while the other ministers held an impromptu conference among themselves. His portfolio did not involve the defence of the realm, not directly, at least. They wouldn’t miss his input, or even ask for it.

The Tutt boy’s involvement had come as something of a surprise, and his instincts told him this would not be the last time the name cropped up. His initial attempt to secure the boy for a ‘chat’ had also been correct. If not for the Archmage’s daughter, he could have mined the boy for information himself. Finding out through the Chief of Staff did his cause no good whatsoever.

“I’m not to be disturbed for the next twenty minutes,” he said to Stodar as he entered his office.

“You have a—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, cutting off his assistant. The man was efficient and competent, but Mol couldn’t shake the feeling his predecessor’s staff — especially this man — had yet to fully accept him as their new commander. Things would need changing once he lost the ‘acting’ tag.

In his office, a man in dress uniform was standing by the window, staring out like he was basking in the sunshine, had there been any on this overcast morning.

“You have failed your mission, it seems, Rutga.”

Rutga turned and hurried to stand by the desk as Mol took his seat behind it.

“Sir? I completed my mission as ordered. Fort Neera was neutralised before anyone could raise the alarm.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m a little tense at the moment, please forgive the unwarranted accusation. What I should have said was that we have failed in securing our objective. If anyone is at fault here, it is I. For not following my instincts and removing a possible problem before it could become a problem.” He shook his head.

“Is there something I can do to rectify the situation?” asked the old soldier, always ready to take action rather than dwell on failure. A good man.

“Yes, actually, there is. I want you to go to the Ransom School. There’s someone I want you to seek out there.”

***

Prince Ranade stood outside his father’s bedroom with his Royal Physician, Doctor Uajel. He was a thin man, slightly stooped from age or worry, it was hard to say.

“He’s been remarkably lucid so far this morning,” said the doctor. “Remembered my name and called me a few new ones.” He flashed a grim smile, a man under a great burden. He has been personally treating the king since his breakdown, and the old man wasn’t a very cooperative patient even before that.

“I only need a few minutes with him,” said Prince Ranade.

“As you wish, sire. I can’t promise you he’ll be very receptive, but you are certainly welcome to try.” He stepped forward and opened the door.

The prince turned his head and said, “Wait here,” to the otherwise empty room.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn and the blinds closed. His father’s ailment made his eyes particularly sensitive to light, although it wasn’t hard to find him even in the shadows. His eyes were burning a fierce blue.

“Father? It’s Ranade.”

There was the noise of chains rattling. “Ranade?” said a husky voice. “My boy?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Come closer, let me have a good look at you. Yes. You look so fine and fit, my boy.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I remember you were such a fat child. Always demanding sweets from the servants. That poor nanny of yours, whatever happened to her?”

“She is retired, Father. She lives in Wallsham, in a cottage I gave her.”

“Still alive?”

“Yes, Father. She writes to my wife occasionally, with advice. I often suspect the two of them are in league against me.”

“Ha, a fine woman, a handsome woman. The only one to refuse your demands. I remember how you would demand she be replaced, but your mother wouldn’t hear of it.”

“No, she made her my governess.”

“Ha, yes, that’s right. Gave her permission to beat you. Did she?”

“No, sir. She only threatened to.”

“Good woman. I loved her, you know?”

“My nanny?”

“No, you impertinent boy. Your mother. I loved her greatly.”

“Yes, Father, I know. I came to ask your advice on matters of state.”

“Ah, how goes the running of the kingdom? Still sitting on the throne, or have one of your brothers ousted you?”

He did seem lucid, far more than usual. Even his most clearheaded moments tended to be filled with abstract moments. Today, he sounded like his old, mean-spirited self.

“Yes, Father, for the time being. We are having an issue with the dragons. They are refusing to fly, or eat, or follow any instructions.” Ranade stood by the bed, his hand on the post holding up the canopy housing his father’s frail but dangerous body. His eyes were accustomed enough to the gloom to make out some of the features on the old man’s withered face.

“Dragons? Ask the Archmage, that’s his provenance. Grayshall loves the beasts, feeds the exotic meats he says will keep their scales shiny. Ha!”

Archmage Grayshall had been the previous head of the Royal College, dead for over thirty years.

“It’s van Dastan now, sir. And I’m afraid he isn’t all that coherent on the subject. Says the link between the dragons and the other place has been severed. I had no idea there was even a link.”

“Not possible,” said the king. “Not possible. That would break the covenant, if the demons were to seal the dragons they gave us. Not possible.” It sounded like he was losing focus, his voice drifting.

“What if it wasn’t the demons’ doing but our own?” Ranade said quickly, sensing he was working with limited time.

“Yes, that’s their way, get us to do it to ourselves.” There was a chortle in the darkness. “Bring us to our knees without raising a finger.” More throaty laughs.

“Other dragons have been seen, in the possession of our enemies

“Not possible, not possible,” said the king. “Also against the covenant. No shadow dragons.”

“Shadow dragons?”

“Vile beasts, prisoners of the night. They can’t exist in the daylight.”

“Where do they go when the sun rises?” asked the prince.

“Where do dreams go when you wake? They live in your mind, do not think of them.” His voice had turned stern. “Put all such thoughts aside.” He was barking instructions now.

“Yes, Father. I will. Is there any way to kill them during the day?”

“I told you, they cease to exist. How do you kill that which is not? Ignore them and they cannot harm you. They will not come, the demons vowed it, it is in the covenant.”

“They have come, Father, they are here.”

“Then find them and chase them away. The demons are bound by their word to not interfere.”

Find them? How? Perhaps the person who saw them arrive might know where they were now.

“Thank you, Father. I shall let you rest.”

“She’s won’t let you, you know, won’t let you.”

“Who won’t?”

“That nanny of yours. Won’t let you have any more sweets, your tantrums won’t do you any good. Handsome woman. Proud, like that trout I caught that time, do you remember? Sparkled, it did. Fought like a monster and sparkled.” The king’s voice drifted off into mumbling.

Prince Ranade quietly left the room.

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Six

Rutga stood on the battlements of Fort Neera, stiff and cold. The wind up here was chilly and cut through the gaps in his armour much more proficiently than any blade ever could. He stamped his feet to stop them going numb. Thicker socks would have been welcome, but Rutga’s feet had a tendency to become swollen at night for some inexplicable reason. He could barely get his boots on as it was.

A sign of old age? Did body parts get bigger as you got older? His grandfather used to have unnaturally large ear lobes, he remembered, although he had assumed that was just because the rest of him was shrinking.

The treetops swished from side to side and above them, the stars shone and twinkled. He had slept beneath many different skies, but the stars over Ranvar always seemed to him to be the most glorious. His opinion was biased, of course.

The moon was nearly full, giving an excellent view of the forest and the stars and beyond. He was the sole watch in a remote outpost with a garrison of six and the nearest town an hour’s ride away. It felt like the end of the world.

The late watch was everyone’s least favourite duty, but Rutga found it refreshing. To stand at the edge of the kingdom, looking out at the trees that formed a natural border with the small but intensely proud nation of Jaminikan. It made Rutga feel like the protector he’d signed up to be.

All the fighting and killing he’d done in the name of Ranvar, that had been a necessity, but he preferred to think of himself as a guardian, defending his family and of all the other families living under the Ranvarian flag, rather than someone who killed to order.

In truth, the people of Jaminikan were unlikely to cause Ranvar any trouble, but their intentions and his duty were not intended to mirror one another. He would stand on the wall whether there was a threat or not, whether it was night or day, cold or hot. Such was a soldier’s lot, to serve, to be sacrificed if required.

“Hey there, you look like you’re freezing your balls off.”

Rutga turned to see Private Mershwin approaching, carrying a mug of something steaming.

“Thought you could do with a hot drink.”

“It’s not so cold,” said Rutga. A sharp breezed whipped in between them, instantly drawing moisture to the tip of Rutga’s nose. He wiped it with the back of his gloved hand.

“You’re a sturdier man than me, then,” said Mershwin. “Have this, anyway. No point me carrying it back down.” He held out the mug.

Strictly speaking, it was against regulations. You weren’t supposed to eat or drink on duty, you were supposed to keep a constant lookout for the enemy. Vigilance did not take a break for beverages. But the fort was far from a place of danger and imminent attack. The whole western border of Ranvar was lined with timid nations falling over themselves to maintain good relations with their bigger, more powerful neighbour. Being stationed in any of the western border forts was considered a very comfortable assignment. It made no sense to be overzealous about the job when there was no call for it. The need to act would come soon enough.

“Thank you,” said Rutga, taking the drink. The heat from the mug immediately warmed his hands. He took a sip. Blackberry cordial. “Very nice.”

Mershwin smiled like he’d successfully completed his mission. He was a young man keen to make a good impression. Rutga had probably been the same at his age. It hadn’t really helped — you got the job you were best qualified for. That was why the Ranvar army was so much better than its neighbours’ troops. That and the dragons.

“I know it’s sort of against the rules,” said Mershwin, “but the commander doesn’t really mind as long we don’t overdo these things. We’re a pretty tight-knit bunch here, I think you’ll find. Like to keep an eye out for each other.” He smiled and looked up at the sky, stretching his young back that probably didn’t need it. “Where you posted before? Up in the mountains, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said Rutga.

“Even colder there, I bet.”

“True, but you get used to it.”

“We all thought it was rather odd they only transferred a single man, but I suppose you put in a request, did you?”

The boy was a bit nosy, but harmless. “No, they needed me and some others to do a job. Once the work was complete, they sent us off where we were needed. I was hoping for somewhere a bit warmer, I have to admit.”

Rutga took another sip. The drink was rapidly losing heat to the night air. A little alcohol would have added more of a kick, but Private Mershwin was a considerate rule-breaker; a little over the line was okay but no more. Fortunately, the rest of the garrison weren’t quite so straight-laced or his job would be that much harder.

Mershwin laughed. “Well, it’s not so bad in the summer. Not much to do, though. It’s only a matter of time before we get called up to the Eastern Front with this Gweur thing going on.”

“Gweur thing?” said Rutga.

“You know, all this unrest and what have you. They say the eastern nations are preparing to attack, some sort of coordinated plan. I don’t see them getting very far, but they’ll probably outnumber us if they really are working together. And it’s not like we’re much use out here. Not exactly busy fighting off invaders.” Mershwin snorted and his shoulders shook with good humour. The boy was actually keen to join in the coming fight. He would probably change his tune once he saw a few friends lose their lives.

Rutga drained the mug, the last dregs cold as they entered his mouth, and handed the mug back. “You could be right, but I don’t think it would be wise to leave these borders unprotected.”

“You think the Jaminis would try something?” Mershwin pulled a face suggesting he thought it unlikely. “They’re not bad people, you know. Not violence in them.”

“Everyone has violence in them,” said Rutga, “under the right circumstances. An open border might tempt them, or at least some of them. Young men have a tendency to feel aggrieved no matter what society they are brought up in. Old men, too, in some cases. Just because they accept their position now, doesn’t mean they aren’t ready to exploit a chance to improve their standing.”

Mershwin nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right. No point taking too many risks. And it’s not like we’re going to lose, even without the dragons.”

“What do you mean, without the dragons?” said Rutga, the word catching his ear. He looked up at the sky warily.

“You must have heard, about the dragons refusing to fly? No?”

“The dragons aren’t refusing to fly,” said Rutga. He had only recently returned to Ranvar and had been immediately posted here. What news he had heard had been mostly gossip and conjecture. This was the first he was hearing about non-compliant dragons.

Mershwin leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I saw a report on Commander Lefwas’ desk. I know I shouldn’t have, but it was open and it didn’t look very secret or anything. It definitely said all dragons were grounded until further notice.”

“I don’t think that can be true,” said Rutga. “What about those?”

He pointed at the moon. A silhouette that was very clearly of a dragon was flying across it.

“Oh my,” said Mershwin, looking up, his eyes shining in the moonlight, a delighted smile on his face. “Oh yes. I’ve never seen one flying at night before. So beautiful. I wonder where it’s—”

Rutga slipped the blade of his dagger between the vertebrae in the back of Mershwin’s neck and up into his skull, while placing his hand over the boy’s mouth. He gently lowered his limp body to the ground.

When his instructor had explained to him why he was so well-suited to the role of assassin, Rutga had tried to refuse the job. Just because he had the requisite skill and ability didn’t mean he relished the idea of taking another person’s life. On the battlefield was one thing, but to hunt someone and take them unawares… it took a certain kind of man to do that sort of thing.

Personally, he had hoped for something in the frontline where he could stand shoulder to shoulder with his fellow Ranvarians, forming a wall against the threats to the Ranvarian way of life.

His first assignment had been in a support role, little more than a delivery boy providing supplies for a small team sent to take care of a minor nobleman who was about to become a lot more powerful after the death of his ailing father. The son was erratic and full of rebelliousness, which was only natural for his age, but a concern for the stability of the region.

The primary team became compromised, the mage with them foolishly getting involved with one of the court ladies, and Rutga had stepped in to complete the job. It had been more luck than anything, but Rutga was good at spotting an opportunity when he saw one. That was his talent.

He did too good a job and was quickly enrolled as a full-time solo operative, a very vaunted position, at least within military circles. When he tried to refuse the assignment on the grounds that he didn’t enjoy taking lives, he was told that if only people who enjoyed murder were tasked with the job, there’d only be the insane and the cruel to choose from, and no army would want to rely on people like that. It did make a kind of sense.

Rutga left the body on the battlements and looked up as dragons swept across the sky, six in formation. They hardly looked real, more like clouds crossing the moon. The other men would mostly be in a stupor by now, the ale and beer spiked with a strong sleeping agent. The few left awake would be easy enough to dispatch. It wasn’t something he would enjoy, but their sacrifice would serve Ranvar in the end.

He headed into the fort where it was at least a little warmer.

***

Prince Ranade sat at the head of a long table feeling disturbed by current events. His ministers were seated on opposite sides of the table, forming a gauntlet of bad news. Usually, at these sorts of meetings, he would let them bicker among themselves and wait for an impression to form about what the real issues were and what was merely the normal humdrum preoccupation of each man.

They all had their own agendas which they were constantly trying to advance, sneaking in proposals in between the main discussion, as was to be expected. But not this time. There was only one topic to be discussed.

“We should attack them immediately and with our full force,” said War Minister Reshvay. “Crush them and give these other ingrates an idea of what they can expect.” The long whiskers of his moustache trembled with indignation.

“You forget we have no dragons to provide air support,” said Foreign Minister Kuplas.

“I forget nothing,” Reshvay blasted back. “We don’t need air support to deal with these peasant upstarts. Farmers and labourers, that’s all they are. Untrained, undisciplined. We’ll cut right through them. One of our men is worth a dozen of theirs.”

“They’ve been known to use magic,” said the Chief of Staff of the Secret Service, his golden mask in place. “I assume you haven’t forgotten that, also.”

“Of course I haven’t,” said Reshvay. “That’s what we have mages for, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you think these hoodlums using wild Arcanum can stand toe to toe with our mages. What do you think the Royal College has been doing all these years? We’ll annihilate them!” He slammed his fist on the table, making the small plates rattle.

“I am reluctant to use the mages unless there is no other option,” said Prince Ranade. All eyes turned to him.

It had been his wife who told him his legacy would be that of a great monarch who presided over the peaceful expansion of Ranvar’s influence. He had believed her. Things had been going so well, negotiations working much better than the covert shenanigans his father had favoured, mutual advantage forging stronger ties and closer alliances. Or so he thought.

His wife even told him they would erect a statue of him and it was important he look after his health. A fat statue would not be the legacy he wished to leave, would it?

Salads, the price of immortality.

Now, however, it seemed his legacy would be something entirely different. Everything was going wrong. Gweur was leading a revolt that was spreading, the dragons were unresponsive, demons were returning for the first time in millennia, and the mages… the mages were of questionable loyalty.

“You don’t trust the Archmage, my liege?” asked Kuplas.

“It is not a matter of trust,” said the prince. “Whatever is happening to the dragons is connected to Arcanum, which means it is connected to the mages. The Archmage may himself not be aware of exactly what is happening here. Putting the mages in front of this new magic… it may be what our opponents want us to do.”

“If I may,” said a voice from the far end of the table, “I agree with His Majesty.”

Heads turned towards the speaker, Mol Carmine, Acting-Minister of Instruction.

“Continue,” said Prince Ranade.

“From the information I’ve been able to gather,” continued Carmine, “much of what we’re seeing has been arranged very carefully and our response has been predicted and prepared for.”

“Such as the alliances formed between what we had believed to be rival nations?” asked Minister for the Interior Bol.

“Yes, I believe so,” said Carmine.

“And how is it we weren’t aware of these coalitions?” asked Minister Reshvay. “Did they suddenly spring up out of nowhere? Isn’t it your job to be aware of such realignments, acting-minister?”

“Be reasonable, Reshvay,” said Kuplas. “It’s hardly his fault, the man’s only been in the job a few weeks. If anyone dropped the ball here, it would be his predecessor.”

Reshvay made a harrumphing sound which set his moustache quivering again. “There were many aspects of Delcroix’s methods I might take issue with, but it would never cross my mind to question his diligence when it came to matters such as these. If it had happened on his watch, he would have been aware of it. I can only surmise these are recent events.”

“Or very old ones,” said Carmine, which drew the attention back to him. “If we know anything about the demons’ methods, it’s that they operate on a completely different time scale to us. A few thousand years means nothing to them. I can fully believe that whatever we’re seeing now is the culmination of plans laid long ago, slowly coming to fruition in tiny increments. Such is their way. We may not have been aware of it because it was already arranged by the time we thought to look for signs of collusion.”

Carmine had everyone’s full attention now. He seemed very comfortable holding court, the prince noted. A young man rising to the occasion, or another ambitious whelp hoping to jump the line?

“It would be foolish to be overconfident about our ability to handle these farmers and labourers,” continued Carmine. “If, as I suspect, they have been intentionally portrayed as mere yokels, it would indicate that they wish to lull us into a false sense of security. By studying us over the centuries, perhaps even encouraging us to be confident in our superiority, they will be fully aware of our tactics and methods. As His Majesty has suggested, bringing the Archmage and the other mages of the Royal College into the fight may well be part of this long-gestating plan. If the demons are behind the insurrection we are seeing — and I strongly believe that to be the case — then, they would need a way to deal with the mages. And from what I’ve seen of their work, they would be much more inclined to somehow use the mages for their own benefit rather than consider them as opponents to be defeated.

There was a long pause as the table considered this.

“Weren’t you supposed to deal with this by removing the key players in the Gweur uprising?” asked Reshvay.

“Yes,” said Carmine. “But I realised I was being manoeuvred into a trap, just as we may be now, and aborted the mission. If they were expecting us to mount a covert operation, they may have used it to embolden their followers and those not quite convinced. Exposing us as the terrible tyrants willing to take lives without remorse, and so on.”

“And what gave you this insight into the demons’ plans?” asked Reshvay. “I don’t recall seeing any of this in your reports. Have you been withholding information from us?”

“Not at all,” said Carmine. “I was actually fully-intending to carry out my mission as discussed, but a chance conversation made me realise the strategy being employed against us. It was similar to the one used by King Carthenon during the—”

“Yes, yes,” said Reshvay impatiently. “We don’t need a history lesson. I’m more interested in who this genius was you spoke to. Someone in your department? A sharp young mind I should be aware of?”

For all his flap and bluster, Reshvay had an astute mind and an eye for inconsistencies. It was what made him an excellent battle commander, one of the best Ranvar had ever had. If he felt there was something that needed ferreting out, he was probably right, even if it made Carmine feel uncomfortable. Carmine feeling uncomfortable was actually a good indicator that Reshvay was indeed onto something.

“No, no, nothing like that,” said Carmine. “As it happens, it was the boy.”

“The boy?” said Reshvay.  “Which boy? Your boy? You have a boy?”

“The Tutt boy,” said Carmine, his lips spreading into a thin smile that seemed to cause him pain.

“When did you speak to him?” said Kuplas, his interest also piqued by who Carmine had advising him.

“No, no, you misunderstand. I was visiting a friend — my predecessor’s daughter, actually, to offer my condolences — and he happened to be there. It was a passing remark he made, about one of his lessons, I think, and it sparked the thought in my head, that was all. Completely coincidental.”

“And what did you make of young master Tutt?” asked Prince Ranade.

“Your Majesty? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“How did he strike you? I would appreciate your appraisal of the young man who seems to always be at the centre of recent events.”

“Well, if I may, I don’t really have very much to say on the subject. He seems bright and, to be perfectly frank, quite normal.”

“He can hardly be that, can he?” said Reshvay, practically spitting the words out. “Nobody normal would find themselves in the predicaments the boy has, let alone come out of them unscathed.”

“That is true,” said Carmine, “although it could be down to blind luck, or someone else manipulating the situation to make him appear to be a key element when he is only meant to serve as a distraction, it is hard to know. I had thought of bringing him in for a chat since, as Your Majesty says, he seems to be in the middle of things. A more thorough interrogation might yield more definitive answers.”

“No,” said Prince Ranade.

“Your Majesty?”

“You will not in any shape or form bother the boy.”

“As you wish,” said Carmine, bowing his head. “May I know why?”

“The van Dastan girl, the Archmage’s daughter. I gave her my word he would not be interfered with. If the Archmage does become a problem, she is the only one who can stand against him, certainly the only one he wouldn’t raise his hand to. She is a spirited child and very temperamental. She seems to have taken a liking to the boy, which is perfectly natural, and would be very upset if any of you began poking around as I know you are wont to do. He is to be left unmolested, do I make myself clear?”

There was a general murmur of acquiescence to his command. It appeared Carmine hadn’t been the only one with designs on Mr Tutt. The prince was tempted to summon the boy himself, just to see what all the fuss was about.

“Under no circumstances, not even an emergency. He is not to be troubled.” More noises of begrudging acquiescence. Sometimes it was necessary to issue an unambiguous edict so no mistakes were made. Emergencies could be manufactured as required by these men. “Now, as for the matter of these rebels.” There was some noise behind the prince. He stopped speaking and waited, knowing he was about to be interrupted.

A few seconds later, his aide, Monforth, appeared beside him and began whispering in his ear.

“Your Majesty, there has been some sort of attack at the border, details aren’t clear, but I think it would be wise if we moved you—”

Prince Ranade raised a hand to silence him. He could already see the flurry of activity around the Chief as his agents blurred in an out of place beside him, giving him a rapid briefing on the matter

For the average person, all they would see was a slight mist around the Chief, as though the fireplace chimney had become a little blocked and some smoke was filling the room. But the people in this room were not average and had the ability to make out the barely tangible agents moving around the chief — able to interact with him but not the rest of the room — bowing to speak in his ear, turning their masked faces to hear his instructions.

The Chief’s golden mask remained as implacable as always, but the prince sensed a tightening of the features beneath it.

“Chief?” said the prince.

The Chief of Staff stood up, waving away the smoke around him. He took off his mask, his face and whole demeanour instantly returning to his natural age. “Your Majesty, there has been a report of dragons crossing the western border.”

There was a ripple of alarmed murmurs around the table.

“Flying?” said the prince.

“Yes, my liege.”

“Where were they going?”

“No, sire. They weren’t leaving, they were entering our territory. These are not our dragons.”

“Are you saying they are enemy dragons?” said War Minister Reshvay.

“Yes. We believe the Gweur rebels are behind this.”

“Gweur?” said Foreign Minister Kuolas. “You said the western border.”

“Yes,” said the Chief. “The Gweur influence has spread further than we had thought.”

“And you’re sure about this?” asked Prince Ranade. “All the western forts have reported the same?”

“This isn’t a report from the defensive line,” said the Chief. “This came from my agents posted at the Ransom School.” More shocked murmuring. “It was confirmed by sightings made by my agents in the field. They were seen heading towards the capital, at least a dozen.”

“The school?” said Carmine. “What has the school to do with this?”

The Chief turned to face the acting-minister. “It was the Tutt boy. He alerted my men to the threat. A sneak attack made in the small hours from a completely unexpected direction. Why the forts didn’t report anything, we have you to determine.”

The boy once again, thought Prince Ranade. It was becoming clear he was going to play a vital part in events. Perhaps a private audience was called for. But that could wait.

“I want you to activate our anti-dragon contingencies immediately,” said the prince.

“I took the liberty of already giving the order, sire,” said the Chief.

“Good,” said the prince. “At least our preparations for rogue dragons will prove to have been wise despite the cost.”

It had been his father who had instigated the extremely expensive program to defend against dragons turning against their keepers. Had he known this would happen. The old man had always been remarkably prescient about such things. His advice now would have been most welcome. Perhaps that wasn’t such an impossible notion.

“There is a slight problem…” said the Chief.

“Yes?”

“We have no idea where the dragons are now. They disappeared with the rising of the sun. We suspect they are in hiding, in preparation of a night assault.

“Hiding?” shouted a red-faced Reshvay. “The damn things are bloody huge. Let’s get some mages out there to act as beaters and flush the buggers out.”

“That might be a good idea,” said the prince. “Make your preparations and I’ll speak to the Archmage. Monforth, send for Archmage van Dastan, and send an escort to bring him back. We no longer have the luxury for dithering. Gentlemen.” He rose from his seat and the other men sprang to their feet. “Let’s meet back here in two hours.”

“Sire,” said the Chief, “your personal safety—”

“I’ll be perfectly safe in the palace,” said the prince, shooting a look at Monforth. Had he somehow slipped the Chief a message? It was the sort of thing he would do.

“Still, your personal guard should be reinforced, I feel.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” said the prince. “As long as they’re discreet about it. And the Tutt boy… increase the security around him also, but not overtly, that will only alert our enemies to his importance.” What was his importance? He would need to look into it more when he had time. When he didn’t have enemy dragons bearing down on the capital.

“Yes, sire. I will see to it immediately.” More smoke wafted around the Chief.

Prince Ranade turned and walked away, his gut telling him he needed to speak to someone more knowledgeable about the subject of dragons before he met with the Archmage. He just hoped the old man was in one of his more lucid moods.

***

Mol Carmine hurried to his waiting carriage and returned to the Ministry of Instruction while the other ministers held an impromptu conference among themselves. His portfolio did not involve the defence of the realm, not directly, at least. They wouldn’t miss his input, or even ask for it.

The Tutt boy’s involvement had come as something of a surprise, and his instincts told him this would not be the last time the name cropped up. His initial attempt to secure the boy for a ‘chat’ had also been correct. If not for the Archmage’s daughter, he could have mined the boy for information himself. Finding out through the Chief of Staff did his cause no good whatsoever.

“I’m not to be disturbed for the next twenty minutes,” he said to Stodar as he entered his office.

“You have a—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he said, cutting off his assistant. The man was efficient and competent, but Mol couldn’t shake the feeling his predecessor’s staff — especially this man — had yet to fully accept him as their new commander. Things would need changing once he lost the ‘acting’ tag.

In his office, a man in dress uniform was standing by the window, staring out like he was basking in the sunshine, had there been any on this overcast morning.

“You have failed your mission, it seems, Rutga.”

Rutga turned and hurried to stand by the desk as Mol took his seat behind it.

“Sir? I completed my mission as ordered. Fort Neera was neutralised before anyone could raise the alarm.”

“Yes, you’re right. I’m a little tense at the moment, please forgive the unwarranted accusation. What I should have said was that we have failed in securing our objective. If anyone is at fault here, it is I. For not following my instincts and removing a possible problem before it could become a problem.” He shook his head.

“Is there something I can do to rectify the situation?” asked the old soldier, always ready to take action rather than dwell on failure. A good man.

“Yes, actually, there is. I want you to go to the Ransom School. There’s someone I want you to seek out there.”

***

Prince Ranade stood outside his father’s bedroom with his Royal Physician, Doctor Uajel. He was a thin man, slightly stooped from age or worry, it was hard to say.

“He’s been remarkably lucid so far this morning,” said the doctor. “Remembered my name and called me a few new ones.” He flashed a grim smile, a man under a great burden. He has been personally treating the king since his breakdown, and the old man wasn’t a very cooperative patient even before that.

“I only need a few minutes with him,” said Prince Ranade.

“As you wish, sire. I can’t promise you he’ll be very receptive, but you are certainly welcome to try.” He stepped forward and opened the door.

The prince turned his head and said, “Wait here,” to the otherwise empty room.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn and the blinds closed. His father’s ailment made his eyes particularly sensitive to light, although it wasn’t hard to find him even in the shadows. His eyes were burning a fierce blue.

“Father? It’s Ranade.”

There was the noise of chains rattling. “Ranade?” said a husky voice. “My boy?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Come closer, let me have a good look at you. Yes. You look so fine and fit, my boy.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I remember you were such a fat child. Always demanding sweets from the servants. That poor nanny of yours, whatever happened to her?”

“She is retired, Father. She lives in Wallsham, in a cottage I gave her.”

“Still alive?”

“Yes, Father. She writes to my wife occasionally, with advice. I often suspect the two of them are in league against me.”

“Ha, a fine woman, a handsome woman. The only one to refuse your demands. I remember how you would demand she be replaced, but your mother wouldn’t hear of it.”

“No, she made her my governess.”

“Ha, yes, that’s right. Gave her permission to beat you. Did she?”

“No, sir. She only threatened to.”

“Good woman. I loved her, you know?”

“My nanny?”

“No, you impertinent boy. Your mother. I loved her greatly.”

“Yes, Father, I know. I came to ask your advice on matters of state.”

“Ah, how goes the running of the kingdom? Still sitting on the throne, or have one of your brothers ousted you?”

He did seem lucid, far more than usual. Even his most clearheaded moments tended to be filled with abstract moments. Today, he sounded like his old, mean-spirited self.

“Yes, Father, for the time being. We are having an issue with the dragons. They are refusing to fly, or eat, or follow any instructions.” Ranade stood by the bed, his hand on the post holding up the canopy housing his father’s frail but dangerous body. His eyes were accustomed enough to the gloom to make out some of the features on the old man’s withered face.

“Dragons? Ask the Archmage, that’s his provenance. Grayshall loves the beasts, feeds the exotic meats he says will keep their scales shiny. Ha!”

Archmage Grayshall had been the previous head of the Royal College, dead for over thirty years.

“It’s van Dastan now, sir. And I’m afraid he isn’t all that coherent on the subject. Says the link between the dragons and the other place has been severed. I had no idea there was even a link.”

“Not possible,” said the king. “Not possible. That would break the covenant, if the demons were to seal the dragons they gave us. Not possible.” It sounded like he was losing focus, his voice drifting.

“What if it wasn’t the demons’ doing but our own?” Ranade said quickly, sensing he was working with limited time.

“Yes, that’s their way, get us to do it to ourselves.” There was a chortle in the darkness. “Bring us to our knees without raising a finger.” More throaty laughs.

“Other dragons have been seen, in the possession of our enemies

“Not possible, not possible,” said the king. “Also against the covenant. No shadow dragons.”

“Shadow dragons?”

“Vile beasts, prisoners of the night. They can’t exist in the daylight.”

“Where do they go when the sun rises?” asked the prince.

“Where do dreams go when you wake? They live in your mind, do not think of them.” His voice had turned stern. “Put all such thoughts aside.” He was barking instructions now.

“Yes, Father. I will. Is there any way to kill them during the day?”

“I told you, they cease to exist. How do you kill that which is not? Ignore them and they cannot harm you. They will not come, the demons vowed it, it is in the covenant.”

“They have come, Father, they are here.”

“Then find them and chase them away. The demons are bound by their word to not interfere.”

Find them? How? Perhaps the person who saw them arrive might know where they were now.

“Thank you, Father. I shall let you rest.”

“She’s won’t let you, you know, won’t let you.”

“Who won’t?”

“That nanny of yours. Won’t let you have any more sweets, your tantrums won’t do you any good. Handsome woman. Proud, like that trout I caught that time, do you remember? Sparkled, it did. Fought like a monster and sparkled.” The king’s voice drifted off into mumbling.

Prince Ranade quietly left the room.