V. Moody's Blog, page 40

428: Land of Shadow and Substance

I closed the laptop and took a shower. Hot water on command burning my face like dragon acid reminded me of Jenny.

I was doing my best not to think of her, or the others back in Flatland, but it was hard not to feel I’d let them down.

There’s arrogance for you. Like the dragonrider and the queen of emotional manipulation needed my help. Mind you, Dudley could probably use a shoulder to cry on every now and again. I’d abandoned the poor bastard to the love of his life, who was probably busy convincing him he was deliriously happy — that’s how sick and twisted his tormentor was.

Examining myself in the bathroom mirror wasn’t a fun experience. How the hell had I survived the last six months/three years? Scruffy didn’t even begin to describe the ambience I had created around myself.

My hair had been recently cut to stop it getting in my eyes. I’d done it with a sharp dagger and had cut my scalp without noticing. I could have healed the small scars but I didn’t have that power anymore. It was the sort of haircut the victims of sexual abuse give themselves in an attempt to communicate their distress. Not a good look; you’ll probably see it on the catwalks of Milan next season.

I needed to eat, I needed to sleep, and I needed to figure out what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life.

The trousers on my bedroom floor contained my wallet, my keys, and £3.47 in loose change. The phone in my jacket was dead but then it usually needed charging every five minutes. Had they invented reasonable battery life for electronic devices while I’d been away? Considering how much money it made them, I doubted it.

My debit card was out of date, so that was going to be a problem. I could get a new one, but it would take a week or so. The only way to get money was to go down to the bank in person and ask for it the old fashioned way, by actually having to speak to someone. This future was a dark and scary place.

I would need a form of identification to prove I was me, not that many other people would make that claim. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.

Fortunately, I had a passport and it wasn’t out of date — still eight years to go. It was entirely unstamped as I hadn’t left these shores since getting it. The world, yes. The country, no.

I had planned to travel all over once my mother died and I was free to do as I pleased, but I never figured out where I wanted to go.

The clothes I put on — jeans and t-shirt that both smelled musty — hung loose on me. I had lost weight. I left the phone on charge and checked I had everything I needed. I didn’t, but I had enough to get where I was going and back.

Walking to the High Street along roads I had traversed a million times was a strange and alien experience. The people I passed were just like me but different, like the people you see in adverts. They were chatting, going about their business, walking with kids holding their hands, and I was convinced they were trying to sell me something. The idea that they were happy and I could be, too.

The High Street was teeming with people. Online shopping hadn’t quite destroyed going out to the shops, although there were a few more To Let signs over empty premises than I remembered.

The bank teller was happy to let me have some of my cash. I say happy, forcefully smiling would be more accurate. She didn’t seem like she was pleased with where her life had ended up. Join the club, mate.

“You haven’t used this account in a while,” she said as she looked up my details. She looked over the computer screen at me like my unusual pattern of activity might mean I was laundering money for the Russians.

“I’ve been travelling,” I said, hoping that would explain it.

“Oh, where did you go?” Just my luck to find the only chatty Cathy in the capital. She looked genuinely interested. Cathy wanted adventure in her life, she wanted to see what was over the horizon. No you don’t, Cath. Trust me on this one.

“Everywhere,” I said, “and I’m never going back. People are incredibly unfriendly in every corner of the globe and only interested in selling you fake designer clothes. Worst three years of my life.”

It wasn’t the answer she expected and she decided not to ask to see the photos. The light of interest in her eyes died and I felt my work here was done.

I ordered a new card, but refused the loan she offered me in learned by rote monotone.

I was tempted to go buy myself a meal from McDonald’s, not because of their fine cuisine but because it was the sort of food I hadn’t had in a long time. But I didn’t want to end up shitting all night. Not that Mickey D’s is any worse for hygiene than the other fast food joints, but because when you’re not used to that kind of chemical gut rot the lining of your stomach can react badly when you remind it what it feels like to eat processed meat. Yes, yes, it’s all grass-fed all-beef patties and hormone free, Ronald, but you’re a clown giving nutritional advice so shut your fucking mouth.

Instead of junk food, I went to the closest supermarket instead and bought salad and fruit and stuff that said it was healthy even though it required zapping in a microwave which would probably kill any goodness it might contain. I also bought some doughnuts and various sweet things from the bakery counter that made my teeth ache just looking at them.

I spent most of the night on the toilet anyway.

Turns out any food from here is a shock to the digestive system after a few months of genuinely organic meals. Food with mud on it and bits of fur, that’s the organic part.

Sitting on the toilet, my hatred for life in general and my life in particular came back with a vengeance, as did the vegan Thai green curry that I thought would start me off the right way. I think it hadn’t quite cooked all the way through. My greatest flaw is that I lack patience. It isn’t my only flaw, and it’s a very tight race.

A cleansing of the bowels helped me sleep for the whole of the next day.

It took me a week to come to my senses.

I was not the man who was going to save the world, this one or any other. Save it for what?

If Nazis wanted to try to take over again, good luck to them. It might galvanise the rest of the population into giving a shit. There’s nothing like a necessary war to make people feel like it’s worth supporting your own side, rather than just assuming your side will win because they’re the good guys. Pride isn’t worth much when you can just buy it from eBay, lowest bid wins.

I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed sleeping in a soft bed. One without insects crawling around in it like when I slept out in the open under a moonless sky. A bed devoid of company, what a luxury.

I slept a lot that week.

After the third day, I stopped thinking about Jenny.

After the fifth day, I stopped dreaming about her. Not so hard it would wake me in the middle of the night, at least.

In addition, I cleaned my flat, did a proper shop and kept to myself.

Insanity ran in my family and my story wasn’t one people were going to take seriously. I still believed this was a manufactured reality, even more so when Tottenham Hotspurs qualified for the Champions League final. Spurs had been my team since I’d been a kid, forever the nearly-men of modern football.

The club badge is a rooster. My very own spirit animal: the cock. I know, appropriate.

Every time they seemed to get their act together and hopes soared for a return to the glory days of Danny Blanchflower, the taste of rich leather filled every fan’s mouth as failure stuck the boot in.

If they actually won, then there would be no question —  I’d crossed over into the Twilight Zone.

I still fervently believed the Nazis were a video game trope added to get my attention. What better reason to fight than the undisputed best worst villains of all time?

“Come on, Colin,” they seemed to be saying as they marched with their Tiki torches, whispered in between their anti-semitic slogans, “teach us the lesson we so richly deserve, the way only you can.” Yes, I watched some porn in that week; no, not gay porn.

Back when I first woke up in Flatland, I had assumed it was some sort of virtual reality game I had been thrown into. I spent a lot of time trying to activate the UI that would allow me to assign my skill points and choose my new spells every level.

I was never able to figure out how to do it, and most people thought I was trying to brush up on my pop and lock dance moves as I vainly attempted to hit invisible buttons that might have been somewhere around me. Just one lucky hit to bring up a status screen would have proved them all wrong, and then I could go back to practising my actual pop and lock moves which were almost ready for my big break on Britain’s Got Talent.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a VR game, but without access to the controls it didn’t really matter. Now that I was back in the real world, the first thing I did was assume this was a game. It suggested to me I hadn’t really learned anything. Still trying to centre the universe around me.

Play the game, beat the game, be the hero. Whatever made young men desperate to be someone special who achieved goals, I was not immune to it.

I slept, I tried (and failed) to regain my magic powers, and I browsed the internet.

It had occurred to me that if I had managed to return, perhaps someone else had.

There had been a lot of people who visited Flatland over the years, one of them might also have made it back. They probably wouldn’t have told anyone for the same reason I hadn’t — fear of being locked up in a looney bin. Although they don’t call them that these days. The PICU, psychiatric intensive care unit; although the people screaming in their locked rooms is pretty much the same as back in Victorian times.

These other returnees might have mentioned some of it in the form of stories or presented them as fictional tales. The internet was full of terrible fantasy stories.

I did a search for Fengarad and Dargot and all the other places I could think of. None of them scored a hit, which didn’t really surprise me. It had been a long shot at best. But my next move was to put down what had happened to me so if anyone came looking, they would find me.

No, it wasn’t a blog. I didn’t write a journal about what I did over the holidays on Tumblr. I made a short page listing every name of a place or person I could recall from my time in the land of the fairies. If someone searched for the same things I had, they would find this page and the email address I left on it.

It was easy enough to set up, using a free web service with terrible templates. I called it the Glossary of Flatland and spent way too much time picking the fonts.

I didn’t really expect anyone to contact me. Maybe several years in the future when Maurice worked out how to get back.

Once that was done, I really had very little to do. I kept at my finger manipulations and the exercises that had enabled me to perform magic back in Flatland. It was probably pointless, but what if it wasn’t? It had taken time to get it right before, I expected it to be no easier here. It was also a good way to distract myself.

I received an email the next day.

I’ve been where you’ve been. Let’s meet up and talk about it.

No name, no corroborating evidence. The email address was a random bunch of letters and numbers. It was short and to the point. Perhaps it was real; probably it wasn’t. I didn’t get my hopes up. This was the internet, land of a thousand unsolicited dick pics. Someone was always going to answer. My site already had thirty-four followers for some reason.

I replied and arranged to meet where it was crowded with lots of exits. My mystery e-penpal was equally cautious. Perhaps they had reason to be, I just expected it to be a wind-up and was dealing with it in the most efficient way possible. If it was some nutter, I would bail as quickly as I could and disappear into the crowd.

The day arrived and I turned up at the arranged spot, feeling nervous, like I was on a blind date, like my Tinder profile finally got a swipe right.

Sad, miserable git seeks same. Time wasters only. I have a double bed.

I was carrying a copy of the Financial Times, which had been my brilliant idea. It’s actually quite hard to find anywhere that sells the pink piece of shit these days.

What if it was Jenny? What if it was someone who wanted me dead? What if it was a secret department of the government who knew all about where I’d been and wanted to take me in for questioning and anal probes? There are worse ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, I suppose.

I saw her approach through the crowd, a large floppy sun hat hiding her face, pink newspaper under her arm, and I knew who it was. She was pushing a buggy with a toddler in it. Possibly the ugliest kid I’ve ever seen.

“I thought it’d be you,” said Mandy, removing her hat and revealing glossy blonde hair that you could just tell had an intimate relationship with a personal stylist. “Cheng will be very happy to see you.”

“He’s here? A demon in London?”

“Sure. Why not? He’s from old money, you know. We live in a really big house in Hampstead.” Her eyes widened with self-satisfied pleasure at the thought of it.

She had come a long way since the days of being a stuck up little bitch. She was a mother and a wife and confident woman. She might even have some answers for me. It was actually wonderful to see the gold digging whore again.

54: Night Out

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Fraiche City.

 

It was a lovely evening and Ubik was feeling good, the wind blowing through his newly cut hair. The wind was coming through the many holes in the transport ship the guild was using to deliver him to the crime boss who was probably planning to turn him into a bloody smear.

The LV-J1 series — affectionately known as the Jalopy — was an old troop transporter that was little more than a frame. No pilot, no door, no windows. You grabbed on where you could and hoped the enemy were bad shots.

There wasn’t much use for them these days. Wars were a thing of the past and no one sent people to their deaths in huge numbers for the sake of their god or their desire for land acquisition. People would refuse to go if they did.

Ubik wasn’t entirely sure how the change had come about — people were still violent and greedy, so you’d think wars between them would be unavoidable — but there were still plenty of other stupid ways to get yourself killed.

Below him, Fraiche City twinkled and sparkled in all its bustling splendour. He could see it through the gaps in the floor. It was a lively place, full of activity and commerce. Advertising told you a lot about a place, and the brightly lit billboards displaying messages vertically and horizontally to catch all eyes, shone colourfully with clean, exuberant optimism.

Ubik wasn’t entirely satisfied wearing his FVG greys out on the town but he had a cool haircut and he was confident it was the right look for a sharp young man on the up. He had seen how the people of Fraiche City dressed on his last visit, and the most stylish of them had been lined outside JonJo’s Surf ‘n’ Turf. He wouldn’t want to look out of place, unlike some people.

“I didn’t think you would want to come along,” Ubik shouted to PT who was standing next to him in the transport, looking dour and unfriendly.

“What?” shouted PT. He wasn’t even holding onto anything, his balance was really quite impressive.

“I said, I didn’t think you would want to help me.” The thrusters were old and noisy and the empty window frames didn’t help the acoustics.

“I don’t,” PT shouted back. “I’m only going to see who they sent to finish me off. You’re on your own.”

Ubik grinned. “Hardly. Not with this big lug here.” He pointed at the skyjack sitting in the corner.

“You think they sent it to be your bodyguard?”

“I prefer to think of it as a sidekick,” said Ubik. The drone’s lights flashed.

“I think they just wanted to make sure you got delivered as agreed,” said PT.

“But they know how these little cuties feel about me.” Ubik moved towards the hulking machine, careful to not lose his footing and fall to his death, and gave the drone a pat on the head. “They wouldn’t have let me have this one if they didn’t expect me to come back.” A panel flipped open in the drone’s side and Ubik checked to make sure they hadn’t fixed any of the changes he’d made before shipping him off.

“You think they’ll want you back after all the crap you’ve pulled?”

“I think they’ll want me back because of all the crap I’ve pulled. For all we know, this could be part of their testing. This whole planet could be their training ground. Or maybe we’re still inside a sim-U, only thinking this is the real world and none of our actions have any consequences. You just wake up when you die.”

PT nodded and then leaned closer and shouted, “Did something traumatic happen to you when you were a child? It would explain a lot.”

“Only traumatic things happened to me when I was a child,” Ubik shouted back. He gave PT a thumbs up. “That’s what made it fun.”

PT shook his head. “Well, I can tell you this isn’t a simulation. It smells different inside a sim-U. It could be a test, though. They want you to take on this crime lord and they’ve given you a jerry-rigged robot and sent you off in an old bucket. Medium difficulty.”

“It’s not a Bucket, it’s a Jalopy. The Bucket was the LV-B2, also a classic. It might not look like much, but this ship can take a direct hit, get completely blown apart, and be back in working order in under an hour. All the parts are numbered and slot together without the need for welding or rivets.”

“Yes, but the people who were on board when it got obliterated will still be dead,” said PT.

“True,” said Ubik. “But you can make new people for free.”

“I hope you feel the same way when Terrific JonJo opens up your berth for the next occupant. I really have no idea what you think you’re going to gain from any of this.”

“I like meeting new people,” said Ubik.

“I assume you already have a plan in place for when everything goes horribly wrong,” said PT.

“Nothing is going to go wrong because there is no wrong way or right way. There is only the way.”

“This trauma when you were a kid,” said PT, “was it a heavy object that fell on your head?”

“Some advice if things get a bit crazy,” said Ubik. “Just leave. There’s no need to try and save me.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Don’t put yourself at risk on my account.”

“Okay.”

“But if you need help with your assassins, let me know. I can probably distract them long enough for you to run away.”

“You’ll be able to take on a whole criminal organisation and the people sent to deal with me at the same time? I might not run away just to see how you do it.”

“My secret is to act like I’m in a sim-U even when I’m not,” said Ubik. “Here’s another tip for you. If you get into a desperate situation and need a diversion, just open up the back of the simulation machine back at the academy. Vendx will send in one of their maintenance teams and you can escape in the confusion. They have a shoot first, repair later policy.”

“You make them sound like the Seneca Corps,” said PT.

“They’re far worse, think they’re the only ones who know how to fix anything. I can’t believe the Seneca Corps are as obnoxious, or as well-armed.”

PT was looking at him oddly. “You really don’t know about the Seneca Corps?”

Ubik shrugged. “They’re some sort of trigger-happy militarised lesbian collective and should be avoided.”

“That’s an incredibly offensive and bigoted way to think, Ubik. And not at all accurate.”

“Really? I didn’t mean it in a bad way, it’s just what Grandma told me.”

“How can you know so much about machines and so little about everything else? You should look up the Corps’ history.”

“Nah,” said Ubik. “It’s not like I’m going to run into them out here. They can do their thing and I’ll do mine. They leave you alone if you don’t bother them, right?”

PT nodded.

“Then I like the way they think and wish them all the best.”

The ship came to a stop with a jolt and began to lower. They were in the middle of the city, coming down on a designated landing zone bordered by flashing lights. As soon as Ubik, PT and the drone exited the ship, it took off again.

“How do we call it back?” asked PT.

“My friend has all the contact details,” said Ubik. The drone’s lights flashed. “This way.”

The streets were filled with people and a few drones. None of them were as large or carried as many sharp blades as theirs. No one took much notice, though. The occasional glance at their FVG greys and people moved on. Bright lights surrounded them, except for one dark corner.

“You knocked out their power,” said PT as they walked towards it.

Just as he said it, the lights came back on, showing a large sign in neon that said Jonjo’s Surf ‘n’ Turf, and then went out again.

“Rolling blackouts are quite common in these out of the way planets,” said Ubik. This was the first planet he’d been to other than his own, but it sounded like it might be true.

“It seems to only be rolling in the place we’re headed,” said PT. “They might assume you had something to do with it.”

“Yeah,” said Ubik, “but I’ve got this guy watching my back.” He slapped the drone hovering beside him.

The drone stopped, its lights went out and it fell to the ground with a clang.

“You shouldn’t have hit it so hard,” said PT.

“I didn’t. They turned it off.”

“The guild? Why would the do that?”

“Only one reason I can think of,” said Ubik. “It’s a Vendx drone. They don’t want Vendx using it against them. Which means there’s a maintenance team on the way.”

“Why?” said PT. “Did you do something to the simulation machine, Ubik?”

“Nope. Must be Fig. You can’t mess about with one of their machines and not expect Vendx to know. This could get messy.”

“Should we go back?”

“Definitely not. But we can maybe send help.” Ubik smiled. “Come on, this just got interesting.”

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Five

As far as Nic was aware, the only people who had dragons were his own — and they were stubbornly refusing to take to the air.

It was difficult to see exactly who was flying these dragons from his lofty position high over the school. He recalibrated his vision to get a better look.

They were above Dizzy, now. Curving their flight path, the five of them in a line that was turning into a circle, and then a spiral as the lead dragon began to descend. Were they here for her? For him?

As he came down closer, he could see their distinct outlines, but while the riders were clear to Nic, dressed in heavy cloaks with hoods pulled over their heads and their feet sticking out on either side of the large beasts they straddled, the dragons themselves looked indistinct.

Their outlines were easy to see, but there was no substance to them. No scaly skin, no membranous wings. They looked smokey and black. They looked like ink blots on wet paper, taking form the way clouds sometimes appeared to be very specific animals.

Magic? Pretend dragons? But then, wasn’t that what dragons were anyway?

Whatever they were, Dizzy was beneath them and had no idea what she was about to face. He didn’t know, either, but at least he knew the threat was imminent. Dizzy was probably watching the school wall for more shadowy minions, readying herself for more acrobatic attacks.

He was tempted to just wait and see how she responded to the skydiving shadows approaching her. Adapting to a new opponent was the sort of thing she was good at, but this would be risking too much. If she failed to come up with an appropriate strategy, she might end up dead.

That was assuming they were here as enemies, which wasn’t certain. What was certain was that Dizzy would treat them as such and they probably wouldn’t have any choice but to live up to her expectations. She had a way of bringing out the antagonistic side in people.

But what were his options? Rush out there and save the day? How would he do that? And how angry would it make her?

It was all very well being aware of the situation but that didn’t really help much if all he was was a distant observer. This power he now had didn’t allow him to interact with the things he could see.

If he could just communicate with the people he watched…

The Archmage had seemed aware of him, did that mean there was a way to reveal his presence intentionally? He dropped down to where Dizzy was busy in the same tree as the previous night.

Dizzy? Can you hear me?

There was no response. He felt foolish trying to contact her through his thoughts. And if she did hear him, then what?

Look out! was hardly going to make a difference.

No, it wasn’t her he should be trying to contact.

He rose again, towards the lead dragon as it glided with wings spread, the other four like shadows of shadows behind it.

They looked like dragons — like the dragons in the service of the Ranvarian army — but they didn’t move like them.

Nic’s experiences with dragons, and as a dragon, had given him a familiarity with their general physiology and movements. Dragons were rarely still, even when they weren’t moving around. Their muscles seemed to be constantly rippling and shifting under their scales. Their wings adjusted and corrected for changes in the air. Their heads turned and tilted as they flew.

These dragos were stiff and strangely inanimate, like a carved wooden toy with moving parts in the right places but not moving in a fluid manner.

It was also odd how the riders weren’t positioned on the longs necks like he’d seen the dragoons positioned, but were on the backs of the dragons, halfway between head and tail, practically lying down. They gave the impression of being passenger more than pilot.

Whatever these dragons were, could he interact with them? If they were some sort of magic creation and he was using some sort of magic, perhaps the two could meet somewhere in the middle.

Nic focused on the lead dragon which was at about the height of the top of the tree now. Dizzy was bound to notice any second that she had company, and probably launch an ill-advised attack.

STOP! he mentally yelled at the dragon, aiming for the spot between its eyes (or where he assumed the eyes would be if he could see them). It wasn’t exactly a carefully-designed stratagem, but there weren’t many books on how to handle this kind of situation.

The dragon’s head rose and twisted. It looked a little unnatural, like someone had tried to turn the head in a direction it hadn’t been made to turn.

The rest of the dragon’s body buckled and the rider went from tightly holding on to wild panic as they desperately tried not to fall off. And then each of the dragons turned into mist and faded away, one after the other, as though each was the only link holding the next in line to this world. They disappeared as easily as smoke from a chimney shredded by a sharp breeze.

The dragons might have vanished but their riders were still very much present, and falling. One after the other they dropped through the sky towards the tree. The tree Dizzy was in. At least their cries of terror would let her know she was about to have company. Five guests, but Nic felt confident she would be able to defend herself when she had her position secured while the new arrivals were going to be too busy trying to grab onto a branch on the way down.

Her advantage might not last long, though. If they were able to conjure dragons, there was a good chance they had other tricks up their sleeves. What was needed now was a little assistance from someone who also had a sleeve full of tricks.

Nic said Simole’s name and focused on her current location. He suspected she wasn’t far away, probably watching what was going on with an amused grin. But he was wrong.

His sight flew up and across the school grounds, towards the girls’ dormitory. Then it swooped towards a window, like a bird that had no concept of glass. Normally, Nic would turn away when his sight took him here but this time he allowed it to pass into the room. Dizzy wasn’t there and Simole… well, this was an emergency. If he caught her in a state of undress, he would have to accept the consequences.

It occurred to him that those consequences might actually be more severe than anything the High-Father had in store for him and this was an extremely foolish idea, but by then he was already in the room.

The lights were out but he could make out Simole in her bed, asleep. Even the most powerful mage needed to rest. Lucky for Nic’s personal health but not very useful for Dizzy.

If he had been able to have some influence over the dragons then it seemed possible he could in some way contact Simole.

Simole, wake up. Wake up!

She made some grumbling noises and then rolled over, still fast asleep.

The sound of screams and shouting broke into his thoughts. Nic opened his eyes in his own bedroom. There seemed to be a fight going on outside his window and, by the sounds of it, Dizzy was involved —  there was no one else Nic knew who roared with rage like that.

Nic jumped off the bed and opened his bedroom door. Fanny appeared from his room, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“What’s going on? Are we under attack?”

“Fanny,” said Nic, “can you make some kind of disturbance that will attract the Secret Service agents on campus?”

“Um, yes, I think so,” said Fanny, confused and bleary-eyed. “Not sure there’s many left on the school grounds since they all ran off with the important kids. I haven’t seen much activity from them lately.”

“That’s fine, I know there’s at least two. Just do what you can. Make them think there’s something crazy going on here.”

“What is going on?” said Fanny, a little more awake now.

“Something crazy,” said Nic. He ran across the hall and banged on Davo’s door.

“What is it?” said Davo when he opened the door, looking uncharacteristically unkempt with is his usually-pristine lacquered hair flopping over his face.

“I need you to do me a favour. Go to the girls’ dorm and get Simole.”

“The girls’ dorm? At this time of night?”

“Sorry, it’s important. Tell her Dizzy’s fighting off five men by herself.”

“What?” said Davo.

“I’ll explain later.” Nic rushed out of the building, running towards the tree all the noise was coming from, and nearly collided with a body as it fell.

He jumped out of the way, his recent training coming in useful as he rolled and came up on his feet.

The body was a man and still alive although he had landed without trying to protect himself from the fall with outstretched hands. Probably because his hands and feet were both tied. He groaned and squirmed on the ground.

There were still sounds of fighting from above, although Nic couldn’t see clearly through the leaves and branches.

Another body fell and Nic jumped back. This one landed neatly on her feet, a stick in one hand and a looped rope in the other.

“What are you doing here?” said Dizzy, looking annoyed at being interrupted.

“I came to warn you,” said Nic.

“A bit late for that,” said Dizzy.

“And to help.”

She looked at him with a frown. “And a bit early for that.”

Nic suddenly felt awkward and out of place. He had been in so much of a hurry to come to her rescue, he hadn’t thought of what exactly he was going to do once he arrived. Now he just felt like he was in her way, another problem for her to deal with. The way she was looking at him only confirmed the feeling.

“They came here on dragons,” said Nic, wanting her to know he had helped.

“What? Where?”

“You down there,” called a voice from the tree. “We didn’t come here to fight. There is no need for bloodshed.”

The man on the ground moaned, possibly disagreeing.

“We did not mean to startle you, young lady.”

“Did you come by dragon?” Dizzy shouted back, doubt in her voice.

There was a pause. “Yes.” He sounded quite doubtful himself.

“Where are they?” asked Dizzy.

“I got rid of them,” said Nic.

“You got rid of dragons?”

“They weren’t real dragons.” Downgrading his accomplishment seemed the easiest way to convince her he wasn’t lying.

“You got rid of imaginary dragons?” said Dizzy, less incredulous, more unimpressed.

“We are here to make you an offer,” said the man in the tree.

“Who?” said Dizzy. “Me or him?”

“Him.”

Nic winced. She wasn’t going to like that.

“Of course,” said Dizzy. “And you are?”

“We,” said the voice rather grandly, “represent the free people of Gweur.”

“Right,” said Dizzy. “I see. And what about you?” she said to Nic. “Turning traitor?” It was asked casually, like she wanted to know his plans for the weekend.

Nic wasn’t sure what his answer should be. Every answer felt like it had been guessed and a blistering riposte prepared, so he decided to ignore her.

“Who is your leader?” he said looking up at the branches. They were staying up there, presumably four grown men who didn’t want to let Dizzy have a chance to do to them what she’d done to number five.

“I am the leader. My name is—”

“No, I mean your real leader. Who sent you here?”

“We do not have that kind of a leader. We consider no one to be our king or our better by blood.”

The more pleased with himself the man sounded, the less convinced Nic was by his egalitarian proclamations.

“Is it a woman with blonde hair?” asked Nic. “Or maybe a young boy of about twelve?” There was some muttering in the branches. “Someone is guiding you. Someone is giving you dragons to fly you places. Who?”

“We have many—”

“If you are not willing to be clear about who you are and what you represent, then I see no purpose in listening to you.” Nic looked across at Dizzy. She had her arms crossed and wasn’t looking at him, but she didn’t look quite so dismissive of him either. She may well have forgotten he existed and was working out the angles for a slingshot to the temple of one of the men he couldn’t even see.

“The people who run your country,” said the man slowly like he was choosing his words carefully, “they are not good people. They have terrorised and dominated innocents and honest folk who only wish is to be left in peace.”

“And you want to replace them,” said Nic.

“We wish them to be replaced, but it is up to the free people of Ranvar to decide with what. Not us. We have our own problems to worry about.”

“What makes you think the replacement will be any better?” asked Dizzy.

“It can’t be any worse. And there won’t be the dragons and magic to aid their tyranny.”

“Because they’ll belong to you?” said Dizzy.

A man jumped down from the lowest branch, landing not quite so elegantly as Dizzy had. He wore a long brown robe, simple and worn thin at the edges. He removed the hood to reveal typical Gweurvian features — curly hair, a wide nose — save for the glowing blue eyes.

“We are only in receipt of this power until our task is complete. We have no wish to control the destiny of others. We only ask if you wish to join us. If not, then we will be on our way.”

“By dragon?” asked Dizzy, eyes narrowed, mouth pinched, ready to catch a lie.

Nic turned his head to look at the Gweur rebel. How would he handle this? Perhaps Nic could learn something from an outsider’s perspective.

“Yes,” said the man. Behind him, three more similarly dressed Gweurvians climbed down from the tree. Two of them went to help the injured one, turning him face up. By the looks of it, the man had broken his fall with his nose, which was also broken, although it was hard to be sure with the flat noses they all had. The blood suggested his was now a little flatter. “May I ask what you were doing in the tree?”

“She’s protecting the school,” said Nic.

“From us?” asked the man.

“No,” said Dizzy, “from them.” She pointed past the man but didn’t look where her finger indicated.

The man turned, which Nic thought was risky. It was the sort of move Dizzy would use quite happily against an opponent, even though it was a little cheap. Dizzy was of the mind that the more gullible and easily distracted you were, the more you deserved the beating that would correct your failing. But in this case, there actually was something to look at.

From the shadows rose two figures. They were shades like the ones that had appeared last night, maybe the same ones. Now that Nic could see them with his own eyes, their indistinct inky blackness reminded him of something — the dragons he had just vanquished.

“Inform your master,” said Dizzy. “Gwuer has sent a team here.”

The two shades seemed like they were about to start moving, and then they were gone, nothing in between.

“Stop them,” said the leader to the others. The two who were administering to their fallen colleague left him and gave chase, running as far as where the shadows grew too dark to see much of anything, and then they too vanished.

“Will they catch them?” said Nic.

“Depends,” said Dizzy. “We’ll see how their new master has been teaching them.”

“Hmm,” said the man. “That was unfortunate. Still, better to know than to not.”

“So,” said Dizzy, “make your offer.” She lifted an arm in Nic’s direction like she was offering him up. She reminded Nic of the brokers at livestock sales who made deals on behalf of farmers, selling to butchers. “You don’t have much time.”

Her manner was so casual, Nic felt like there was no great danger to him while she was here.

“We would like you to come with us,” said the man. “To help us, if you wish. To not help those who would hurt us by not giving them access to the power you now possess.”

Nic could feel Dizzy’s eyes on him now.

“How do you know about that?” he asked.

“You have a new power, do you?” Dizzy asked, not caring about Nic’s line of questioning. “When did this happen?”

“It’s not really a power,” said Nic, feeling uncomfortable even as he tried his hardest not to appear so. “It’s more like access to reference material.”

“I see,” said Dizzy.

“How we know is not important,” said the man, his tone suggesting he was quite keen to be part of the dialogue.

“But it is,” said Nic, also quite keen he be in the dialogue. “Whoever told you is using you for their own ends. If you refuse to believe that, you will only make it easier for them.”

“Must be quite some reference material if they sent men on dragons to fetch you,” said Dizzy, the casualness of her tone no longer making Nic feel safe.

“Not real dragons,” said Nic.

“You don’t have to help us, you don’t have to help anyone. We will abide by your decision. We only make the offer. We know you have a good heart and a sharp mind.”

“Where did you hear that?” asked Dizzy.

“What say you? Will you come and discuss the matter with us? Will you at least see the people, the men, women and children, who your military is preparing to wipe out?”

“Will you, Nic?” asked Dizzy.

“Um, no,” said Nic. “I will stay here and make my choices as they are presented to me.”

“Very well. I accept your decision. But we cannot leave you here,” said the man with a sorrowful shake of his head. “They will abuse your gift and use it against us, whether you wish it or not. That is the Ranvar way.”

Nic knew that he was right, that was the Ranvar way, but he would rather that than to be carted off and kept as a guest of a foreign power. At least he was familiar with his own people’s unpleasant tendencies and had a chance to use his knowledge to stay out of their reach. After all, it had worked fairly well so far.

“Nice offer,” said Dizzy. “Come with us if you want, but if you don’t, then come with us. I can see you are students of the Ranvar way, too.”

“We mean what we say,” said the man. “We won’t force you to help us, but we can’t allow you to help our enemy, either.” He seemed genuinely apologetic.

“That’s enough.” Beside Nic, two men appeared from nowhere, one with a black mask, one with a white. “Surrender yourselves or—”

The two Gweurvians raised a hand each and a powerful wave of force washed over Nic. He felt it pass him on either side as the agents were knocked off their feet and sent flying. They landed far back and didn’t get up.

It had seemed effortless and well-practised. They had been ready, maybe even expectant.

“I’m sorry about this,” said the man. He and the rebel standing just behind him both raised their arms to the sky, their eyes glowing brighter blue.

Above them there was movement. Nic looked up as five dragon-shaped shadows took form, only really visible because of the starlight they blocked out; starless blackness with wings, like reverse constellations.

The rebel who had been left on the ground suddenly sat up. “She is coming.”

It was an old refrain Nic had heard many times before, but this time it felt a lot more imminent. Immediate, in fact.

“Who,” said Simole, “sent Davo to wake me up?” She didn’t look very happy.

“Sorry,” said Nic. “It was an emergency.”

“He barged into my bedroom,” said Simole, ignoring the two men and their five shadow dragons. “What if I’d been sleeping naked?”

“You had that green nightshirt on,” said Nic.

“And how do you know that?” asked Simole.

“Yes,” said Dizzy, “how do you know that?”

Nic took a step back and looked to the Gweurvians for help. “Don’t you want to attack or something?”

Simole looked up. “What are those supposed to be made of? Candy floss?”

The five dragons seemed to float together, merging like clouds blown into each other’s paths. And then there was one enormous dragon in the sky.

It dived, mouth open in a silent scream, straight at Simole.

She seemed frozen in place. Was she unconcerned? Did she think it was harmless?

Nic looked at the dragon falling like a spear. It was bigger than even the High-Father when he’d been a dragon. Something about it, though…

Nic closed his eyes and he was above the dragon looking down. From here, he could see something else, something inside the dragons ghostly body, burning with a blue intensity that could only be Arcanum.

Nic view dropped, down towards his own body. The pain of it was still hard to bear but the speed of his approaching self was like a quick, sharp incision, one you don’t even feel until after it is done.

Looking up from is own eyes while still being able to see in all directions, his mind folding in on itself, he saw the Arcanum clearly. It was long and thin, shaped like an arrow with a deadly point.

“No,” said Nic, not shouting, a simple statement. He stepped in front of Simole and reached out his hand, putting it into the dragon’s open maw as it descended and grabbed the Arcanum by the tip.

The dragon passed through him, through Simole, and broke against the ground like pipe smoke hitting a tavern ceiling.

In Nic’s hand was a shard of pure Arcanum. It burned and turned his hand purple. His whole arm. His neck. His…

He let it go and collapsed.

When he regained consciousness, his head was resting on something very soft and comfortable. It also smelled good. Familiar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what your head is on,” said Simole’s voice.

Nic opened his eyes and looked up at Dizzy’s irritated face. She was holding his head in her arms, resting it against her chest. He was too scared to move in case he rubbed against something he shouldn’t, but if he stayed where he was it would seem deliberate.

“He’s fine,” said Dizzy, letting him go and standing up. His head bounced off her knee and then hit the ground with a dull thunk.

Nic sat up. The two Secret Service agents were approaching, looking a little shaken. There was no sign of the Gweurvians.

“What happened?” asked Nic.

“You saved me,” said Simole, not sounding particularly grateful. “Like a hero. No, sorry, I mean like an idiot. You could have died.”

“You could have died,” said Nic.

“I doubt it,” said Simole. “It was just a lump of Arcanum. Mildly toxic at best. You just happen to have built up a tolerance to the stuff, so it affects you less than most people. But thanks anyway. Would have been annoying to stay in bed for a few months.”

“But what happened to them?” He pointed to the tree where the Gweurvians had been.

“They disappeared when you fainted,” said Dizzy. “Vanished in a blue flash.”

Nic nodded. “I’ve seen them do that before, in emergencies. I don’t think it’s very good for their health.”

“I’m going back to bed,” said Simole. She gave Nic a sharp look, a warning not to send anyone to disturb her.

“I think you better come with us and answer a few questions,” said the black-masked agent.

“No,” said Nic. “I think I need to get some sleep, too. I’d like to skip training today, if you don’t mind.” The two agents seemed taken aback at being refused so easily.

Nic took the time to close his eyes and check the world for Gweurvians. As he had suspected, there were quite a few who were no longer in Gweur.

“You should contact your Chief of Staff and tell him the Gweur rebels have entered Ranvar from the east.”

“The east?” said White. “How did they get over there?”

“Dragon,” said Nic. “They have lots and lots of dragons.”

53: System Breach

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

 

Figaro was held firmly in the multidroid’s grip. It was as if the ship had reached out a giant hand and grabbed him. This was not like the previous time. Then, it was a delicate pinch on the end of his extremities, like he was an unpleasant find the droids were taking away to dispose of.

There was no getting out of his confinement. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but he was wrapped up tight with only his head free, just able to turn his neck so he could look to the sides.

He wouldn’t be able to exit his suit like he had with the original droid formation. He had the distinct feeling changes had been made to avoid repeating the same mistake, but the simulation couldn’t make memories. The whole point was for humans to learn how to get better at dealing with Antecessor technology, not the other way around. And if it was possible for the simulated Antecessor constructs to learn from their mistakes, surely it would have been noticed. He certainly would have noticed it.

It was an unexpected development but he was happy to be taken wherever it was he was being taken. Any unusual activity in an Antecessor site was something worth looking into. Figaro had been on numerous sim-U missions and he had never encountered anything like this, or even heard of someone being taken prisoner.

He had seen droids use humans as shields and even as weapons — it was quite something to be clubbed to death by a fellow member of your team — but there was no reason for them to keep a captive alive and locked up somewhere.

But a prisoner was definitely what he was, there was no other way to put it. He had been deliberately captured while the others in his party had been immobilised. No one had been killed, for some reason. Antecessor encounters didn’t get much more unusual than that.

He was floating towards the airlock which was now open on this end. This was where he had managed to escape from the droids last time. He had left them disabled in the airlock and then proceeded to the strange phenomenon that had crashed the simulation. This time, he was interested in seeing what was through the other end of the airlock.

As he floated through the opening, he felt a twinge of trepidation. Despite his many hours spent inside a simulation machine just like this one, this time he felt like he was not in an artificial environment. He knew that he was, but it didn’t feel like it. It felt like a brand new experience.

“Are you okay?” asked the princep over the comms. “We’re keeping an eye on your readings, just in case.”

“I’m fine,” said Figaro. “I could use a bit of stretch, though. I hope they don’t keep me like this for long.”

“Just let us—”

The portal behind Figaro closed and at the same time the comms went dead.

“Hello? Princep Galeli? Can you hear me?”

There was no response.

Another portal waited for him at the other end of the tube he was now in. The walls were black with the presence of the ship’s sensors indicated by the streaks of white light that zipped alongside forming geometric designs. He recognised the patterns.

These white lines not only observed what was happening inside an Antecessor site, they also provided information for those who could interpret them. The language of the Antecessors had never been cracked, but some basic instructions and labelling had been identified. The pattern to his right was indicating that there was an escape pod ahead.

Most Antecessor sites had them. A means to evacuate quickly in the event of… nobody really knew. what constituted an emergency for the Antecessors.

They were usually spherical capsules, powered by a limited fuel source that would fly the occupant to the nearest wormhole. How they navigated or what activated them was a mystery, even though numerous people had managed to inadvertently fire themselves off the site they were investigating.

The symbol for an escape pod was a perfectly normal designation to find in an airlock. Except, how did an escape pod escape from the middle of a ship?

“Activate backup communication systems. Boost signal. Princep, can you hear me?” He tried numerous ways to reestablish contact, but nothing worked. There was nothing wrong with his suit, the signal was being blocked by some kind of interference. Which would have been understandable if this was the real Origin. But it wasn’t. The signal didn’t have to travel from him to a receiver. The simulation machine was the receiver.

The portal ahead of him began to spiral open. The white lines darting around the walls shot forward and gathered around the opening. Then they leapt off the walls and formed a shape made of light. It was like three petals — the sigil.

Framed in the opening, it now looked more like a fan. If it started spinning, would it prevent him from passing through? Would it slice him into pieces? It was a fanciful thought. He could see through it, like it was a hologram. The light was faint and he could see the interior of a pod through it.

The droids attached to him didn’t ease their grip. They floated him through the holographic sigil, into an open area. The escape pod was empty, not even a chair for Figaro to strap himself into.

Even if it could launch itself out of the ship, where would it go? The simulation didn’t include the rest of the universe.

He stopped moving. The hologram of the sigil blinked and then went out. The door closed.

The droids enveloping him began to shift. He could feel the movement against his suit. He found he could move his arms out to the side. At first he thought the droids had opened a gap for him, but as he raised his arms, he saw that the droids had stretched out to cover his limbs, like a suit on top of his own suit.

From around his neck, the black material, similar to the walls all around him, rose up and covered his helmet and visor. His whole head was quickly covered leaving him unable to see anything other than the softly illuminated HUD at the bottom of his vision.

There was a whirring noise. Everything started to shake. A light appeared in front of Figaro’s face, inside his helmet.

It was the sigil. It was right in front of him. It seemed to be pulling him forward. Not physically but mentally. It felt like his mind was being sucked out of his brain. His mind was the one part of him that was really here, and it could be directly affected as it had with the sim-U sickness.

Figaro resisted. Whatever was happening now, the technology was designed to work on Antecessors. Human physiology was not as robust, at least that was what had been hypothesised.

Fortunately, he wasn’t in the real universe where he would be subject to the real laws of physics. This was a projection into his subconscious, a kind of dream. It was hard to control a dream, or even to realise you were inside one, but it was possible. Figaro had been trained to reject the input if necessary.

It wasn’t advisable, and there was a strong likelihood he would crash the simulation again, which wouldn’t be great for his health, but it seemed preferable to having his consciousness unravelled.

His awareness, his sentience, his ability to think and process his surroundings, they were all here inside the simulation. What if this capsule didn’t transport the physical body, what if it was a device to send his consciousness on a journey? The ship didn’t exist in the real universe, but would it need to? A photograph could send your mind to a distant memory, why couldn’t this ancient replica of a lost civilisation do something similar?

Figaro stopped fighting the pull on his mind and focused instead on trying to keep his sense of who he was together. The important thing was to continue to exist. He just didn’t know where he would be existing.

***

“The readings are dead — no brain activity,” said Princep Galeli.

“Hmm,” said Captain Hickory, nodding thoughtfully.

“What am I supposed to tell his mother?”

“Nothing,” said Hickory. “A bit early for that. He’s still breathing, isn’t he?”

Galeli leaned forward and looked at Trainee Matton’s face. The eyes were open but there was no indication of any awareness. He was still plugged into the simulation machine, it was too risky to detach him when his brain function wasn’t responding, but it was okay to remove the helmet. The boy looked normal, no sim-U sickness, no necrosis. He looked quite healthy.

“He’s brain dead,” said Galeli. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Really?” said Gipper nervously. “No one’s ever mentioned it before.”

Galeli stood up and gave Gipper a hard stare. “It’s very rare.”

“I don’t think he’s brain dead,” said Hickory.

“No?” said Galeli, very much wanting him to be right. “Then what happened to him?”

They had lost contact with Trainee Matton — audio and visual — once he entered the strange airlock. And then alarms began ringing and everything went flat. All that was left was this living corpse.

There was a click followed by a humming noise. The air around Captain Hickory crackled and his eyes glowed crimson. He inhaled sharply and turned away from the boy. There was another click and the hairs on Galeli’s arms stopped tickling him. Hickory’s eyes returned to normal.

“His consciousness isn’t gone for good,” said Hickory, slightly unsteady on his feet. It’s just very far away.”

“Where?” asked Galeli, peering at Matton’s face like he might be able to see something. He didn’t have Hickory’s sight, though. All he saw was a boy in a vegetative state.

“I’m not sure,” said Hickory. “I can only see the trail. Maybe not even in this quadrant.”

“How is that possible?” said Gipper, looking on warily. “This is a simulation.”

“The machine can affect your mind, though,” said Bev. “It only sent his mind to the next quadrant.”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” said Gipper. “None of it makes sense. He said he’d been in simulations hundreds of times, didn’t he? Why would this one be any different? Someone’s been toying with this rig, I bet.”

“That’s not possible. The people at Vendx would know, and they would let us know, I can assure you,” said Galeli. “Let’s not jump to any unnecessary conclusions or speak about this to anyone. How do we get him back?”

“We don’t,” said Hickory. “We wait.”

Galeli found the answer unsatisfactory.

“Can’t we reboot the machine?” asked Bev. She stood over the console, examining the buttons and switches.

“Don’t touch anything,” said Galeli. The last thing he needed was the machine to stop working and sever the connection with Trainee Matton. His mother really wouldn’t be very happy about that.

A light on the console started flashing.

“I told you not to touch anything,” said Galeli, his voice pitching up in panic.

“I didn’t!” said Bev, backing away guiltily.

A message appeared on the screen:

Valued Customer,

Vendx Galactic apologises for any performance issues you are currently experiencing. A maintenance team has been dispatched and will be with you shortly. Please whitelist us on any active defence protocols. Vendx Galactic does not accept responsibility for any damage caused in the pursuit of vital technical work.

This message would like access to your Vendx Sim-U tm  memory drive.

A large button at the bottom suggested ‘I agree’. It was the only option given.

“Oh no,” said Galeli, “they’re sending in an assault team.”

“An assault team to fix the machine?” asked Bev.

“To fix anything that needs fixing,” said Captain Hickory. “You better bring all the drones you have online.”

“No point,” said Galeli. “They’re all Vendx-built. They can override them. We need to deactivate the ones already operational. We can’t let them have the boy, Hick.”

Hickory sighed. “Jace, contact the ship. We have a Vendx repair and replace unit arriving any time between 0900 and 1400 standard. Get everyone down here, battle-ready.”

Chapter 427

I wasn’t sure if I had just magically unlocked the door, or if someone was inviting me in. They were being very quiet about it if they were.

It’s not really how you should answer the door — take it off the latch and just leave it slightly ajar. Not unless you’re in some sort of horror movie and the door is to a brooding Gothic mansion. My place was hardly Northanger Abbey, but I was still a bit spooked.

In the horror movie scenario, the door usually swings open with an alarming level of creaking, and the nervous knocker (I’ve been called worse) hesitantly enters like a fool.

“Hello?” I said, as I pushed the door and hesitantly entered. “Anyone home?”

No answer, no sounds of movement.

The door stuck a little as letters were pushed out of the way. Not a huge pile — my bills were all paperless — but quite a lot of out-of-date coupons for half-price pizza (stuffed crust not included). Sadly, I’d missed out on several years of savings.

Flicking through them, I could tell by the ‘valid until’ dates that they went back all the way to 2016. This was my place. Or a version of it.

If I had somehow opened the door without a key, it wasn’t a power I had previously. I could exit my body and float about, but that wasn’t what I’d done. And I’d never been able to work locks in that state.

I looked down at my hand and tried to leave my body. Nothing happened. I was just a twat in a dusty hallway staring at his hand.

Was I delusional? Did I just imagine my hand passing through the door?

I had knocked and I had tried to prise the door open with a spoon. When I pushed on the door, it opened. Maybe it hadn’t been locked in the first place. I might have left it open when I was last here, three years ago. And no one had ever tried to get in.

I gently closed the door from the inside and tried to open it again. It was locked shut unless I turned the knob. I decided I’d look into my mysterious new ability later and put the stack of letters on the small side table. The vast majority of the letters were from the council with news of their upgraded recycling service and Christmas bin service.

“Hellooo?” I called out again.

Still no response. The hallway was very quiet. It was just as I’d left it, but dustier.

I began walking towards my bedroom, my heart thumping in my chest for absolutely no reason. I’d managed to rob and steal my way from some castle in Sussex all the way here, and now that I was safely in my home, this was when my nerves decided to kick in.

The air had an unpleasant, stale taste to it. I couldn’t really tell if that was different from how it was before. A thick layer of dust covered everything and came off like sludge when I ran my finger over any surface.

I pushed the bedroom door open, dreading what I might find waiting for me. My three-year-old corpse?

What I found was an empty unmade bed. I turned on the lights to reveal more of the same. The lights worked, though, which was surprising. Who had been paying the bills? I mean, I had a  direct debit set up with my bank to pay all of my basic outgoings, but the meagre funds I had would have run out a long time ago.

I opened the curtains and then the window and took a deep breath of North London air. It smelled like kebabs and coffee shops, which was pleasingly familiar.

There was a garden below that could only be used by the people living on the ground floor and beyond that the backs of the buildings opposite. Everything seemed calm and stable. Usually, this would make me tense and ready for an ambush by that douchebag Providence but in this case, I was struck by a sense of relief. Nobody gave a shit about what I got up to here. It was a welcome change.

I turned around and went into the other rooms — the small lounge, the chilly bathroom, the narrow and claustrophobic kitchen. They were just as I’d left them plus the obligatory dust-coat to mark the passage of time.

No one had noticed I’d gone. No one had come to visit and wondered what had happened to me. If I’d died, I would have quietly decomposed without anyone knowing. Eventually, the smell would make someone complain and several weeks later the council would send round someone from the recycling and bin service to cart me away.

The fridge was still working, but everything in it was mouldy and inedible, although I seemed to recall the contents were that way three years ago. I was pretty good at filling my fridge with healthy ingredients but not so good at putting them on a plate or in a bowl. Things would change now that I had a different perspective on life. Right now, though, I was starving and anything would do.

There were some cans in the cupboard which I decided would be okay even though they were past their sell-by date. Tinned food was what you ate after the end of civilisation, and my flat was close enough to Tottenham High Street to count.

The five-bean Mexican chilli I had no memory of buying tasted quite good after a couple of minutes in the microwave. The tap made a bit of a fuss and spat at me like a feral cat before giving me a glass of water, but it was still far in advance of anything I’d been used to during my time in the land of dragons and fairies.

The water tasted metallic and bitter. I really was home.

It was all very confusing and I was having a hard time getting to grips with my situation, but there were some basic things I could check using the laptop in my bedroom. No, not the latest uploads on PornHub, that could wait.

The computer booted up fine, slow as ever. The internet was working. The wifi that usually dropped out every time a butterfly in the Amazon flapped its wings was perfectly fine.

The first thing I did was check my bank balance. After sitting there for five minutes trying to remember my passwords.

The more advanced technology gets, the more passwords we have to remember for our own security.

Different password for every site, change them every six months, use a series of letters and numbers you can’t possibly remember, but don’t write it down anywhere, that would defeat the point.

No, just save it in your browser where only you and Google can access it. Google wouldn’t betray you, their motto is ‘Don’t be evil’. Oh wait, they changed it to ‘China Number One’.

It doesn’t really seem to help, though. Data gets hacked all the time, and not on our end. The email telling you there’s been a security breach at some data centre isn’t to tell you that it was you who fucked up with your easy to remember birthday passcode, it was their Matrix-style algorithm that failed to stop a bored teenager with nothing to do while they waited for their temporary ban in League of  Legends to be lifted.

My bank balance was surprisingly healthy. Rent and utilities had been paid automatically for the last three years, and money had been coming in from my job. The job I hadn’t done for three years. What were they paying me for? I had hardly been worth paying when I had turned up. Perhaps they found they were more productive when I was absent.

Then again, it had never been a cutting-edge company full of diligent professionals. There was a guy called Frank who quit six months before anyone noticed he was gone. Maybe he was still receiving his unearned wages, too.

We sent lorries to different towns. Sometimes, the wrong towns. You know how sometimes you order a kitchen or a bathroom suite and it gets delayed? How the hell do you take a week to get a bunch of cardboard boxes from London to Milton Keynes? Well, that’s where someone like me comes in, prints off the wrong docket and sends your kitchen to you via Newcastle-Under-Lyme, wherever the fuck that is.

I wondered what Frank was up to these days. Good old Frank.

The main thing was that I had funds — as soon as I found my debit card and remembered my PIN. Things were looking up.

Since I had the internet at my disposal, I decided to look up a few things from the last three years and soon realised that this world was in even worse shape than I’d thought. Trump wasn’t just president, he was leading the US towards a fascist dictatorship of the 1980s straight-to-video variety.

American Nazi’s were literally marching in the streets and attacking people. It reminded me of a video game, where they made up some bullshit reason for an evil despot to somehow rise to power just so you could run around the streets of New York shooting people. World War II tropes were always popular since that was the last war that hadn’t been started as tax write-oo. Vietnam also featured a lot because it had the best soundtrack.

This version of Earth: The Game was as poorly realised as the sixth in a Bethesda franchise, with the cheesy lines of an embarrassedly executed Star Wars license, all rendered on an outdated iteration of the Unreal Engine. Plus, microtransactions were already fully implemented — look at the first two letters of the word ‘EArth’. Coincidence? I think not.

I’m not saying someone like Trump couldn’t become President of America. After Obama, there was bound to be a backlash from the butthurt KKona crowd who would do anything to make sure nothing like that would happen again, including letting a woman tell them what to do, even if it meant sucking Russian dick. It isn’t like America isn’t known for its racist institutions — KKK, FBI, NFL — they all go crazy if an afro appears over the horizon.

But as I read through recent history, it became more and more clear that none of this was possible.

It just wasn’t.

It wouldn’t have happened like this, so easily with people shrugging their shoulders and accepting it. Not in the real world. There was no way.

A president controlled by Russians, Saudi Arabia cutting up people with impunity, China running slave labour camps. It was like someone was trying to set-up the corniest game ever. Bond villains had more plausibility (and better hair). These were all low-effort stereotypes and no one was doing anything about it… just because.

It was all fake. The more I read, the more I was sure of it.

It’s not often someone get culture shocked by their own culture.

I had been brought back into some weird aberration where things had taken a turn for the absurd. Can you imagine Nazi’s marching around the streets of America and Jewish Americans doing nothing about it?

Didn’t they secretly run the banks and everything? Would they just sit back and let people run around with swastikas? Ridiculous. It’s ‘Never forget’, not ‘Never get involved’.

No, no, no. This was all wrong. I realise there’s not supposed to be any suspension of disbelief required for real life, but come on. How was any of this even slightly credible? Bad writing with terrible CGI you only noticed years later. I suspected Peter Jackson was involved as an executive producer.

I’ll admit, it was all very clever and amusing — an Education Secretary who could barely read, an Environmental Secretary who didn’t believe in climate change, an Energy Secretary who was a lobbyist for oil companies, all hilarious — but it was too on the nose.

Reading about the last three years made me feel like my mind was splitting in two. Everything about my immediate surroundings suggested I had just been away and had been dumped back into a world that had carried on perfectly fine without my help. But the direction it had gone in was unacceptable to me. There was no chance it could have turned out like this without someone arranging it. Zero.

And I don’t mean Putin, I mean someone who knew how to change realities.

Of course, the other option was that I was having some kind of mental breakdown. That too would explain a lot. But if that was true, what could I do about it? Go see a doctor and have my brain examined?

Contrary to what movies would have you believe, psychiatrists and psychologists are not that great at treating crazy. They serve a purpose, but they don’t serve it very well.

How do I know? I’ve had years of interactions with them as the child of mental patient. Which also means it runs in the family, so everything that I thought had happened to me might have been the desperate fantasy of a lost and lonely nutjob (Hello!).

If so, doctors wouldn’t be much help. Their only real recourse was to medicate with drugs that turned off your symptoms by turning off you.

The only difference between a good mental health professional and a regular one was how fast they could match the right drug to the condition. The right drug being the one that didn’t make you vomit it back up again.

Once the patient shuts up and stops trying to attack people, job done. Of course, they were still screaming and shouting on the inside, but no one cares about that.

I wasn’t going to seek medical help that didn’t exist. Maybe if this had been a parallel universe there would be a fix, a laser that could reconnect a couple of broken synapses, but this was an alternate timeline at best. Same shit, different direction.

Which was a shame. A true parallel universe might have had a Star Wars prequel that didn’t suck. Imagine a Phantom Menace that was a giant force ghost with a three-metre lightsaber instead of a shaved-down Ewok winning pod races and endless rounds of trade negotiations. Come on, George, get your retcon CGI guys on it.

However things had ended up as they had, I could only assume I had been sent here to correct it.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it…”

That’s where I normally turn off the tape and chuck it in the bin. No need to self-destruct, the recycling comes every other Tuesday.

But in this case there was something so ridiculous about the way things had been set-up, I was actually considering taking up the challenge.

I had originally thought Flatland was a virtual reality game I’d been thrown into, but I’d never been able to work out how the controls worked. But this was far more like a game. A rushed one with terrible writing and probably an underwater level and a lava zone.

Take down the bottom shelf Manchurian Candidate, kill off the Nazi retard army, return America to the corrupt and entitled continuity we all know and love. Of course, that would be followed up by the UK DLC — Boris leading the attack on Europe with his Brexit zombie horde. If there’s one thing lazy game devs liked more than WW2 tropes, it was zombies. Nazi zombies if you’ve really run out of ideas. And later in the year, the China expac.

For once, the hero’s journey was clearly laid out for me. All I had to do was rediscover my powers and buy myself a plane ticket.

52: Isolated

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Origin - Sim-U

 

Figaro checked his suit was responsive and brought up the HUD inside his helmet. There was no point activating voice command, he had three other people with him in the airlock and he would need to keep his channel open to speak to them. And to listen to them. He had a feeling things weren’t exactly as he had been led to believe.

“Are you sure about the Ubik boy?” said Princep Galeli over the comms.

“Don’t you trust my insights anymore, Gal?” replied Captain Hickory.

“It’s not your insights I’m worried about, it’s what Terrific JonJo will do if the boy upsets him. He has a bewildering ability to get under people’s skins.”

“I know,” said Hickory. “It’s intentional. He uses it to put people off-balance. It’s an incredibly risky approach but since he’s still alive, it would seem he’s managed to make it work. That should tell you all you need to know.”

“We’ll see,” said the princep. “He’s only had to deal with the criminals on his tiny junk planet so far. Our crooks are a level above what he’s used to.”

The princep almost sounded like he was boasting. Figaro listened quietly, not fully understanding what they were referring to, other than something to do with Ubik. He doubted the princep was correct about Ubik’s level of experience, though. Ubik’s behaviour, his wilful disregard of obvious threats, suggested he had experienced something far more terrible than petty criminals. Whatever it was, he had survived, which, as Captain Hickory said, told you all you needed to know.

“Well, he’s out there now, not much we can do,” said the princep. “At least he’s not alone.”

They were using a private channel, thinking no one else could hear their conversation. Figaro had hacked into it quite easily, simply redirecting both sides to his own receiver. If the princep checked, he would be able to tell immediately, but he wouldn’t check. Figaro could tell just by the way the man spoke to his subordinates that he was averse to reviewing anything they had already cleared. It would be tantamount to accusing them of incompetence, and he wouldn’t want to do that. After all, he had selected them for the job, so what would it say about him?

“Can I ask a question?” said Figaro, speaking on the regular channel.

“Yes, what is it?” said Captain Hickory. He put on a more brusque tone when speaking to his subordinates. He would have no problem calling someone out for a mistake. Nothing to feel guilty about there.

“Why are you wearing those suits?”

Figaro was in the same dated suit as before, but the other four were wearing very modern suits with all the attachments you could wish for.

“It’s what we normally wear when we go delving for treasure,” said Gipper. “Jealous?”

His suit was the most ostentatious, green and pink, with some sort of pouncing cat on the chestplate and a small cannon mounted on the shoulder.

“It’s very nice,” said Figaro. “But I thought you were trying to replicate what I did. If the ship sees you as a different kind of threat, it might react differently.”

“No, no, no,” said Gipper, dismissively waving a gloved hand studded with artificial gems. “That’s not how Antecessor tech works. Trust me, I’ve been in hundreds of ships like this one — and I’m not talking about simulations.”

“You’ve been in maybe three ships like this one,” said Figaro. “It’s hard to be accurate when you’re dealing with low numbers — statistical variance is much higher.” He fired a little burst of gas and turned the suit to face the girl. “You’ve been in over a dozen, but mostly in the rear or after a defensive encampment has been established.” He moved around a bit more to look at the larger man whose suit looked the most worn. “You could probably give me some tips. I’d like to speak to you after this, if you have a moment.”

“No problem,” said the man, although his voice sounded hesitant.

“Very observant,” said Captain Hickory, “but do you really think how we’re dressed makes a difference to the automated systems on this ship? The functionality of our suits is more or less the same.”

“He’s got a cannon on his shoulder,” said Figaro. He found it odd they were arguing with him on this point. It seemed obvious why you would try to avoid changing anything from the run you were trying to replicate. Even if it seemed minor or irrelevant, why take the chance if you didn’t need to?

“It’s a wave gun, just like the rifle you’re carrying,” said Gipper. He was getting a little annoyed at being singled out. That kind of sensitivity also seemed out of place on a team like this.

“Why is he here?” Figaro asked Hickory. “What is his area of expertise?”

“Hey, what kind of—”

“He’s an excellent pilot,” said Hickory, waving away Gipper’s protestations, “and the ideal person to have around if things go wrong. He won’t panic or leave you behind.”

Figaro could sense Gipper swelling up inside his unnecessarily ornate suit. “Neither of which are required here. We don’t need to fly anywhere, and we can’t get into a desperate situation, other than a little sim-U sickness. Are you trying to test me, Captain? I thought you just wanted me to open the restricted area for you.”

“Oh, come on,” said Gipper. “You want to tone it down a bit, kid? I’m not a test for you.”

“Yes,” said Hickory, “that’s right, I wanted to see you operate at a bit of a handicap. It reveals more, I find.”

“What?” said Gipper. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course he is,” said the girl. “Jace is the only breacher here. We never get to go in first on regular delves, do we?”

Figaro couldn’t see her face, but he could feel her eyes rolling at Gipper’s lack of comprehension.

“Well, Bev, you’re all going to be very surprised this time round,” said Gipper, “I can tell you that.”

“Can we change the suits?” asked Figaro. “I don’t know if it will make a difference, but I’d rather try to keep this run as similar to my last one as possible.”

“Very well,” said Captain Hickory. “Princep Galeli, would you mind?”

“I’ll see to it,” said the princep’s voice. “One moment.”

A few seconds later, there was a flicker and the suits around Figaro resembled his.

“What is this ancient UI,” moaned Gipper. “It’s so… basic.”

“Shall we go?” asked Figaro.

Captain Hickory signalled to Jace, who opened the circular portal with an ease that suggested familiarity and proficiency. At least Hickory hadn’t decided to hamper him in all departments.

Figaro led the way, gliding out of the airlock and reorienting his position as he had done the previous time. The others followed his example. They were all clearly well-practised in the basics.

“If we wanted to replicate my last visit,” said Figaro over the comms, “we should send someone into the engine core to die.”

“I volunteer the kid,” said Gipper.

“That’s not how volunteering works,” said Bev. “You can’t volunteer someone else. They aren’t a volunteer then, are they?”

“Battlefield promotion,” said Gipper.

“That makes no sense,” said Bev.

“Do you really think it’s necessary?” asked Hickory.

“No,” said Figaro, moving along the same strip of wall as before. “The ship already knows we’re here.”

“If it doesn’t matter, why did we have to change our suits?” said Gipper.

“One affects the likelihood of engagement, the other affects the manner of engagement. We’re only interested in the latter.”

“What did he say?” said Gipper.

They reached the second airlock without issue. Figaro hovered over the sealed opening as the others gathered up around him. He had got through here using his wave gun, but Jace inverted his suit so his helmet was close to the floor and pushed against various panels. The spiral door unwound to reveal the chute.

“Lead the way,” said Hickory.

Figaro did as asked. He dropped down and reached the same room as before, the large vats of liquid glowing gently. The others appeared behind him, ready for the next part.

“This is where you died?” asked Figaro.

“Only because we tried to surrender,” said Gipper.

“It worked for him,” said Bev.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing it happen live.”

Figaro moved further into the room. He was looking forward to seeing how things happened this time, too. His training had involved repeating the same tasks in the same way endlessly. This leap into the unknown was a novel approach for him. It was actually quite fun.

The wall ahead of him moved. Five droids detached themselves, starfish-shaped. Then more droids detached from the other walls.

“This is new,” said Hickory.

None of the droids approached. There were over twenty in the room.

It wasn’t surprising that the ship would react differently to a bigger threat. How best to proceed now, though? Standard tactics would be to take down the droids as quickly as possible, but standard tactics wouldn’t have brought them swanning into an unsecured zone like this.

Figaro raised the rifle and pointed it at one of the vats.

“I don’t think that’s a good—” the girl began to say.

The droids moved with astonishing speed — towards each other. They formed five separate clumps, which then unfolded into much larger droids.

“I think we should leave,” said Gipper.

“No, wait,” said Figaro. “Don’t do anything. I don’t think they’re going to att—”

They attacked, one for each trespasser. The four people around Fig were slammed into, driven back and pinned to the walls before they could even raise their weapons.

Figaro wasn’t pinned, he was grabbed. His designated droid wrapped itself around him like a fist, leaving only his head exposed. It was almost like it remembered what had happened last time and made corrections, which was impossible.

“This is fun,” said Gipper, squashed beneath a large palm.

The others were all being held flat against the wall, unable to move but not otherwise harmed. Figaro began floating towards the wall in front of him, which slid open.

“I knew it,” said Hickory over the private channel. “It’s him, it’s the boy.”

“It seems so,” said the princep. “It only works for him.”

“You want to unlock whatever’s going on here, you’ll need him.”

There was a sigh from the princep. “You have no idea how impossible that is.”

“How many times have we faced the impossible and won, Gal?” said Hickory. “Time to be bold, princep.”

Figaro could see the logic of their conclusion, but he wasn’t convinced. He had been inside many simulations, none of them had reacted to him any differently than they had to anyone else. Something else was going on here.

He left the room behind and entered the same corridor as before. There was an airlock ahead of him, the one he had assumed was going to be used to eject him from the ship.

“Princep Galeli, can you bring up the schematics for the ship? I know this area isn’t on there, but can you extrapolate where this airlock leads to? Outside?”

There was a pause. “No. It seems to lead further into the ship.”

An airlock between sections of the same ship? Why?”

“Do you want me to pull you out?” asked the princep.

There was a chance he would end up getting sick again, but how many folding universal gateways could one ship have? Something else was through here.

“Time to be bold, princep,” said Figaro.

There was no response. The portal opened.

Chapter 426

Where was I? When was I?

The moon looked like the moon I had grown up living under. Well, probably. I can’t say I ever really took the time to study the lunar surface. Would I be able to tell one moon from another? It didn’t seem like the sort of skill you’d need in life. They probably taught it in social studies with all the other unnecessary stuff they insisted we know.

Was I really back in good old Blighty? It was quite possible this was a false reality created to make me think I was standing on top of a castle — every Englishman’s secret desire.

Maurice had that kind of ability. A little help from Peter would be enough to convince me I was home. Alone.

On the other hand, maybe the last few months of my life had been the hallucination. Returning could be the equivalent of waking up and coming to my senses. Although why would I wake up on a castle in the middle of god knows where? Shouldn’t I have woken up in my bed?

The fact it was the same castle I’d seen in my vision and also in the spire in Fengarad made me think I was in some kind of mental projection and the real me was still in Flatland, staring gormlessly into the middle-distance. They’d probably shuffle me into a corner and use me as an umbrella stand.

Whatever the truth of the matter, my reality was that I was here and I wasn’t going to figure anything out by waiting for someone to come explain it to me. I needed to deal with this world first, and this wasn’t Flatland.

I took in my surroundings, looking for clues. If this was a fake, I could snap myself out of it by spotting inconsistencies.

Flatland didn’t have a moon. Also, the sign on the door written in English. The door itself stood out as not of Medieval origin. I could try kicking it in, but I’d only hurt myself. It was a heavy safety door in unpleasant blue, nicely contrasting against the beautiful archaic architecture surrounding it. Nothing was more English than that.

This was definitely Earth. That didn’t mean it was my Earth. I could be in a parallel universe, or it could be a different dimension or an alternate timeline. I needed to do a little more research before I could be sure.

It was very quiet and there were no signs of life, not even animals or birds. It was the middle of the night, so that wasn’t so surprising, but it was a bit eerie. I was stuck on the roof of a castle with no idea how to get down. Wait to be found? Did people even live in this giant pile of stone? Or did they just open it up to the public every morning and man the gift shop?

I also didn’t know if this was the same year I had departed this sceptred isle. February 2016 was my departure date, along with the others. Someone must have noticed a bunch of kids suddenly disappearing. The others had families and friends and all that stuff. Optional extras, as I like to think of them.

Unless this was far in the future, after a monkeypox epidemic wiped out humanity and left the Amazon warehouse robots to rule the world. I looked forward to receiving my packages next-day delivery without paying for Prime, the first of many benefits I could expect from the end of human civilisation. First in line, every time.

Whatever the state of the world, I couldn’t hang around on a cold roof freezing my bollocks off. It wasn’t like I didn’t have experience in getting out of difficult situations.

The question was, which of my newly acquired skills had been transferred with me? I had already tried to use magic with no success, but that didn’t mean it was lost to me forever. I had also learned other skills and abilities. If I was back to being my old useless self, then that would be a strong indicator that none of it had really happened and I was a delusional nutcase.

I looked over the side of the castle walls. It was a long way down. If I still had access to my healing ability, I’d have been tempted to jump down and then heal my injuries, which was an insane thing to think in a non-fantasy setting.

If I did manage to get down from here, then what? I had no idea where I was. I didn’t recognise the castle, which is a terrible admission for an Englishman to have to make. We are raised to be respectful of our past, to be proud of the many accomplishments of the Commonwealth (sounds less evil than empire).

The use of heavy artillery to mow down natives carrying spears wasn’t the focus of the history lessons, it was more about our ships and bridges, and our fine stately homes, open to the public daily, for the tax breaks.

In school, we would often be ferried about in coaches that smelled of crisps and vomit, taken to see what our ancestors had been up to. You need a reason to terrorise whole nations of people across the other side of the world, and what better reason than the construction of a giant palace of crystal or a tall pole with a statue on top of it? Tyranny always makes much more sense when you bookend it with grand monuments of engineering and ingenuity. Makes it easier to hide the bloodstains.

I put one leg over the side of the ramparts, testing my ability to climb down, using the cracks in the stonework to hold onto. There was a tingling in my groin as I hung my leg over the side, and not the good kind of tingling. My mind wasn’t willing and my body wasn’t, either. Before I threw caution to the wind and hurled myself over the battlements, I decided to have a proper look around for an alternative.

Good thing I did, turns out Health and Safety have no respect for the beauty of fine architecture. There was an ugly metal fire escape on the far side of the castle.

It looked ridiculously out of place, painted yellow to really stand out, but you can’t leave people with only one way to get out of a confined space. You used to be able to, but there were numerous fires in train stations that killed hundreds of people and they realised it didn’t look good on the news.

I clattered my way down the metal stairs with a sense of elation, like I’d managed to complete a puzzle that opened up Level Two without having to look up the cheese-solution on a wiki. It was hardly the Great Escape, but reaching the ground in one unbroken piece was the kind of small victory big victories are built on.

It was starting to get light and I could see a gravel path going around the castle. There was a signpost pointing in various directions — toilets, cafe, car park — but no actual name of the area I was in. There was a map of the castle grounds with a ‘you are here’ arrow, which also showed the exit.

Since I didn’t know when people would turn up, or what they would think about me being here, dressed as some kind of hobo cosplayer, I decided to leave.

It was a long walk to the man gate, but not unpleasant. Walking was one of the things I had spent a lot of time doing lately, so a half-hour stroll was no big deal. The gate was an archway, no locked door, no guards. There were some cars parked in a designated zone, though. I’m sure the Normans or whoever built this place had similar white boxes painted on the ground to show where to leave your donkey and cart.

It was weird seeing actual motor vehicles again..

There was a small building that looked a lot newer than the rest of the place, with a light on in the window. I could have knocked and asked for directions, but I felt apprehensive about it. I didn’t really know how to explain myself.

“Hello, could you tell me which timeline this is, please? The darkest one? Second darkest?”

Back to the nervous old me? Was this a sign that my growth as a person had been a figment of my imagination and I had been unceremoniously returned to my factory settings?

I crept closer and checked the cars to see if they’d been left open. There was a small hatchback, which was locked, and a truck that smelled like cow shit, which was open on the passenger side.

Inside, I found various empty containers and food wrappings in the footwell, and a bag of coins like you get out from the bank in the slot next to the gear stick. I took it and scurried away. If anything indicated I was not the same old Colin, it was stealing from a car in not-quite broad daylight.

I headed out through the archway and onto a main road. It was only going in one direction, away from the scene of my crime. Exactly the direction I was looking to go in.

There were twenty £2 coins in the bag, which was a reasonable amount. If I could find a train station, it might be enough to get me to London. I tossed the bag, put the coins in separate pockets in case I got robbed, and looked up to see a sign. The name of the road was London Road, which was helpful. It didn’t say how far it was to the other end.

The air continued to smell like cow shit, so I was in the countryside. I’m not a fan, but at least the rabbits here wouldn’t try to bugger me to death.

A few minutes later, I saw another sign with the red symbol for a train station. Arundel Station. Never heard of it. I veered to the left and kept going. The occasional car drove past me. The people in them looked pretty normal, dressed as you’d expect. I was beginning to think I’d been returned around the same time I’d left. I hadn’t seen any new models of cars or anyone flying by on a hoverboard. Can’t say I wasn’t a little disappointed.

It was a small station with no one around. The large clock said it was nearly six o’clock. There was no one in the ticket booth, but there were machines you could buy tickets at. There was a direct train to London Victoria for the low price of thirty quid. Well, £33.10, to be exact. The Great Train Robbery was celebrated daily all over the British Isles.

The next train was due… now.

I heard it pulling in and ran to the platform. It was acceptable to not buy a ticket in order to not miss your train. You could pay the inspector who came round to check tickets, or you could pay at the other end. If you had the cash, you were fine.

The train doors slid open to reveal an empty carriage, with free newspapers on each seat. I picked one up and checked the date. May 1st 2019.

Three years. It made me feel a bit dizzy. I slumped into a seat and went through the paper to find out how the world had changed. It was quite a shock.

In this world, Donald Trump had become the President of the US. An alternate reality? What else could it be?

That wasn’t the only ridiculous change, either. Brexit was a huge mess — that part wasn’t too hard to believe — but the new Prime Minister was shaping up to be Boris Johnson. Boris was, of course, very famous, always had been. For being a massive buffoon.

Trump over there, Boris over here, it smacked too much of a bad writer trying to force a theme into a story. Wildly inappropriate and incompetent leaders on either side of the pond, both open to allowing the worst of humanity to do as it pleased. If ever there was a set-up for a hero to ride in and save the day… The whole thing was very suspicious.

It wasn’t just Trump being president that made me think I’d been dropped into an alternate reality, it was the way it had been done. Reagan was also a famous person who leveraged his fame into political power, but at least he had some experience running a large state first. And he had competent people around him. Evil, but competent. Trump appeared to only appoint people who were dumber than him, which set the bar very low.

I was so lost in thought that I hardly noticed how packed the train had become by the time we pulled into Victoria Station. I was nearly home and I hadn’t even considered what I was going to do when I got there. Would there be an alternate Colin sitting in my flat?

Being surrounded by so many people had a disorienting effect. I stumbled along with the crowd as we exited the station en masse. First I robbed a man who delivered cow shit (educated guess), now I had added fare dodger to my list of crimes for the day. Perhaps I wasn’t the hero this particular side mission deserved.

I paid for my tube ticket and headed towards my home. I hadn’t paid my rent or bills for three years, and I didn’t have a key to get in and frighten the crap out of whoever was living there now, but I didn’t know where else to go.

As I rode in a packed tube train in the middle of the morning rush hour, every advertisement looked like it might hold a clue to the true nature of this reality. Every overheard conversation and every phone screen glimpsed could have held the key to the reason I’d been sent here. If they did, fuck knows what it was. It all seemed just as mundane and pointless as my version of planet Earth.

From Wood Green Station, I followed the route I’d taken every weekday morning and evening to and from work. Nobody gave me a second look. They probably thought I dressed strangely because I thought it was cool to be different, an excellent reason not to give me the attention I was so obviously craving. I suspected London was London no matter which reality you were in.

The small block of flats I lived in looked the same. I pressed the keycode into the pad and the door clicked open. Same number even in a different dimension?

My flat was on the second floor. I walked up the stairs and along the hallway. The familiarity hit me in waves. There were three other doors here. I had no idea who lived in them back then so it wouldn’t tell me much if there was someone different living in them now.

I knocked on my own door. It seemed the polite thing to do. There was no response.

If there was another me living here, he might have left for work already. I had no key. I did have a spoon hanging around my neck, which had attracted no attention whatsoever on the way here. Welcome to London.

The door was old and rickety. This one I might have been able to kick down, given a couple of hours and a tea break halfway through. You might think all the noise I’d make would get noticed, maybe the police would get called out. Not an issue. Unless I started playing reggae music at six in the morning when people were trying to cling to the last of their sleep, no one gave a shit.

However, I didn’t want do my ankle in with no way to heal it other than to go to the local drop-in centre. Six hours to have some newly minted doctor send you limping off with instructions to take it easy for a week and take two paracetamol four times a day wasn’t how I wanted to spend my first day back in the land of electricity and soft toilet paper. There was a massive dump with my name on it on the other side of this door.

I tried using the spoon to wedge the door open. If I splintered the wood around the lock I didn’t really care. It gave a little but refused to break open like it would have in a movie. Even though my magic wasn’t working, I used the same mental technique to get myself into a calm state of mind. Perhaps I could find the inner strength to break a couple of rusty hinges. The spoon seemed to be doing my hand more damage than the door.

I closed my eyes and pushed as hard as I could, the spoon wedged in the gap between door and frame. I could hear wood splintering (or possibly the bones in my hand) and then it gave way. Only the door didn’t.

My hand passed through the door and then back out again as I jerked it away. I had just phased through a solid object. Or I thought I did. My eyes had been closed, I yanked my hand away by instinct. I couldn’t say for sure.

There was a click and the door swung open.

51: Enough Rope

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

Point-Two took a breath and let his irritation go, or as much of it that he could. He was mainly annoyed at himself. He had known the risk of seeking aid from Ubik, but it had seemed a very isolated, specific task that had no real benefit for Ubik. He should have known better — everything had a benefit for Ubik.

Now he was stuck having to deal with an additional problem that he could have easily bypassed. He was in a guarded room, a black mark against his name at the very least, and Ubik a few metres away plotting his next insane stunt. He should have requested a private cell in the guild dungeon, for his own safety.

At least he had managed to cut out the infection before it could spread.

“Honesty?” said Ubik, standing over by the window, running his hand through his unruly hair. “Really? You went with honesty.” His voice was filled with dismay at the sheer madness of Point-Two’s admission to the princep.

Point-Two looked at Ubik, the large drone hovering next to him like his own personal bodyguard. “Yes. It turns out that’s the only thing you’re vulnerable to.”

“Me? I’m not your enemy. You asked me for help, remember?”

Point-Two slowly nodded. “Yes. You got me good, Ubik. Well done.”

Ubik was scratching his head with both hands now. “I really need a haircut. The kid’s got the right idea — keep it short and manageable.” He looked over at Point-Two. “You got me all wrong. This was just stage one. You can’t just approach these things directly, it would be too obvious. This is what happens when your primary carer growing up is a machine.” Ubik looked up at the drone. “No offence.”

Lights flashed around the drone’s head in response.

“I was not raised by a computer,” said Point-Two.

“As good as. Your mother died when you were born, right? Father was distant and unavailable because of the weird breeding program your people run.” He pulled a face expressing distaste.

“What are you even talking about?” He had told Ubik a rough idea of his childhood so he had a better idea of the kind of people to expect in response to the signal he’d be sending out. That had also been a mistake.

“And the ship’s computer watched over you and told you what to do and not to do, right? Sounds like a parental relationship to me.”

“I don’t care what it sounds like,” said Point-Two, forcing his voice to remain even. “If anyone was raised by a machine, it was you.”

“Me? You mean Grandma? No, no, no. I found her when I was already grown. I was at least ten.”

“You think ten is fully grown?”

“Hey, don’t judge me by your hermetically sealed standards. Not everyone lives inside a floating metal science experiment. Puberty hits early on E4.”

“Your plans are too convoluted,” said Point-Two. “I had no choice but to cut myself free before you took me down with you. Or instead of you.”

“They only look convoluted,” said Ubik. “They make perfect sense to me.”

“Yes, and only to you. It’s a one-man operation. That’s what gives you away.”

“What makes you think that isn’t part of the plan?” said Ubik.

Point-Two could quite easily believe it was, but it no longer concerned him. He was no longer part of the plan, that was the important thing.

Still, Ubik was taking his failure very well. Almost like it wasn’t a failure at all.

Point-Two stood up and walked over to see what Ubik was staring at so intently. The city was mostly dark. They had been kept here for the whole day.

“This Terrific guy, you know him?”

“Never met him,” said Ubik, flattening his hair so it reached down past his shoulders. “I really need a shower.”

“But you know who he is.”

“Sure, he’s the local crime bigwig. Organic. Pretty ruthless, the way I hear it. Kill anyone who he thinks is in his way, like the Princep said. See those lights over there? See the dark patch in the middle? That’s his place. I did try to get a meeting with him, but they refused to let me in the door.” Ubik rolled his eyes. “Typical low-quality henchmen. It’s what stops most organisations from flourishing. That and honesty.”

The dark patch. Why would the gangster’s place be dark?

“Why did you want to meet with him?” asked Point-Two.

“Oh, you know, business stuff. We’re in the middle of conducting negotiations.”

Point-Two could sense Ubik’s mind at work, practically hear the gears turning. He was even more glad to have distanced himself from Ubik’s plan. Whatever punishment the guild handed down, it would be a definite improvement on what Ubik had in store for him.

“Well, the princep figured you out, I’m sure Mr Terrific is also onto you.”

“The princep didn’t figure it out,” said Ubik, looking out of the window with a faint smile on his lips. “It was his assistant with the cool metal hands. Took him long enough.”

“Are you saying being locked up in here is also part of your plan?”

“You think too binary,” said Ubik. “You have to be more fluid. There is no plan.”

“For someone who doesn’t approve of honesty,” said Point-Two, “that’s a very accurate statement.”

“No plan in the fixed and permanent sense. It’s constantly changing. You think the guild doesn’t appreciate that kind of thinking? Antecessor tech knows how to handle the obvious, straight down the line approach your type bring. I offer a more nuanced alternative.”

“You think the guild wants you to cause this much trouble? That’s why they locked us up in here?”

“The door isn’t locked and they left me with my very own battlebot to play with. They clearly don’t want to get rid of me.” He tapped the drone on the side in a friendly manner. A panel opened and Ubik looked inside like he was searching for something. He closed the panel again.

He had a point. They knew his facility with machines, and they’d left a giant one with deadly blades within his reach. Were they waiting to see what he’d do next? Point-Two was beginning to think even more distance between him and the nutjob was needed.

The door opened and the princep walked back in, his assistant behind him. Point-Two prepared himself to hear the judgement.

“We’ve made some inquiries,” said the princep, “checked some of the claims you made regarding attempts on your life. It seems you were right to be concerned for your safety, but before we deal with that, we have been contacted by Terrific JonJo’s people. They want us to hand you over to them, Trainee Ubik.”

Ubik nodded like he had been expecting this. “Obviously, the guild can’t do that. It would set a terrible precedent.”

“If you were a graduated member, yes,” said the princep. “As it is, we’ve agreed to the transfer in one standard hour.”

Ubik laughed. “That was quick.”

The princep didn’t look surprised by Ubik’s reaction. “You understand, whatever happens, the guild will not take part or accept responsibility?”

Ubik shrugged. “No problem. I wouldn’t want to bring dishonour to the guild.” The grin suggested he wasn’t being entirely sincere.

Point-Two found it hard to fathom how someone could operate with so many variables at once. Ubik had wanted a meeting with this crime lord and had been rebuffed. Now the crime lord was the one insisting on a meeting. Could Ubik really have engineered all this to get what he wanted?

“You will be escorted to the drop off point by two of our drones,” said the princep. “You can try to escape if you wish, they won’t pursue you.”

“That’s fine. I just need one moment.” Ubik turned to face the large drone beside him. “Execute order number three.”

The drone raised one of its six limbs, the blade on the end was longer than Point-Two’s arm. It swung towards Ubik’s head.

Ubik didn’t move as the blade flashed at incredible speed. A couple of seconds later, the drone was still again, the bladed arm back by its side.

Ubik patted the sides of his newly shaven head, and bounced his palm on the longer hair on top. “Nice. Now I feel ready for my meeting.”

He walked out of the room with the drone following him.

“Are you really going to let him go?” Point-Two asked. The whole exchange had been baffling.

“I know it may seem reckless,” said the princep, “but as I told you on the first day, we test you in unusual ways and not just in the training rooms or simulation machines. I can’t say I wasn’t surprised by Trainee Ubik’s chosen approach, but the guild likes to give candidates for organic augmentation as much space as they need to show what they’re capable of. The Antecessors can handle just about anything other than highly-refined human ingenuity. It is a rare thing and valuable thing.”

It was hard to disagree that Ubik had a special quality, but that didn’t mean he would use it for the guild’s or anyone else’s benefit. Ubik worked for Ubik.

“And after he deals with this crime boss, what makes you think he won’t turn on you?” asked Point-Two, fascinated by the risks the guild was willing to take.

“If we can’t protect ourselves from a singular individual, we don’t really deserve to be doing what we’re doing,” said the princep. “We have been monitoring him closely since before he even arrived here.”

“Not closely enough if he was able to come and go without you noticing,” said Point-Two.

“Only if that was the purpose of the monitoring, which it wasn’t. But let me also inform you of what we have learned of your situation.”

“Yes?” said Point-Two.

“Two individuals we think are here in response to the signal Trainee Ubik sent out have landed in the city and are on their way to Terrific JonJo’s establishment.”

“You didn’t tell Ubik?”

“I doubt he would be interested. You, however, have a choice to make.”

“What choice?”

“Whether you want to go with him.”

Book 2: Chapter Twenty Four

Nic withstood the pain as long as he could, staring in through the window. Maybe there was someone else inside, someone who he couldn’t see, the real leader of the Gweur uprising. It certainly wasn’t him.

He had asked to be shown something very specific and this was what it had led him to — himself. That didn’t necessarily mean it was quite what it seemed. There was no way to know if his magical sight was that literal. In a roundabout way, the argument could be made that he was key to what had happened in Gweur. He was involved, certainly, although inadvertently. Maybe his actions in some way led to the overthrow of the Gweur regime.

He tried to get closer to the window, maybe see if there was anyone to the side. Logically, the him in the room should have been able to see the person from where he was on the bed but it could be they were hidden and only the special sight afforded to him by his new ability could uncloak them.

It was like pushing his face up against a wall of spikes, though, and eventually he was forced back to relieve the pain. It was still there but at least it was less now that he wasn’t staring directly at himself. In fact, it was a little easier than it had been. Perhaps it took time to get used to the side-effects.

The painful nature of staying close to his location had encouraged him to go off exploring, to soar across rolling plains, chasing the sun as it sank, dragging shadows with it over the rippling grasses, flying alongside birds, riding the currents and eddies with wild, chaotic swoops and dives, they and him both.

It was addictive to simply spend time watching and taking it all in, and ignoring the pressing matters that he had convinced himself he had to be a part of. Or others had convinced him. Or he had convinced them.

His head only hurt more when he tried to sort out the reasons behind his current predicament, outside his own window, looking in on himself.

A noise behind him made him spin with swift inhuman speed. He turned just in time to catch some movement high in one of the trees near the small pond Simole had once sucked the life from and left a barren clump of dead plants. It had grown back and was as wild and insect-ridden as ever. Was Simole also back?

Nic flowed closer with a thought. He could have asked to be shown Simole’s position, but she might have been able to detect his presence the way her father had. Perhaps she already knew he was watching, but he would rather not draw attention to himself. He still wasn’t sure how much he should involve her in whatever he’d managed to get himself mixed up in.

He was still curious, though. What was she up to? She was hardly one to spy on him when she could simply appear at the end of his bed at will and demand answers to questions she was far better informed about than he was.

There were more movements among the branches and Nic slowly drifted closer. The only thing beyond the trees was open ground and then the wall surrounding the school. If Simole planned to go over it, she didn’t need to climb a tree first.

At the first sight of hair tied off in a ponytail, he knew it wasn’t Simole. He could recognise Dizzy’s hair anywhere, at any angle. What was she doing out here?

His first guess would be keeping an eye on him, waiting to see what his next move would be and making sure she was involved. It was both a comforting thought and also a presumptuous one.

She had certainly given him reason to think she intended to keep an eye on his activities, but spying on him through his bedroom window? It wasn’t really her style.

A little more confident that she wouldn’t be able to sense his presence, Nic followed the movement in the branches to see what she was doing.  He rose over the trees and down the other side. He thought he’d lost her for a second, and then realised she was still in the tree behind him, straddling a branch and building some kind of structure.  

It looked like an observation post. Somewhere to watch from without being seen, somewhere to keep supplies so you could grab them at a moment’s notice. But why out here? Who would she need to keep a lookout for?

There was no indication she knew she was being watched. He had half-expected her to have an innate ability to know when eyes were on her, even when they weren’t real eyes. Perhaps the bond between them would give her a special connection that prevented him hiding from her.

It was a fanciful thought based on no evidence. She carried on working, silently strapping short planks to the branch. She worked incredibly quickly and without hesitation in the near-dark. Over and under and through a loop, a hand flashing behind her to grab something too quick for him to see.

Nic found it even more fascinating to watch than his journeys across mountaintops and oceans.

Within a few minutes, she had constructed a platform and attached a rope to it. He thought it was to let her climb up and down, but she hooked the other end of the rope to her belt as she stood on the edge like a diving board.

Below her was the unforgiving ground, not a pool of water. If she planned to launch herself, assuming she had made the rope the right length, what would that achieve? It would put an enormous strain on her waist and on the branch, and probably break both.

As he was wondering about the stability of her creation, she jumped head-first.

Just as the rope went taught, she unclipped it from her belt and landed on the ground as casually as if she’d stepped off the bottom rung of a ladder. She didn’t pause to admire her perfect dismount, she rushed around, collecting more bits of wood. She put them in the bag strapped to her back and took out two thin daggers. Then she ran back to the tree and up it, poking the daggers in and out of the trunk like the claws of an arboreal animal. She was back up in a flash.

She emptied the bag of the sticks she’d collected and began working on them with another dagger. This one had a flat blade with a sharp edge. Occasionally, she looked up towards the school wall, the blade slashing away with practised speed.

Nic hung there, watching. There was a sort of poetry to her movements, a relentless flow. She kept up a rhythm, only pausing to switch between sticks. She seemed to be preparing for something, but what? And how would sharp sticks help?

“I know you’re there,” she said, not looking up.

Nic froze even though he didn’t have a body. He said nothing, not knowing if he even could in this state, but not wanting to even try in case she was bluffing. She turned her head and looked at him and then through him.

“I’m not the one hiding.”

Nic turned and saw Simole standing in the next tree, like a festive ornament, her clothing not the least bit suitable for climbing trees. He suspected she hadn’t climbed up the way Dizzy had.

“Neither am I,” said Dizzy, looking back at her work.

“You can’t protect him by yourself.”

Dizzy stopped and let out a short sigh. “I’m not protecting him. I’m protecting everyone but him.” She turned to look at Simole again. Nic felt like he should move to the side to let them see each other without getting in the way, but he wasn’t really there.

“They’re not coming for everyone else,” said Simole. “I don’t even think they’re here to harm him, just to keep watch.”

“You’re wrong,” said Dizzy. “You have no idea what they’re capable of. Once they establish a base here, they can make a move any time they want. And even if they are only coming to keep watch, they don’t belong to Carmine. They belonged to my father, and he wouldn’t want them used like this.”

“I could help you,” said Simole.

“Like you helped at the Librarium?” said Dizzy, her voice taking on an edge sharper than the knife she held in her hand. She had at least half a dozen pointy sticks now.

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Simole. It was hard to see her clearly, but he could feel the smile as she spoke.

“You were the only one I didn’t have my eye on. You stopped me, I’m not sure how but it doesn’t really matter. I’m glad he’s got you to help him, but the rest of the school isn’t going to be so lucky. If they’re sending shades to keep watch, they’re expecting trouble. And when it comes, they’ll treat the students as shields. Not the important ones — they’ll make sure to move them first — but the rest of us. It’ll be easier to stay alive without them around, trust me.”

Nic wasn’t really sure what she was talking about. He hadn’t seen any sign of anyone trying to enter the school grounds. But then, he hadn’t been keeping a very close watch on the area around him. He had spent most of his time travelling far and wide, avoiding his immediate surroundings, even though that was where he needed to be most vigilant.

“Alright,” said Simole. “Have it your way. I think you’re being very petty, though.”

“Petty? How am I—”

“You’ve got company,” said Simole.

Dizzy turned and crouched. She seemed like she would fall off the tiny platform — good thing she was attached to it by a rope. She was pulling things out of her backpack and inserting her sticks into them.

Nic looked in the direction she appeared to be looking in. It was too dark to see much, but strangely darker in some spots.

The darker areas were moving. They came over the walls and fell into the shadows, but he could see them, a black that went beyond the mere absence of light.

Dizzy was leaning forward, right on the edge. She waited for the darkness to come gliding across the grass. And then she fell.

There were three of them that Nic could make out. She had waited until the last of the three passed under her, confident they wouldn’t look up. Then she pounced with the stick held out,  the white tip suddenly flaring into a bright, incandescent flame that was blinding.

It pierced the shade through the top of its head and it splintered into a thousand pieces.

He body twisted and then she wasn’t falling any more, she was swinging, with another stick in each hand, one for each target.

She struck them both in the backs before they had a chance to turn or run, the white flares passing through them and extinguishing as they did. Her ability to know exactly where to be so she was outside their field of view was uncanny. Nic could see the angles clearly — the slightest shift and they would have spotted her.

Both dark shapes fractured like tattered cloth being ripped apart.

Dizzy unclipped herself and landed softly. “Only three tonight.” She looked up to where Simole had been, but there was no one there. Nic hadn’t noticed her leave, either. Dizzy smiled to herself. “Just me, then.”

It was a self-satisfied smirk, the kind he hadn’t seen from her in a long time. He’d forgotten what she looked like when she was pleased with herself and felt a twinge of guilt. He was probably the one who took that away from her.

But more than that, he could see how well she accomplished her task while he struggled to even work out what it was he was supposed to be doing. He should have been aware of these things, sent from the Ministry of Instruction if they used to belong to her father. He hadn’t because he’d been wandering about, reluctant to endure the pain of observing himself. He needed to change that.

He left Dizzy to her packing up and returned to his bedroom window. The moment he saw himself sitting on his bed, the pain returned. He ignored it and pushed on, through the glass.

Everything went blurry. His head was filled with a thousand needles and he wanted to cry. Maybe he was crying, it was hard to see his own eyes with his vision so distorted.

He still didn’t know how he was meant to be the leader of the Gweur rebellion, but he would try to find the answer once he had taken control of this ability. The pain didn’t subside and it was becoming harder and harder to crawl forward, but he refused to give in. What would happen if he passed out? It felt like he was about to find out.

Something shoved Nic from behind. He lunged forward and smashed into himself, face to face.

Nic’s mind burst, or felt like it. The pain went away just when he thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, leaving behind a sense of disorientation. He was still floating, but inside his own head. He could see through his own eyes, but also behind him and above. It was a very odd sensation.

He could also see Simole, standing at the end of his bed. “You alright? Nothing broken?” She looked like she was dancing.

“Awoo,” said Nic. His mouth was too soft and the wrong shape. No shape at all.

“That’s what I thought. Looks like when there’s no one else in your head, not even you like being in there.”

Nic took a breath. At least he could still do that. Then he concentrated on making things stop wobbling. “I’m… fine.” The words came out a little over-enunciated, but apart from that they were under his control once more.

“Bit of a party going on outside. You saw, did you?”

Nic nodded. The room kept moving after his head had stopped. “Who were they?”

Simole shrugged. “Arcanum shades. Not really very powerful, but sneaky. Don’t like light very much, fall apart if you so much as wave a candle at them.”

“She seemed to think they were worse than that.” He was getting the hang of it now. He could see all of the room at the same time but the trick was to only focus on one bit at a time. Which wasn’t ideal but it would get easier with practice, he assumed.

“Maybe she’s right. At least she’s got something to keep her occupied while you ignore her.”

“I’m not ignoring her,” said Nic.

“Yes, I can see that. All eyes on the prize. Have you been keeping a watch on her anywhere else?” She cocked a suggestive eyebrow.

“No,” he said, a little too fiercely.

“Good. I share a room with her,  wouldn’t like to think you’d been peeping without permission.” She smiled in a way that made Nic uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said.

“And if I gave you permission?” She was grinning now, enjoying his discomfort.

He closed his eyes and let go of the omnivision. His head reeled for a moment and then he felt himself again. When he opened his eyes, Simole was gone.

Nic shakily got to his feet and stretched the way the Secret Service agents had taught him. He hadn’t exerted his body at all but it still felt appropriate. As his body responded and his mind relaxed, he wondered how long Simole had been in his room.

***

The first lesson the following morning was the Arts Course with Mr Periwinkle. Nic wanted to ask him about the change he had managed to enact with his vision. He was hoping it was the correct thing to have done. He hadn’t tried again since then, deciding he should let his mind rest before stretching it in any more irregular directions.

He had already been up a while, his training continuing as usual from just before dawn. The training felt a lot easier today, making him overconfident. The resulting fall from a high wall twisted his ankle, which was better than breaking it.

The black-masked agent had manipulated his foot until it stopped hurting but he was still finding it hard to walk normally, like his brain expected it to hurt and refused to put the normal amount of weight on it.

He limped into the class, last of the six students, to curious looks.

“I went running and tripped,” he said by way of explanation.

“Good thing no one was chasing you,” said Carol.

“A predator would have eaten you,” said Brill. “A steady pace is better than a fast collapse.”

Simole rolled her eyes. “Not if you eat the predator first.”

Nic caught Dizzy’s eye as he passed her. She looked fresh and alert, despite her nocturnal activities. He must have given her a funny look because she was about to say something to him. And she never did that without provocation.

Fortunately, Mr Periwinkle came in at that moment. “Sorry, seems there’s been a bit of  a problem at the Royal College.” He was carrying a stack of books.

Nic sat down, all ears. A problem at the Royal College could mean all sorts of things, but nothing good.

Periwinkle put the books down on his desk with a thump. “We were supposed to have a guest lecturer, a mage, you know, to answer some questions in the most vague and enigmatic ways possible, and then to demonstrate some rather intricate hand exercises for you to learn. But they can’t spare anyone, so we’ll have to learn them from this.” He held up a rather tatty textbook. “Not the easiest way to learn, but the basics are pretty straightforward.” He wiggled his fingers at them.

The door opened and two Secret Service agents — one gree, one blue — came in. It was unusual to see them like this, even more so using a door the normal way.

“Excuse me,” said the blue-masked agent, “we need to ask Miss Kettle to come with us.”

Rumi stood up. “Why? Where are we going?”

“Just a precaution, your ladyship. This way please.”

“We were told to also make you the same offer,” the green-masked agent said to Simole.

You didn’t refuse to do as asked by the Secret Service; not unless you wanted to be carried out unconscious. Or if you were Simole. She waved him away with a dismissive flick of her hand.

Rumi packed her bag, gave the rest of the class a baffled look, and left with her escort.

She wasn’t the only one. It became apparent that all the children of nobility were being moved away from the school. Evacuated.

It looked like Dizzy had been right. Something was about to happen, and they wanted to protect what was most precious to them. The less valued children would stay and continue with their education.

Whatever the threat was, it wasn’t imminent.  They got to dinner without incident and while there was speculation about invading forces and enemy assassins, no one had any real idea what was going on. The suggestion that there was anyone capable enough and stupid enough to come this far within Ranvar’s borders didn’t seem feasible at all. Even with the dragons acting strange, there were still plenty of mages and a vast number of soldiers that would need to be overcome.

It was seen as a precaution, just as the agents had suggested. It might be that there had been some plot to kidnap a prince or a ducal heir, and it had panicked the rest to quickly remove their children from harm’s away, in the overprotective manner of parents with influence.

Nic was curious to check on troop movements and went to bed early. No one was surprised considering how much running around he was doing these days. They all told him to go a little easier on himself and wished him goodnight and pleasant dreams.

He lay in bed, allowing his mind to drift across Ranvar, checking the borders. There didn’t seem to be any movement worth noting. The various troops were in the same positions where they were the previous nights, on either side of the borders.

With no major threat looming, Nic’s attention moved back to the school. Perhaps a smaller assault? If that were true, wouldn’t they have arranged some defensive forces to be billeted nearby? There were the Secret Service agents, but they had been reduced in number, and if they were busy taking their young charges to safety, there might not be many left.

Nic asked to be shown the agents on the school grounds and was surprised to find there weren’t any.

He searched for Dizzy, ready to call off the request if he started to head for her room in the female dorm. But he was left over his own residence, drifting towards the trees. Was she on her death-dive platform again?

As he closed in on her position, he asked to see any approaching enemies. It was a bit of a vague request, but he wasn’t sure how else to label the strange shadow creatures.

Five lights lit up below him, within the school walls, headed towards Dizzy. They weren’t shades, though, they were clearly people, moving very fast.

She was on her perch, working away on some weapon made out of twigs and string, probably. She didn’t seem to be at all aware of the people coming towards her, which was unusual for her. It took a moment for Nic to realise why.

When he adjusted his perspective, he could see they were on a different level to the girl in the tree. They were much higher. They were flying.

Nic took a closer look. He could make out a darker blot beneath each of them, like the shades, but much larger.

He could only think of one thing that shape, but they weren’t flying anymore. “Show me dragons within the school grounds.”

Each small dot of light that was flying towards Dizzy was engulfed by a much larger, brighter light in the shape of a dragon.

50: Take Out

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

 

Princep Galeli didn’t like leaving Trainee Matton alone with Captain Hickory but this new development required his immediate attention. For the last few years, his life had been reasonably dull and comfortable. He liked it like that. The time he’d spent in the field leading a team into dangerous and sometimes desperate situations hadn’t really affected his mental state until he stopped, and then the sheer lunacy of it hit him all at once. He wouldn’t care to go back to that lifestyle, and neither, he imagined, would the men who had served under him.

Most of them, the ones were still alive at least, were still working for him, under less strenuous circumstances.

“It was quite fortunate I caught them when I did,” said Bern, walking in long easy strides next to Galeli, his metal hands flashing by his side. “But I knew something was off with the drones. I could just feel it, you know how it is when you get that feeling in the pit of your stomach. Reminded me of the old days, only without the threat of imminent death — haha!”

“Yes,” grunted Galeli. He wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing. At a distance, it was easy enough to romanticise their exploits and make the victories seem more frequent than the losses. In reality, though, they had been lucky to survive intact. Mostly intact.

“Wouldn’t have guessed Terrific was behind this,” continued Bern, sounding surprisingly chipper at the prospect of a run in with Fraiche City’s most notorious gangster.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Galeli. “We don’t know exactly what these two were up to, do we? Did they say anything?”

“Not a jot,” said Bern. “I didn’t press them — thought it best to let them stew a little. Probably be more talkative once they’ve had a chance to sweat a bit. I left one of the skyjacks watching them. Heh! That should give them something to think about.”

Skyjack drones were large and ugly things, used to cut through the walls of Antecessor fortifications — the most obvious entry points were well-guarded and slipping in through an impromptu entrance could bypass the security systems. Or not. The problem with cutting a hole in the side of an Antecessor ship or base was that you didn’t know what was on the other side. It could easily be something explosive or toxic or acidic. Skyjacks tended to look like they’d been through numerous firefights when in reality they’d punched a hole into a vat of acid more often than not.

They weren’t any real threat to humans and had no combat attack patterns, but you wouldn’t know that to look at them. As well as the dents and scars from opening up the wrong hole in the wrong place, they had an assortment of sharp attachments that could cut through a metre of steel with ease, and through Antecessor defence materials with some sustained effort. Any sort of intense heat was too risky, so brute force and something with a keen edge were their preferred tools. They looked like they would make ideal instruments of torture.

“And you’re sure they were behind this, the two of them, Ubik and Kabor? No one else? You’re certain?”

“As much as I can be,” said Bern. “There could be others, but it seems a bit much, doesn’t it? Why send so many people to infiltrate us? What are they after? Not this new discovery, they came here before that. They could be opportunists and not working for Terrific. Looking to sell him information, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” said Galeli. “But how did they learn about him so soon? They’ve only been here a few days and not even left the Academy. Something doesn’t add up.”

They reached the suite of rooms used to house guests and visitors of note. They were empty at the moment, the furniture in storage in the basement. Two skyjacks floated on either side of one of the doors. Each was a metal box two metres tall and a metre wide, with a small protrusion on top serving as a head, and six arms coming out of the torso, each topped off with a vicious cutting implement. They were both extremely battered — one had a large hole in its midsection — and in need of maintenance, but since they were unlikely to be used again there seemed little point.

“How do you want to play this?” asked Bern. “Read them the riot act? Threaten to let Dr Liebstein loose on their cerebral cortexes?”

It had been some time since Galeli had seen Bern enjoying himself this much. He had always been the kind of person who became more enthused the nearer the time came to take action, until, that was, his accident. Even with the prosthetics giving him back his full range of motion, he hadn’t regained his natural passion for a good ruckus. But all it took was one psychotic criminal cresting over the horizon and the old Bern was back.

Galeli was in danger of becoming nostalgic himself, and that was not helpful in the current situation.

“Let’s give them a chance to explain first,” said Galeli. “We’ll see what they have to say.”

“I left one of the skyjacks in the room,” said Bern, with a merry glint in his eyes. “They might need some reassuring we aren’t going to do something terrible to them.”

Galeli put on a suitably stern face and entered the room, turning the old-fashioned handle and pushing the door.

The sight he was met with was not one he had expected. One of the trainees, Kabor, was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, a slight frown on his lips, apparently meditating.

The other, Ubik, was sitting on the shoulders of the skyjack that filled up most of the rest of the room. He had his legs wrapped around the skyjack’s head like he was trying to suffocate it with his thighs. He was actually using his legs to maintain his position while he worked on the skyjack’s central processing unit, which was in the head and fully-exposed.

“Just a minute,” said Trainee Ubik, “almost done.” His tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he fiddled with some internal component of the skyjack that basic protection guards should have prevented him from doing.

“Please get down from there,” said Galeli. “That isn’t a toy.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Ubik, unintimidated by drone or princep. He stuck the skull casing back on the drone’s head and slid off its body. If Galeli was a more credulous person, he might have fancied the drone looked grateful.

“What were you doing to our skyjack drone?” Galeli demanded. He should have been more stern but he was actually quite curious.

“Nothing much. These old units get a bit limp down one side. The circuit boards are designed to wear out but they never do evenly — that would take too much time and consideration — so they end up leaning when they move. I just find it displeasing to the eye.” He smiled like he had made some mischievous joke.

“I have noticed they tend to list to one side when they move,” said Bern.

“Fine, fine, let’s leave the question of our limping guard drones—” he shot Bern a look “— to one side for the moment. Please explain, Trainee Ubik, why you were contacting the JonJo Surf and Turf restaurant.”

“Oh, that. Well, I don’t want to cast aspersions on the catering here, but to be frank with you, Princep Galeli, the food sucks. I know we’re supposed to stick to our carefully designed, individually tailored portions, but I really fancied something a little more interesting than pureéd vitamins in a range of pastel shades, and this place apparently offers free delivery.”

“Wait, stop,” said Galeli, realising he wasn’t going to get a chance to say anything if he didn’t insist on it. “Are you saying you were trying to get them to send you food.”

“I know, I know, it’s against the rules, but the thing is we don’t have surf or turf on my home planet, and it was only a small order. The taster menu. It’s my fault, I accept whatever punishment you see fit. Kick me out, wire me up to one of those machines that make you forget your own birthday, whatever you want, but don’t blame PT, he’s a good chap who was led astray by my appetite for an exotic hotpot. He’ll be a marvellous credit to the guild if you give him a second chance.” Ubik leaned towards Galeli and lowered his voice. “Poor boy was raised by a computer on a world ship where no one knows who their parents are.”

It took a moment for Galeli to realise ‘PT’ referred to Trainee Kabor, who was still sitting on the floor, still in the same position, although the frown had deepened somewhat.

“And what about you, Trainee Kabor, what do you have to say?”

Kabor stood up, his movement fluid and effortless. “I take full responsibility for my stupidity. He’s good with machines, as I’m sure you can tell, and also good at making people think he’s helping when he’s really just having a good time at their expense.”

“Wait, who are we talking about now?” asked Trainee Ubik.

“This is a memento someone gave me before I left home.” Kabor was holding up an unremarkable metal pin. “It contains a tracker, it turns out. An attempt on my life was made on the way here, I didn’t know how they found me until now. They’re probably still trying to locate me, so Trainee Ubik suggested we send them to this restaurant. A public place where they would stand out.”

“And why would anyone want to kill you?” asked Galeli.

“It’s complicated, but if they learned that I had the potential to become a high-level organic, I would be considered a threat to the balance of power back home. It would be easier to remove me before that happened.”

“I see,” said Galeli. “So you knew the restaurant was owned by a criminal conglomerate? That’s why you were trying to send your pursuers there, so they’d run afoul of them?”

“No,” said Kabor, his face souring. “I had no idea.” He glanced over at Ubik. “I wasn’t looking to start a war, just to find out if I was still in danger. If there were only one or two of them, I might have been able to take care of them myself.”

“I had no idea, either,” said Ubik. “What kind of place is this where criminals serve food to the public? The health violations alone must be outrageous.”

“You should consider yourself lucky we stopped you before you managed to make contact with the restaurant,” said Bern. “Terrific JonJo isn’t the sort of person who appreciates being used by others.”

“Terrific?” said Ubik. “He sounds quite fun. Are you sure he hasn’t been unfairly painted as a bad guy?”

“They used to call him Terrifying JonJo,” said Bern, “but whenever someone used that name within earshot of him — and his organic augmentation makes his hearing very acute — he killed them. So they shortened it.”

“Ah,” said Ubik. “Then it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to have accessed the restaurant’s internal security and taken control of their drones? Hypothetically speaking.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Galeli. “Hypothetically.”

“Well, maybe I got the signal out before you caught us, and maybe the restaurant boosted the signal with the ‘accidental’ inclusion of a partial transmission.”

“What transmission?” asked Kabor, a dark cloud colouring his disposition.

“Let me think… something along the lines of: I found it, we’ll soon be able to take over the ship. You know, give them a reason to hurry over and say hello.”

Kabor’s face suggested he did not approve of the accidental transmission. “This is going to get out of hand.”

“It’s fine,” said Ubik. “They’re all bad guys, they’ll take care of each other. It’s not like they know we’ve got anything to do with it.”

“I think you underestimate Terrific’s ability to listen,” said Galeli, his trepidation before the coming trouble calming him, just like old times. “He will know exactly where the signal originated, and chances are he won’t kill the people who are after Trainee Kabor, more likely he will find out what they’re after and join forces with them. He really is a very good listener.”