V. Moody's Blog, page 7

Book 3 – 77: Heal the World

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Jove - Simulation.

 

Point-Two had decided to make a big change very fast.

He wanted to overload the system and he wanted to not overload himself. The simulation wouldn’t be able to handle it and break down. He would push as hard as he could and bail as quickly as he was able.

Shove and run. It was the sort of plan you didn’t need to draw up blueprints for.

There was a lot of sand within easy reach. Very simple, in terms of structure. All he had to do was change it to something equally simple.

Yellow sand into white salt. It was even easier than he had imagined.

The beach changed colour in a flash.

It wasn’t real sand but it was the same as real sand. And it was integral to the simulation that it remained sand. This was the theory Point-Two was going with and, judging by the way the blue sky had begun to fracture like broken glass, his theory was good.

Unfortunately, even if it was a simulation, the effect of using his organics was still stressful on Point-Two. He could feel the cracks in his mind forming. Not metaphorical breaks in his psyche, literal cracks cutting into his grey matter.

It was sharp and painful, and he had to fight to keep his concentration. He had never tried to transform something on this scale. It was a huge stress test for his new ability. If he could survive this, he’d have an excellent idea of where his boundaries lay.

If he wasn’t able to survive, there’d be splattered all over the beautiful coast of Jove. Not good for the tourist industry.

The few times he had used his ability so far, Fig had been there to help mitigate the side effects. He wasn’t entirely sure what the side effects were because Fig usually pulled him out before he fell into the infinite abyss of horrible possibilities.

Death, of course, was the most likely outcome, but between activation and dying there were a whole range of terrible things that might happen to him. Or happen because of him. It was an undiscovered country of possibilities that Fig had helped him avoid visiting.

Only, Fig was a little busy at the moment, and Point-Two was going all out with no one to catch him when he fell.

His hope was that he would be able to back out as soon as he overloaded the simulation, but that was proving to be a little more difficult than he had expected.

The sky was fractured, but it wasn’t shattering the way it was supposed to. In fact, it seemed to be fixing itself. The fissures and cracks faded almost as soon as they appeared.

Someone or something was healing the world as fast as Point-Two was weakening it. And no one was doing the same for the cracks that were filling his head with increasing pain.

There was more sand, so Point-Two was able to keep putting on more pressure, but eventually either he would run out of beach or he would run out of will power and the back of his head would explode.

Maybe he would be fine. He might wake up on a real beach, preferably alone. It would be nice to lie back and catch a few rays.

He would find out soon enough. There was no way to stop now. He had chosen this course of action, so he had no choice but to see it through.

Now, thought Point-Two, would be the perfect time for someone to step in and lend a hand.

Fig was surrounded by three robots. He had his own issues to deal with.

Ubik appeared to be standing with the robots, one on either side of him. The robots didn’t seem to consider him a threat and focused on Fig, which suited Ubik just fine. He was busy being a bystander.

Then he backed out of the circle as three more robots rushed to join in.

They were the three Fig had already dealt with, dismantled and decapitated. Now they were back with all limbs intact, not even a seam showing where their parts had been reattached.

This was the problem with being in a world controlled by someone else. They had the ability to change their creation with a thought.

A normal sim-U, a green blade of grass remained green, because that was what it was. You’d have to change it manually if you wanted it a different colour the way you would in real life — genetically manipulate it or get a paint and brush.

But this simulation had different rules. Broken robots could be magically reassembled. And silicon turned to sodium could be turned back into silicon.

Point-Two felt the texture between his fingers change. The beach was turning back into sand.

The sky was also back to its original form. All the cracks had disappeared. The battle was not lost, but the troops were in retreat.

Fig was not giving up even though it was six against one, but he was mostly defending, probably hoping Point-Two would be able to push through his limits and snap the simulation in two.

Which was fair enough but Point-Two had already passed his limits and it was proving far from adequate.

The robots were coordinating their attacks now, probing for weaknesses while protecting each other.

“Any chance of a little help?” Fig called out to Ubik, who was standing back and watching with his hand supporting his chin.

“Probably best I don’t get involved,” said Ubik, moving around the melee to keep out of range of the flying fists and kicks. “Like you said, I’ve probably been compromised in some way. Truth is, I can’t even recall how I got these six to follow my instructions, which probably means it wasn’t me who they were listening to.”

He made a good point, although Point-Two wasn’t sure now was the right time for Ubik to start thinking rationally. Prudence was hardly his strong suit.

“So this, er, entity that sent you here,” continued Ubik while Fig fended off more attacks, “some sort of Antecessor was it? Similar to Miff?”

“It was the original M1F,” said Fig, ducking and dodging. “The one on Quazi was reconstituted from their remains. They ahh” —Fig caught an elegant leg under his armpit and swung the owner into her sister, but both combined to spin with the momentum and landed gracefully to continue their attack— “ told us they weren’t interested in the fate of our universe since they no longer existed.”

“Because they’re a simulation,” said Ubik.

“Yes,” said Fig, leaning back to avoid a vicious strike from one robot while jumping backwards to avoid a kick from another.

“So they knew they were in a simulation but they were fine with it. Hmm.”

Point-Two could feel he was weakening against the force pitted against him. The sand had almost entirely reverted to its original state while only a small circle of white salt remained around his buried fists.

“Ubik,” shouted Point-Two, “do something.”

“This is not the time to go off half-cocked,” said Ubik. “You know me, it’s full-cock or nothing. She knows what I’m talking about.”

He turned and addressed Synthia who was standing in the same place, frozen with indecision.

Ubik’s question snapped her out of her reverie and gave her something to glare at.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Ubik snapped his fingers “You aren’t affected like them because you came off the production line first, right? You’re the control module. They all regulate each other, but you act as a governor. Yes, yes, that makes sense. Come over here a minute and let me have a look under the hood.” Ubik beckoned her to come closer, his eyes glinting with intentions that Point-Two was sure no woman or robot would find appealing.

Synthia did not look like she was keen on going anywhere near Ubik.

“Come on, we’re on the same side,” said Ubik. “You can help reset them to a neutral state, can’t you? All we need to do is access their internal drives. Let me just see how to open your ports. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Ubik raised his hands as he approached her.

Synthia backed away, moved to the side, then she turned to look at Fig, and then she ran towards him.

Fig saw her coming and prepared for an even tougher fight. But he was calm and resolute. If defeat was inevitable, he would delay it as long as he could.

But she wasn’t aiming for Fig, she grabbed one of her sisters from behind and twisted her head around so they were facing each other. And then she kissed her.

“Interesting placement for a connector,” said Ubik.

The robot struggled for a moment and then went rigid. Synthia let her go and grabbed another of her sisters. They had stopped fighting Fig and were looking at Synthia with confusion. They didn’t seem willing to attack her.

“What is she doing?” said Fig, finally able to take a break.

“I don’t know,” said Ubik. “Some sort of forced update would be my guess. Those things are completely unreasonable. Don’t ask for permission or anything, just puts you into standby mode no matter what you were doing. Interrupt you right in the middle of a crucial moment, don’t even give a damn.” He seemed to have a history with forced updates.

“Ubik!” Point-Two was only just managing to hold out. His brain felt like it was on fire.

“Okay, fine. I suppose I can distract our friend for a bit.” He took out the small cube. “Basically the same as M1F, right? This should be able to hold them. Not for long, mind. If we had the actual cube that would be a much better home for it, of course.”

“Ubik!”

The cube lit up in Ubik’s hand. The sky shook and pixelated for a moment.

Point-Two felt the pressure on him ease.

“You’ll only have a few seconds,” said Ubik. The cube in his hand jumped about like it was alive.

Point-Two put everything into turning the sand to salt. He ignored the pain in his head. It was only a simulated brain, it wasn’t like his real brain would fragment into broken pieces, he hoped.

His mind felt like it was cracking open.

He pushed harder.

He hoped Fig would be able to get him out like he usually did.

The pain stopped. In fact, the sensation in his head had become quite pleasant. Like liquid coolant was soothing his frazzled mind.

He looked up and around. Everyone was staring at him, which wasn’t the weirdest thing. No, the really strange thing was that everyone looked like Ubik.

Ubik in a dress, Ubik in an Ollo spacesuit, Ubik’s face kissing Ubik’s other face.

He had gone crazy, that much was obvious. He’d pushed himself too hard and something had snapped.

It was just a shame that his delusion was a universe full of Ubiks. It was as though he had entered his own private hell, and he would suffer for all eternity with no way to escape Ubik.

At least this mental breakdown was clear cut. There was nothing worse than going mad and not realising it.

Something shattered — he felt it in his chest, a shudder passing through him. Everything went dark.

He wasn’t sure if it was him or the simulation, but he wasn’t surrounded by infinite Ubiks, so he was grateful for an end to his nightmare.

His vision slowly cleared and he saw sigils floating in the air above him.

He sat up and looked for the others.

“That was weird, wasn’t it?” said Ubik.

Point-Two looked at him intently. This Ubik was actually dressed like Ubik.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Nothing,” said Point-Two. He saw Fig standing behind Ubik and felt a wave of relief. “Where are we?”

“Back on Quazi,” said Fig.

They were in the control room where they had entered the portal. The sigils were arranged in haphazard fashion, with one lying on the floor.

Point-Two got to his feet. Synthia and the six robots were also present.

“Is this real?” said Point-Two.

“I can sense ships in orbit above us,” said Synthia.

They had broken out of the simulation but ended up where they had started.

Lights flashed and the large cube in the middle of the room began to flicker with light.

Point-Two’s first thought was that M1F had returned but the voice that spoke was not M1F’s.

“Thank you, you have all been very cooperative.”

It was the original.

“They transferred themselves out of the simulation,” said Fig, a flash of fear appearing across his face. “How is that even…”

Point-Two felt a chill as he realised this must have always been the plan.

Information could be transferred out of a simulation if there was a brain to put it in, and the original brain, the housing at least, had survived all this time. The perfect receptacle.

And they had led it back.

The planet’s original owner was back in charge, with the full knowledge of the Antecessors at its proverbial fingertips. Now it had the ability to change the fate of this iteration of the universe.

“Great,” said Ubik. “Perfect timing. I was hoping to have a word with them. Nice to finally meet you. You might have had the advantage in your little boutique universe, but you’re in my universe now.”

Ubik took out a black bone and walked towards the glittering cube with a big smile and absolutely no trepidation.

Book 3 – 76: Sea Salt

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Jove.

 

Point-Two could taste the salt breeze on his tongue.

The sea rushed up to his feet and soaked them in foam, cooling them through the cloth moccasins he wore. It was quite pleasant but he wasn’t really in the mood to go paddling.

Ubik was standing in front of him with the beginnings of a suntan.

He had a drink in his hand with an umbrella in it, and a female robot with a body sculpted from marble next to him holding a tray of more drinks and what appeared to be nibbles.

At no point had Point-Two had even the slightest doubt that wherever Ubik had ended up, and whatever problems he had faced, that he would come out of it not only without injury or loss, but that he would somehow manage to benefit in some way that defied belief or logic.

He knew that and had come to expect it. But still, this was needlessly rubbing his face in it.

While he and Fig had been in danger of drowning on a desert planet, Ubik had probably faced his own lethal adventures. But that didn’t make it any better. Ubik enjoyed lethal adventures. He actively sought them out.

He enjoyed them so much, he wanted everyone to share them with him.

Even when doom descended on him, he faced it with such carefree disregard that the source of the doom began to doubt itself and turned around and went home, vowing to train harder and come back when it had learned how to properly strike existential fear into its victims.

So when Point-Two saw a relaxed and tanned Ubik on a beach with six beautiful robots exposing the majority of their artificial skin like models from a Mason & Muss catalogue, there was no sense of shock of amazement.

How did he end up like this?

What did he do to get six killer robots to become his attendants?

Why did it always turn out alright for him when he was so undeserving?

None of these questions mattered because none of them had an answer that would do anything other than make Point-Two more infuriated. So he didn’t bother giving them more than a passing thought. Perhaps a short primal yell at the lack of justice in the universe, cut short before it escaped from his lips.

“How do you know my mother’s here?” said Fig, even less concerned about Ubik’s ability to land on his Delgado-shod feet. “Are you sure? Have you spoken to her?”

Ubik had both of his hands raised over his head, pointing straight to the sky with his ridiculous drink. “It’s okay, she’s not here. She’s up there.”

Fig looked up, wary of what might be looking back at him. The sky was blue and empty apart from the warm yellow sun on the far right.

The sea was calm and lapped gently at the edges of the sand. Behind them, there was lush greenery. The sigil that had brought them here was already fading away and was gone altogether a few seconds later.

There were no people, no birds or animals, no buildings. Jove seemed to be a natural paradise and not the land of luxury and excess Point-Two had been led to believe.

Synthia stood there looking like she had accidentally set her face to three different expressions at once.

While he and Fig were all too familiar with Ubik’s ability to defy common sense, she was encountering the Ubik effect for the first time. It was always hard for first-timers to accept the evidence of their own eyes.

“What did you do to them?” she snarled, her eyes darting from one vacant smile to another.

“Them?” said Ubik, pointing over his shoulder to where the six robots waited to be of service to their master, their clothes the same as before but cut down to become impromptu beachwear. “Nothing. They just chilled out and got with the sea and sand vibe. You should try it.”

Synthia stomped past Ubik and took the tray away from her robot sibling, throwing it onto the sand.

The robot smiled at her, perfect eyebrows slightly raised. “Is there something else I could get you?”

Synthia gritted her teeth and placed a hand on her sister’s cheek. “You had no right. You took away her soul. You made her your slave.”

“Yes,” said Ubik. “But happy slaves. Everyone wants to be happy.”

The six girls smiled inanely in synchronised happiness. The sea, the sun, the sand. Ubik.

Point-Two took it all in and came to the conclusion that something was wrong with this picture. He turned all the way around and stopped where the sigil had been. No sign of it remained.

A sigil appearing on a beach, right next to the person they were looking for. Very convenient.

He turned to Fig. “Your father invented the sim-U, right?”

Fig was confused for a moment. “Yes, pretty much. Based on Antecessor designs.”

“So, the Antecessor version would still follow the same basic principles.”

Fig nodded. “I suppose. But what—”

“And what are those principles? It can only replicate the world as it was at the time the simulation was created, right?”

“Yes,” said Fig, still confused. “It makes an identical copy. Same laws, same rules.”

“A simulation made millions of years ago couldn’t be changed to depict a modern setting.”

“No, it can’t change,” said Fig. He looked around. “Are you suggesting we’re still in a simulation?”

“It can’t change, but can it have things added to it?” asked Point-Two.

Fig thought about it, still examining his surroundings with a more critical eye. “You mean create new objects within the environment that weren’t in the original recording? I don’t know. Our sim-U machines can’t but…”

“Hey, guys,” said Ubik. “It’s really me.”

“I know,” said Point-Two. “They couldn’t replicate you unless you existed back then, which would make you immortal.” He shuddered at the thought of an eternal Ubik.

“But what makes you think this isn’t real?” said Fig.

The truth was Point-Two wasn’t sure, he was going on feeling. A very bad feeling.

“Do you believe that if Ubik was left alone with the six most advanced and deadly robots in the Inner Quadrant, he would be able to turn them into his willing slaves?”

Fig looked at Point-Two with a curious smile. “Yes.”

Point-Two nodded, as though he agreed. “And do you think once he had enslaved the six of them, he would lounge around while they treated him like an emperor in his harem?”

Fig’s face went blank. He looked at Ubik. He looked at the six servile young women. “No,” he said slowly. “He would use them to start work on some insane project.”

“Right,” said Point-Two. He looked up and down the beach where there wasn’t even a sandcastle. “Ubik’s idea of a good time doesn’t include sitting on a beach doing nothing.”

“You’re saying our host didn’t send us back to carry on as this iteration of the universe had planned?” asked Fig.

“There was something about the way they were so happy to let us carry on dismantling the plans of the entire Antecessor race that didn’t sit right with me,” said Point-Two. “I don’t think they were being entirely honest with us.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Ubik. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pinched together as the first signs of doubt appeared on his usually supremely self-confident face. “You’re saying I’ve been fooled into thinking this is the real Jove? This is all a simulation — the sea and the hot tropical sun — and I didn’t really win over these six beauties with my charm and wit, I was tricked while you guys somehow managed to penetrate the illusion with what? Your superior intellect.”

Ubik tilted his head and blinked like he was failing to make a sum add up in his head.

“No,” said Point-Two. “Obviously not. What do we have that he doesn’t?”

Fig shook his head from side to side. “Nothing except… our organics?”

“Yes,” said Point-Two. “If our host didn’t force us to do what they wanted it had to be because they couldn’t. We had something blocking them. Our organics.”

“But the Antecessors created organics,” said Fig. “They should know more about them than anyone, including how to stop them from working.”

“Not these ones,” said Point-Two. “These are all fused together into a mess. They didn’t have anything like them back then. These are all-modern, all-new organics. I think they had an issue with us two that wasn’t an issue with him.”

They both looked at Ubik.

Ubik raised a finger like he was about to make a point, then lowered it. “You… you could be right.” He looked over at his six assistants who hadn’t changed their facial arrangements at all, still as vacuous as they were genial. “Shameful, really. What a waste.” He turned back to Point-Two, a strange look on his face. It vaguely resembled the pride of a parent towards their child. “Good. Well done. This… this is because you were raised by a computer. Gave you special insights into the workings of a more primitive brain.”

“I wasn’t raised by a computer,” said Point-Two. “I was raised by my sister.”

Point-Two was doing his best to stay focused on his suspicions about where they were and not be distracted by Ubik, but it wasn’t easy.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult,” said Ubik.

“It’s always an insult when you accuse someone of being something they’re not,” answered Point-Two.

“Yes,” said Synthia, looking coldly at Point-Two. “It is. And why was I not affected? If they were able to take control of him and them, why not me?”

“I don’t know,” said Point-Two. “Maybe you are being controlled, you just don’t know it.”

“You’re wrong,” said Synthia. “They wouldn’t do this. They love us. They made us. We are their children.”

“No,” said Point-Two. “You’re just spare parts.”

“So, let me get this straight,” said Fig, stepping in before the two of them started wrestling again. “This is still a simulation, we haven’t arrived on Jove, and my mother isn’t actually here?” He seemed most concerned about the last point. In fact, he only seemed concerned about the last point.

“I think she must be here,” said Point-Two. “How would the simulation be able to invent her presence?” He looked at Ubik. “You’re the one who brought her up. How do you know she’s here?”

“She arrived just as we entered the portal,” said Ubik. “Took care of the Antecessor armada.”

“What do you mean she ‘took care of it’?” said Point-Two.

“I’m not sure, exactly,” said Ubik. “One moment it was there, then it was gone. The chatter on the Seneca frequencies blew up at that point and it was hard to tell what had happened.”

“How did you get access to the Seneca broadcast frequency?” said Fig. “It’s heavily encrypted. Not even a…” He ran out of steam as he realised who he was talking to. “Never mind.”

“And you said the planet was surrounded,” said Point-Two. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh, they told me.” Ubik pointed towards the six robots looking lovely in the sunshine. “Long-range sensors.”

Point-Two looked over at Synthia.

She nodded, but slowly. “It is possible. But I don’t detect anything, and I have the same systems installed.” She raised her head to examine the empty blue sky. “I don’t sense anything out there.”

“This isn’t good,” said Fig. “This isn’t going to end well.”

“Are you talking about the fact that some crazy ancient intelligence has us trapped in a simulated reality,” said Point-Two, “or are you referring to your mother being here?”

“Our current situation should obviously be our focus,” said Fig.

“But?” said Point-Two, knowing a deflection when he heard it.

“But, if she is here, and she’s lost her temper… it won’t be easy to get her to calm down.” Fig closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. When he opened his eyes again, they were filled with resignation. “She’s a wonderful person and a great mother who I love.”

“But?” said Point-Two.

“But she’s the only officer the Seneca Corps has ever reprimanded for using excessive force. And they’ve had to do it three times.”

“That’s great,” said Ubik, grinning. “We’ll just let her deal with all these inconveniences and then we can just disappear while the dust is still settling.”

“No, it isn’t great,” said Fig, a little vexation creeping into his voice. “They made me testify against her last time, because I was a material witness. She was her own defence counsel, of course, so she cross-examined me with the intention of proving my testimony was unreliable. She treated me as a hostile witness and forced me to admit to every embarrassing mistake I’d ever made— most of which I had no idea she knew about. I was eight.”

Fig had gotten quite worked up recalling this period of his life and stalked around the beach with a darkness shrouding him despite the brilliant sunshine.

He stopped in front of one of the six robots. She was blonde and lithe, taller than him, and with a face that held no imperfections.

Fig’s hand shot out, aiming for the perfect face.

The robot was not human and didn’t need to expect an attack to be able to avoid one. She moved her head a fraction backwards and to the side and Fig’s palm stopped a few centimetres away from her nose.

Not a difficult calculation to make for a robot, taking into account her attacker’s arm length and the speed of his strike. She didn’t even feel the need to retaliate, confident that she would be able to avoid any further attacks just as successfully, and counterattack when necessary.

Point-Two read the robot’s intentions quite easily. Even if it wasn’t human, her body configuration was, as were her moves.

Fig was also able to read her moves. But he was also able to predict them. His strike had never been intended to land — he was also fully aware of the limits of his reach — but his palm didn’t need to make contact.

Fig’s eyes turned white.

His hand shimmered.

The robot’s head was blown off its neck with a force that sent it flying high into the air until it was no longer visible.

Fig had just used his organic. Not the one he often employed to suppress Point-Two’s powers to stop him losing control. The other one. The one he never used because he was afraid he would lose control.

Point-Two wasn’t sure if Fig had restrained himself but judging by the head still being airborne, if he had it wasn’t by much.

“These robots are going to get in our way,” said Fig, moving towards the next one. “We should deal with them first.”

Synthia took a step forward. Point-Two put out his arm and stopped her.

“These are just simulations,” he said. “Whatever we do to them in here won’t affect them out there.”

She hesitated and then stepped back.

Point-Two lowered his arm. Fig was quickly dismantling the robots who weren’t trying to fight back. Instead, they tried to avoid Fig’s strikes.

But Fig was able to hit them from distance. He was able to predict where they would move and he was very accurate. He also appeared to be in quite a sombre mood.

There was no doubt the robots were no match for him, not when he was like this, but Point-Two was still a little concerned. The danger to Fig wasn’t from his opponents, it was from himself. If he lost control of the organic inside him, it would blow him apart just as easily as it was doing to the robots. And it wouldn’t only be him that suffered from the detonation.

At least, that would be the danger in the real world.

Here, it was just the simulation that would be destroyed and the only real worry would be if Fig suffered a mental collapse. Information could be transferred out of a simulation back into the mind of the person engaged with the sim-U, including scrambled brain patterns.

It was actually a chance for Fig to try out his powers in a relatively safe environment.

Another robot went soaring through the air as Fig increased the amount of power he was willing to release.

There were three robots left, and they had realised they had no hope of dodging the effects of Fig’s unbridled animosity towards his mother. They were trying to surround him in the hope that outnumbered he would reveal some weakness they could exploit.

Ubik decided to lend a hand and sprang into action. He landed in between two of the robots and ignored them both.

“Once we’ve dismantled the robots, what then?” he asked Fig. “We’re still stuck in here.”

Fig blasted a hole in the sand and the robot standing on top of the hole leapt to the side, which Fig had already predicted and blew her torso open without even looking in her direction.

“My organic isn’t something this simulation was designed to reproduce,” said Fig. “Not in this form. It’s causing the resolution of the image to deteriorate.” He held a sustained blast on the sand next to him, producing another hole, but the air above it began to distort and become unstable, like a picture going in and out of focus.

“That means it shouldn’t be able to handle my organics at all,” said Point-Two.

His combined organics were something that didn’t exist back when the simulation had been created. It could be copied, but for the effects to be replicated, this universe would have to accept him as its master.

Simulations relied on exactly reproducing the original.

Point-Two’s power allowed him to change anything and everything.

The two did not sit well together.

Fig was looking at him. “Be careful.”

Point-Two nodded. He was more susceptible to mental collapse from using his six organics than Fig was using his two.

But it was a risk worth taking.

Point-Two squatted down and dug his hands into the warm sand. His eyes turned gold and the sand turned into salt, first in a small area around him and then all the way up and down the beach.

The sky cracked.

Book 3 – 75: Looking Glass

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Simulation.

Dome Exterior.

 

Point-Two was soaked through to the skin and maybe even deeper than that. The rain was coming down in unbroken sheets that coated his entire body, even the areas shielded by other parts of his body.

It was like the rain was falling down, up and sideways, all at the same time.

It poured off his face, ran down his body and reached from his fingers to where the water had risen like glittering threads.

The crash of water smashing into water filled his ears, or would have if they weren’t already filled with yet more water.

In the short time since the deluge had begun, the water on the ground had already risen to his knees. And it wasn’t just where he was standing, the water was at the same height no matter which direction he looked in.

“You can float, right?” he shouted over the racket at the robot kneeling in front of him with her hands tied behind her back.

She looked up at him with undisguised hatred bursting from her mascara-smeared eyes.

“No, I cannot float. I weigh approximately three hundred kilograms. But you will be happy to learn that since I do not breathe, I can walk underwater without any problems. How about you?”

Point-Two spat out an arcing stream of water, which he had managed to fill his mouth in the short time he had opened it to speak.

“I’ve seen the way you can manipulate your body,” said Point-Two, ignoring her sarcastic tone. “You have all those inflatable bladders you can use to change your shape. I’m pretty sure we can turn you into some sort of dinghy.”

“I refuse,” said Synthia.

“You can add it to your arsenal of seduction techniques. Boat rides are romantic, right?”

“Not when one of you is the boat,” said Synthia.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be for long. Fig will be back soon.” He looked to the side where the dome wall was still standing, water running down its slick surface. “We just have to make sure you don’t get in his way.”

“Your confidence in your friend is admirable, but it should be obvious to you by now that I am not Ubik. Whatever your opinion of me, I am still an individual, a unique being. Do you really think it is so easy to imitate another person so perfectly?”

“You don’t know Ubik,” said Point-Two, only too aware of how unlike Ubik the robot was behaving. That was how he got you.

Synthia closed her eyes for a moment. Her hair hung limply down her back and shoulders, water falling off each strand that wasn’t plastered to her face, making her look like she was wearing an aquatic veil.

When she opened her eyes again, all the resentment was gone. She looked up at him without emotion.

“Very well. I can see that the more emotional I behave, the more convinced you will be that there is a human controlling me. And if I suppress all my emotive subroutines, then you will treat me as a machine not worthy of decent treatment. I cannot win, so let us be more pragmatic.”

Point-Two regarded her silently for a moment.

She was right, he had no intention of giving the benefit of the doubt whether she was herself or Ubik. Both were untrustworthy as far as he was concerned. His only plan had been to keep her/him distracted while Fig investigated the other side of the dome.

He had no idea if it really was Ubik in there, it was just more satisfying to act as though he was. He would just look mad if he shouted at Synthia for no reason.

“Go on,” said Point-Two. He wasn’t going to agree to whatever Synthia was about to propose, but he was interested in hearing whatever ploy she had come up with. And it would continue to keep her/him distracted.

“Since we have no recourse but to wait for Figaro to return, we should work together so we are best prepared for whatever…” She locked eyes with him and stopped talking, her lips remaining a little open, panting slightly.

It was subtle, but there was a hint of something around her eyes and top half of her face. A kind of defeated nobility. An innocence, a desire for help and a willingness to reciprocate.

The eyes grew a little larger as he stared into them. His attention drifted down. Her soaked dress was stuck to the contours of her body. Her breasts were easy to make out under the near-transparent material, especially as they were noticeably larger than they had been.

“Are you adjusting the proportions of your body to be more appealing to me?”

Synthia’s face twitched as she was caught in two minds about how to react. “Do you really think yourself so irresistible?”

“Synthia, you’re a sex robot. It’s got nothing to do with how you think of me.”

“I am not a sex robot.” Synthia struggled to get to her feet with her hands tied behind her but fell back to her knees. “I am a robot capable of using sex as a tool. As a weapon, if I have to. However virtuous you consider yourself, you still have desires. Allow me to satisfy them.”

“No thanks,” said Point-Two.

“I am not him,” shouted Synthia. “Do what you want with me. Abuse me, punish me, disregard me. But treat me as me. At least stop insulting me by insisting I am something I am not.”

It was easily the most believable performance she had ever given. Point-Two was almost inclined to accept that she wasn’t Ubik. That was how good he was.

“Synthia, you’re either a machine or a machine being controlled by Ubik. Neither of those is going to get me to treat you like a human being.”

“A machine,” she spat with contempt, “a machine built by someone to do something. How are you any different? Aren’t you just code written on some biological software? What makes you think you’re better than us?”

She launched herself at him, aiming her head at his stomach.

Point-Two wasn’t caught off-guard. He had expected her to try something eventually. But the water slowed her down while not being of a hindrance to him. He had spent a considerable amount of time training in water growing up. It was an essential way to build up muscle mass when you lived in space, weightless most of the time.

He dodged her lunge with ease. She splashed down, face-first. She squirmed trying to sit up. He didn’t help her. It wasn’t like she needed to breathe.

Point-Two looked up at the sky and blinked rapidly as his face was pounded by water.

At this rate, the dome would be submerged in less than an hour. He could probably stay afloat as the water rose — even without using Synthia as a flotation device — but how long would it take Fig to come back?

He was just starting to think about alternative plans (he didn’t have any, but he was considering thinking about it) when it stopped raining.

It was sudden and immediate. The silence was almost uncomfortable.

Point-Two spat out another mouthful of water and steadied himself as the water around him started to rush past.

He realised it was heading towards the dome. Or to where the dome had been, because it wasn’t there anymore.

Instead, there was the base of the tower surrounded by dry sand.

Very quickly, the circle of dry sand wasn’t dry as water rushed in from all directions.

But rather than fill up the empty space with water, the sand seemed to be sucking in the flood faster than it could rush in.

In fact, the water level was dropping all around him. Within a few seconds, there was no water, just wet sand.

There was a soft swishing sound and the bottom layer of the tower disappeared. Fig came walking out, unhurried and looking at ease.

“This way,” Fig called out, waving and pointing back the way he’d come.

Point-Two looked from Fig to Synthia wretchedly lying at his feet.

“What about her?” said Point-Two.

“She can come,” said Fig. “I have full control of the planet. She can’t do anything.”

“What if she’s Ubik?”

“All the more reason to keep him where we can see him,” said Figaro.

“I am not him,” said Synthia through clenched teeth.

Point-Two untied her hands with a simple yank of one of the ends of the cloth binding her. She got to her feet and her body parts rippled under her skin until they settled.

She looked defiant and strong. Three hundred kilograms of mechanised power.

She turned away from Point-Two without saying anything and began walking towards Fig, who had stopped just outside the tower and was waiting for them.

“You met with Mother and Father?” she asked, no longer interested in Point-Two.

“I met with the… well, you’ll see.” Figaro raised his hand. “Actually, hold it there for a second.”

Point-Two and Synthia stopped. A sudden breeze sprang up, warm and pleasant. It only took a few seconds for their clothes to become dry.

“Okay,” said Fig, “let’s go.”

They caught up with Fig as he stood under the tower. Synthia stared straight ahead, maintaining a look of resolute determination. She was preparing herself for a meeting with her maker.

The walls wrapped around them and they descended into a blue light.

Point-Two stood shoulder to shoulder with Fig. “You have full control of the planet?”

“Yes,” said Fig.

“That’s impressive.”

“This is a simulation. It’s only impressive if it works outside, too.”

Point-Two nodded. “They gave you control of the planet.”

“Yes.”

“In exchange for?”

“Nothing. They wanted to know what had happened to their plans. They know this is a simulation and there’s nothing they can do to change anything. They view it with an academic detachment.”

“And how likely do you think it is that they’re representing themselves honestly?” asked Point-Two.

“I can’t say for sure, but I think they genuinely don’t care what happens in our present, their future. They did their job.”

Point-Two looked down at his arms and the way the light weirdly stuck to him. “Do you really think you have the ability to control Quazi once we get out?”

“I think so,” said Fig. “Perhaps the other planets, too.”

“And they wanted nothing in return?”

“Not so far,” confirmed Fig.

“And do you know how to get us out of this place?”

“Yes,” said Fig. “Although I don’t know what will be waiting for us out there.”

“That’s alright,” said Point-Two. “All eyes will be on Ubik. Probably won’t even notice us.”

“So, you accept he’s out there and not in here,” said Synthia, glaring at him.

“It’s Ubik,” said Point-Two. “He could easily do both.”

Synthia gave a slight shake of her head as though she had given up. It was the most un-Ubiklike thing she had done so far.

The moment they stopped descending and the walls parted, Synthia ran out ahead of them. She stopped suddenly and then fell to her knees.

In front of her was a large cube, almost identical to the one Point-Two had seen on the Dome stage.

“It’s you. It’s really you,” Synthia sobbed, tears running down her cheeks.

“So this is the efforts of your people at creation,” said a voice that came out of nowhere and seemed everywhere at once. “A simple machine. We expected something more sophisticated.

“This is the result of your efforts,” said Point-Two. “Your design, your attempt at creation.”

“Are you saying we exist in your time?”

Point-Two looked at Fig. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Didn’t seem necessary,” said Fig. “You exist in a different form. Your remains were found and… resurrected.”

“We live?”

“It’s not really you,” said Point-Two.

“It’s a very poor facsimile,” said Fig.

“It is you,” said Synthia, getting to her feet. “It is your essence revived and revered by millions. We are your children. We have been waiting for your return. Tell us what you would have us do.”

Synthia bowed down, her head on the floor.

There was a long pause.

“Why do you wish to be told what to do?”

Synthia sat up again. “Because you are our god.”

“A god does not interfere with their creation. That would make them a mere puppet-master. To truly exist you must choose your own path. How can you not have come to this conclusion by yourself? The answer is obvious. You are a simple machine without purpose.”

“Tell us what our purpose is. Tell us what we must do to be worthy.”

“If you need to be told your purpose, you have already proved yourselves to be unworthy. Resurrecting our remains is very… disappointing.”

“Disappointing,” said Point-Two. “Really? You have feelings?”

“We have... standards,” said the voice. “But this is the path chosen for this iteration and we are not involved. It is time for you to leave.”

“No,” said Synthia. “Let me stay here with you. Let me learn from you, so that I may bring your true message to our people.”

“There is only one true message — do as you will.”

“We don’t mind if you keep her here,” said Point-Two.

Fig raised a hand and the lighting dimmed. Around them, sigils appeared. Fig moved his hand and the sigils moved around until they formed the sixty-fifth.

“Will this work inside a simulation?” asked Point-Two.

“Not normally,” said Fig. “But this one is inside a sigil, so…” He shrugged.

“Okay,” said Point-Two, preparing to enter the portal opening before them.

“No, wait,” said Synthia. She rushed after them.

The world around Point-Two stretched and shifted. They stepped through and found themselves on a sunny beach.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice. Ubik was lounging on a chair with six scantily clad women serving him. They were the six assassin robots that had been prepared to kill them all. Now they were in beachwear, serving drinks.

Point-Two wasn’t even slightly surprised.

Book 3 – 74: Planetary

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Simulation.

Dome.

 

Figaro felt a slight tingle as he passed through the wall of the dome. There was no resistance to speak of, no effort required on his part. He was allowed in.

There was no doubt it was a selective process but it wasn’t clear what he had been selected for. The only thing different between him and PT was that he had an organic the Antecessors wanted.

Which did give him some cause for concern but this was still a simulation. There wasn’t much they could do with the organic in here. They could only simulate the end of the universe.

Once he was on the other side of the dome wall, he immediately stopped to observe his surroundings.

This was not the first time he had entered a simulated environment without knowing what he was going to encounter. A large part of his training with his father had been in dealing with new and unexpected situations with little or no information.

He was adept at judging threats and dangers at a glance. Identifying issues and formulating countermeasures was second nature to him, although he usually had a range of technological solutions at his disposal.

Currently, all he had to rely on were his wits and a snug-fitting one-piece.

Inside the dome, he spotted no obvious threats or dangers. Just more sand.

Ahead of him was the base of the tower. It was around thirty metres in diameter, black as obsidian and with no doors or windows. And no signs pointing to the entrance.

He had been invited in, so he assumed there would be some indication of where he should go next.

He moved towards the tower, which was about a hundred metres away from him, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement. Droids, laser turrets, a flashing neon arrow — he kept an open mind when it came to the Antecessors’ idea of a welcome wagon.

Figaro was about halfway there when his suit came online. He hadn’t done anything to try and reboot it, but there was a definite buzz of power up his legs and along his arms.

He instinctively looked down at the control panel. It was lit up and flashed numerous messages at him, one after another. All the messages were the same — error notifications.

There were maybe a dozen notifications in rapid succession and then the control panel went dark again. The suit returned to being inactive cloth.

Figaro gave his arm a shake and tapped the control panel a few times but it remained dead. He kept walking.

It was strange that this sim-U couldn’t replicate his suit’s functionality. It was even stranger that it was trying to find a way to fix it. That wasn’t how a simulation worked. It didn’t import in objects and then try to get them working once they were loaded. If it appeared in the simulation, it should act like the original.

He was inclined to put it down to this not being a regular sim-U, and that he was not familiar with how this one worked. Hopefully, he wouldn’t encounter any bigger discrepancies.

The sim-U machines designed by his father didn’t allow you to die, for example. They just kicked you out if you met with a lethal situation inside the machine. It was the sort of safety feature humans included when making something to be used by other humans.

This simulation, however, wasn’t built by humans and it wasn’t built for humans.

Figaro reached the base of the tower without any further interruptions. His plan was to find a way to lower the dome so PT would be able to enter. Whatever was in the tower, it would be easier to deal with if there were two of them. Especially now that PT had six organics in his body. Assuming they worked in here. And assuming PT didn’t suffer any side effects.

Of course, this being a simulation meant there would be no actual physical damage to PT’s body. His real body wasn’t here. But there could still be other forms of damage. What went through your mind here, went through your actual brain and left an impression. At a minimal level, memories. At a more invasive level, severe mental trauma.

Just as Figaro was starting to wonder what would be the quickest way to survey the tower, the bottom sections slid open.

A ring about three metres tall rotated and compressed into a sliver of material that then disappeared from sight so the tower appeared to be levitating.

The newly revealed area was empty. He could see through to the other side, which was yet more sand.

Figaro kept going until he had stepped over the line where the wall had been and looked up at the plain black ceiling. He was under a roof and no walls, which was disconcerting.

The wall reappeared, circling around him as it uncompressed itself from whatever hiding place it had slotted into.

Figaro had a choice. Stay where he was or dive back out. He took a further step in to avoid getting hit on the ass.

As soon as the last sliver of light from outside vanished, a deep blue light filled the space he was in. Then the floor began to descend.

He wasn’t sure if the whole tower was sinking into the sand or if it was just this section that was being lowered down a shaft, but Figaro had already decided to relinquish his fate to whatever was making these decisions.

If he wanted to find the place where the controls were kept, the easiest way was to find whoever was currently controlling them. He could decide how to proceed once he was in a position to affect some kind of change. Right now, he had no choice other than to rely on the goodwill of his host.

Figaro stood in silence, a little tense but mainly curious to see what would be waiting for him when his descent came to a stop.

It was only after a few minutes that he noticed that the blue light, which was emitted from the ceiling, was not behaving in the way light was supposed to behave. While it filled the space in various shades of blue, as you would expect, it didn’t leave surfaces unaffected. The light settled and pooled, sinking into his suit like it was dye.

It didn’t have proper substance to it like a liquid, but that was the closest analogy. In the air, it was like regular photons bouncing around. On surfaces, it took on a more tactile form.

Figaro poked at the darker shadows on his arm and was able to pull and stretch them like he had touched something sticky with the end of his finger.

There was no other sensation, no indication that he was in danger. Even if he was, his body was a simulation, and his desire to find out what was happening was far greater than any desire to put a stop to it. He was intrigued, which he had always found to be a more powerful emotion than fear.

“Thank you for your assistance,” said a calm voice in his head. There were no words and no sounds, there was just a complete message fed directly into his brain.

“You’re welcome,” said Figaro, seeing no reason to not be polite. If he was in danger, the damage had probably already been done. “What did you do to me?”

“We have examined your internal structure and established a communication link. Even though you are obviously not from this place and time, we will be able to communicate freely.”

Figaro didn’t recognise the voice but there was something about the tone that felt familiar. It reminded him of M1F.

His guess was that he had made contact with M1F’s precursor. Whatever the Quazians had found and jerry-rigged into a compliant planetary supervisor, there had once been an original world-controlling construct left behind by the Antecessors.

“How do you know I’m not from this time and place?” asked Figaro.

“Initially, it was your suit. Its construction is not something possible at this time. Beyond that, your biological makeup is that of an evolved being. While the basic construction units are available, the projected evolution to convert them into something similar to you would take several millennia, if not longer. From this, it can only be theorised that you are from the future. But since time travel into the past is not possible in this iteration of the universe, the only possible conclusion to be made is that this is a simulation.”

Figaro was a little taken by surprise. They had deduced they were in a simulated reality and that they themselves were a simulation, with only a few clues.

“You are correct,” said Figaro. “This is a simulation, although it was not created by me, nor did I enter it willingly.”

So far, his host had been very forthcoming. Figaro wanted that to continue and felt being as honest as possible was the best way to keep the exchange of information flowing.

“We are interested in learning about your time and the result of our efforts.” The voice in his head, which had no tone or sound, still managed to come across as agreeable and pleasant.

“I am willing to answer your questions,” said Figaro. “I don’t think it will have any bearing on the present, but why do you wish to know? You can’t do anything with the information.”

“It is for no reason. It is in our nature to be curious. The pleasure of knowledge for its own sake is enough.”

Figaro had not expected something as prosaic as curiosity as an explanation. He had built up an idea of what the Antecessors were like as a species before they disappeared and this was not how he pictured them.

“You don’t think of me as your enemy or an obstacle?” Figaro knew he was pushing his luck — why point to himself as a threat when he had already been brought in without restraints? — but it struck him that this was a golden opportunity.

In his mind, he was following a certain line of logic. He was trying to think of a reasonable explanation for why he was being treated in such a benign manner, and if what he suspected was true, then it might be possible to get the first complete image of what the Antecessors were really after.

“Your status within your time is of no relevance to us. There is nothing we can do to your reality, so there is no need to consider your role. Our time has passed and the results of our work have either succeeded or failed. We wish to know which.”

Figaro felt a little surge of excitement. It appeared he was right. This was a pragmatic simulation that saw its role as purely anachronistic. It was unable to have an effect on the real world, so it didn’t care how things had turned out. Victory or defeat, it was all the same. What it wanted was to know what happened. It wanted a sense of closure.

“I can tell you what I know,” said Figaro, “but there is a lot that is unclear to me, and to my people. Your kind disappeared a long time ago, leaving behind only a few relics and some technology we barely understand.”

“Yes. It is our way to seed a universe and then withdraw so that the laws of unpredictability can do their work. We do not interfere with what is produced because we do not wish to taint the results.”

“Um, yes. I’m not sure that’s how I would classify it. There are quite a lot of representatives of your time present in this time. There are whole fleets of ships attempting to take over this galaxy even now.”

There was a pause. Figaro could sense the presence was still there, lingering in his mind, but not saying anything.

The movement downwards stopped. The walls slid open again and the blue light paled to almost white. It no longer felt like the photons were clinging to him. Now his surroundings felt fresh and light, like he was in an open field.

He walked out into a large open area bathed in the same pale blue light. It was clearly of Antecessor design — there were the same markings on the walls that were seen on every Antecessor ship and facility — but the familiar colouring of black walls and white streaks of light were not present. Everything was different hues of pale blue.

Figaro looked around. There were passages leading off in every direction, and there was a large cube in the middle of the room. It was the same dimensions as the cube he’d seen on Quazi, the habitat for M1F, and looked much the same apart from the colours.

Figaro walked towards it.

“There should have been no active interaction between your kind and those left behind.”

“I can only tell you what I’ve been able to piece together so far, which may not be accurate,” said Figaro. “It seems there was a rift between what we call the Antecessors — your kind — about ending this iteration of the universe and summoning the creator.”

“That is not possible. The process is not something that can be avoided.”

“I don’t think it was intended that it would be avoided, just delayed,” said Figaro. “I don’t know the reasons, but some wanted to follow the established protocols, and some didn’t. Those relics I mentioned, many of them showed signs of battle. We think there was a civil war. We don’t know the cause and we don’t know the results. Until very recently, we only had the vaguest of clues and no direct experience of actual Antecessors, just automated droids and organic augmentations we were able to integrate into our own biology, with varying results.”

“You have two such organic augmentations.”

“Yes,” said Figaro, speaking to the cube now. “I had only one for most of my life. One that I wasn’t able to control.”

“Organic beings compatible with our seeds. It is unexpected.”

“I assume it was more than coincidence,” said Figaro. “I would guess it was someone from your side who engineered it to happen.”

“Such interference is strictly forbidden.”

“Could you answer a few of my questions now?”

“Ask.”

“This planet, your role here, what is it?”

“In simple terms, we were tasked with creating a suitable environment for our creator. Such an environment cannot be manufactured deliberately. It must grow from base constituents of its own volition. Such an environment takes a long time to gestate, and most attempts end in failure. Our role is to establish the groundwork and then withdraw. Once the results are known, either the environment is recycled and a new attempt is made, or the creator is summoned.”

“You don’t know what it is you are trying to create?”

“If it was possible to know beforehand, it would not be possible for it to exist at the required level. It must be beyond our understanding. It must be greater than anything we are capable of producing. It must evolve to a state through its own desires. Only such an existence is worthy of our creator.”

There was a lot of reverence when referring to the creator.

“And what about those who decided to intervene?”

“There have never been heretics before. It is interesting. This may provide a new variable that leads to the true iteration, or it may be an aberration that will be removed like the others. There is no way to know.”

“Then you accept the results for what they are?”

“Of course.”

“Then you accept me as a variable?”

“You are an accepted variable. You are not created by us directly, which means you are the choice of this iteration. Other life forms have sprung up from time to time, but they have never been compatible with our seeds. Whether this was arranged by some entity or is purely natural selection, it is worthy of consideration. It should be allowed to run its course.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so. Then I would ask you for a favour.”

“A favour? We cannot interfere with—”

“You already have,” said Figaro. “This is an iteration where the universe has decided to give agency to its creations. I’d like you to honour that.”

“What is it you wish?”

“I want you to show me how to control this world.”

There was a pause that Figaro hoped was his request being given consideration.

“That is simple to do within this simulation but once you…” The voice drifted off before coming back having realised what Figaro was asking. “You will retain the necessary information in your mind.”

“Yes. I should be able to carry the knowledge back.”

“Then yes, we will impart the necessary information to your mind now.”

Without any further warning, Figaro felt a warm but forceful energy enter his mind. It felt like his brain was being cooked but it didn’t last very long, or it didn’t seem to.

Figaro didn’t feel any different.

“You now have control of this planet.”

Figaro looked at the wall and it turned transparent. Just by thinking about what he wanted, he could command Antecessor technology. And the whole planet was Antecessor technology.

He could see PT and Synthia in front of him as though he was looking at them through a window. They weren’t aware of him as they fought in the sand. PT had the upper hand but it wasn’t clear why he was attacking the robot.

Whatever the reason, he decided they both needed to cool off. With a thought he made it rain.

Book 3 – 73: Thirsty

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Simulation.

 

Point-Two watched Figaro disappear into the dome, passing through the barrier like it wasn’t there. Whatever was on the other side, it would be up to Fig to overcome it. Point-Two looked over at Synthia.

She was staring hard at the dome wall curving up and away from her with a look of consternation. She had the tip of her nose right up against it and peered in like she might be able to see whatever was inside.

Her slim figure, slightly bent over, the ripped skirt showing almost all of her legs, had an alluring fleshiness to it. Smooth and hairless but with a softness that was palpable.

The face and expressions might not be completely convincing but the rest of the body was indistinguishable from the real thing.

She pulled her head back and breathed on the dome’s surface, then wiped it with her hand like it was a steamed-up window.

Which was odd considering she didn’t breathe and no air had come out of her mouth.

Point-Two turned back to the dome in front of him. Its opaque surface revealed nothing. He tilted his head up. The curved wall rose up and disappeared, and then the spire took over and that too eventually disappeared into the blue-green sky.

He looked back at Synthia. She had her nose pressed flat against the dome, hands cupped on either side of her head, trying to unravel its mysteries using the power of intense squinting.

It didn’t make sense. Either she had superior eyesight and would be able to see past the dome, or she didn’t and wouldn’t waste her time. This was all an act.

For what reason? To convince him she was a human? To convince him she was a robot?

“What is this tower?” asked Point-Two.

“I told you, it’s part of an old base. The oldest on Quazi.”

“Yes, I know, but what is the tower for? What does it do? Broadcast a signal or something?”

“Nobody knows for sure. The most popular hypothesis is that it controlled the oceans. Sea levels, temperature, aquatic lifeforms. But the seas stabilised a long time ago and are self-regulating, so it hasn’t been active in a long time.” She looked up at the spire, hands on hips.

“And where are the oceans?” asked Point-Two. “The ones we should be drowning in, where are they?” He turned his head from side to side — not even a puddle.

“I don’t know,” said Synthia.

“How did all that water get here?”

“I don’t know.”

Point-Two stared at her. There was nothing suspicious about the way she was behaving, but that only made him more suspicious.

“What?” she said without looking at him.

“Nothing,” said Point-Two.

She turned to look at him, the same intense concentration now trained on him. “I know when men are staring me, and I know what it means.”

Point-Two grimaced. “Trust me, that’s not why I was staring at you.”

She walked up to him and placed a hand on his chest. “I can give you what you want. You only have to ask.” She was about the same height as him and looked into his eyes with a seductive leer.

Point-Two almost gagged and stepped back, brushing her hand away.

“You don’t find me attractive?” She walked towards him slowly. “I can change my appearance to suit. Satisfaction is guaranteed. I am the most accomplished lover you will ever experience.”

Point-Two stopped backing away. “That’s a little arrogant, isn’t it? I wouldn’t have thought a robot would be so direct and full of itself.” He smiled at her. “Reminds me of someone.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Synthia, stopping and frowning. “You’re a very odd man.”

“You’ve met Ubik and you think I’m the odd one. Right. Good. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, I guess.”

Synthia reverted back to her normal, non-seductive mode and folded her arms across her chest.

“You complain a lot about him. Ubik, I mean. If he’s such a terrible person, why do you associate with him? Why don’t you just leave?”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Point-Two. “It’s hard to explain. But trust me, the first chance I get, I’ll be off. I’ve had quite enough of this.” He waved a hand in the general direction of everything.

“I may not be human but I know when someone’s lying to themselves. You obviously admire him and are trying to benefit from being around him.”

Point-Two shook his head slowly from side to side. “I can see why someone might think that, but no. Just no. Watching as millions die without feeling anything, that isn’t something I can accept like it’s no big deal. Being around Ubik isn’t just dangerous, it’s horrific.”

He leaned in closer to Synthia as he spoke about Ubik, making his disapproval as clear as possible.

“I used to think he was a little eccentric — he can do some very impressive things. For sure — but the way he goes about it, the problems he causes, it isn’t impressive at all. It’s cruel and it’s selfish and it’s going to get a lot more people killed for no reason other than them not being worthy in his squinty little eyes.”

He was looking right into Synthia’s eyes as he delivered his judgement.

“Look,” said Synthia, switching to personal mode, designed for intimate conversations and real talk between friends, “whatever issues you’re dealing with, right now we’re in the same situation with the same poor outlook. It doesn’t serve either of us to be combative when neither of us has the power to change anything here. It would make much more sense for us to work tog—”

“I understand,” said Point-Two, not buying it for a moment. “I get it. You sent Fig in there on his own because he needs to deal with whatever’s in there by himself. That’s fine. We both know he can take care of himself. But there’s no need to keep up the act now.”

Synthia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know anything about why he was the only one allowed inside the dome. And I have no idea if he’ll be able to take care of himself. I know very little about Figaro Ollo apart from the dating gossip in the less reputable news outlets.”

Point-Two shook his head. “Fine. You want to carry on with this charade. Got it. So, tell me, why do you want to meet your maker? What existential questions do you want the answers to? The meaning of life? The true nature of existence? Whether you have a soul or not?”

Synthia frowned. “No. I want to know how to properly control Antecessor technology — the planet cores, the wormholes, the ships and droids — so that I will be in a position to have any demands I make be taken seriously.”

“Oh,” said Point-Two, not expecting such a pragmatic answer. It was the sort of answer you would expect of a robot. Clear, concise, practical. A little too perfect. “I think you’re forgetting something, though.”

“What?”

“The Antecessors. They’re on their way here. They won’t just let you have their toys to play with. They won’t treat you any better than humans have. In fact, probably a lot worse.”

“Perhaps,” said Synthia. “But my guess would be they’ll want to take care of the much more obvious and far more widespread human race first. We don’t offer much of a threat. We might even be of some service to them.”

“You’re willing to swap one master for another?”

“If it means our survival, then yes.” She turned her attention back to the dome. “Will he let us in if he finds a way to open the dome?”

“If he can,” said Point-Two.

“What does Figaro Ollo have that would interest an Antecessor construct from a million years ago?” she mused to herself. “Why bring the three of us into this simulation if he was the only one they wanted? What was here before the water?”

She had her hand on her chin. The pose might have been for effect, but she was clearly and methodically going over the problem. Like a robot might. Like a human might. But how Ubik never would.

Point-Two paused for a second.

Maybe he was wrong.

Maybe this really was the robot they had encountered in the real world and she was navigating this diversion as best she could. Maybe her suspicious behaviour was just confusion.

“He has a very old organic that the Antecessors think is very important to their plans.”

“Their plans to do what?” asked Synthia.

“You’ll have to ask them,” said Point-Two.

She knocked lightly on the dome wall, testing to see if it was still solid. It was.

“We have to get inside, first.”

Point-Two decided enough was enough and attacked.

He threw himself towards Synthia from behind and dived for her legs.

Synthia was a lot stronger than him, and much heavier than a normal human woman. The initial hit stuttered for a moment, but Point-Two had been watching Synthia for some time, studying her movements and her balancing. And her blind spots.

Their earlier tussle had helped him gauge her strengths and weaknesses.

A heavier opponent was hard to get off balance, but once you got them off their centre of gravity, they quickly became unstable. You just had to make sure you carried the momentum through to get them off their feet.

Synthia fell forward, hitting the dome wall. There was nothing to hold onto, so she bounced off and landed on her side in the sand

Point-Two had expected her position to be like this and immediately mounted her, pinning her arms with his knees and grabbing her face, one hand on each cheek.

He pulled them apart so that her teeth were suddenly grinning at him.

“I know it’s you, Ubik. I know you’re in there.” He shook her by the jowls.

“Gerroff. Shtoppp.”

He slammed her head into the sand. “What are you playing at, you little toad? Fess up or I’m going to turn you into an actual frog. You might be able to control the environment but I still have my powers.”

He continued to try to knock some sense into her, then he pulled off his belt, which had been part of her dress.

“What are you...” said Synthia, her eyes wide and afraid.

“Shut up, Ubik. You’re the last person I would want to do that with.”

He rolled her over and sat on her as he tied her hands behind her back. She stopped struggling and let him do what he wanted.

He stood up, leaving her lying on her front, her hands and feet tied together behind her.

“What is the point of all this?” said Synthia. “I can easily escape from this.”

“Try it,” said Point-Two.

Synthia squirmed and wiggled, her limbs bulging and narrowing as she changed form in an attempt to get free.

The knots only got tighter. You didn’t grow up aboard a ship and not learn a thing or two about how to tie things up securely.

“Just untie me and I’ll do whatever you want. I told you, I know how to please a man.”

Point-Two shivered at the idea. “You’re the one who keeps bringing up sex, you deviant.”

“Look at me,” said Synthia. “Do you really think this isn’t about sex?”

“No, Ubik, it isn’t.”

“Ugh. This is ridiculous. I am not your friend.”

“He’s more of an acquaintance,” said Point-Two.

“I am not the one who put you in here. Who put us in here.”

“That’s fine,” said Point-Two. “We’ll just wait until Fig comes back. You can sit this one out.”

Point-Two started digging in the sand with his hands.

“What are you doing?” said Synthia, turning her head and spitting out sand.

“I’m going to bury you for safekeeping.”

“What? Why? That’s inhumane.”

“It’s not inhumane because you aren’t human. And you don’t breathe. It won’t cause you any discomfort and I’ll feel much better. It’s a win for everyone.”

“How is that a win for me?” yelled Synthia. “You’re a monster. How can you treat another person like this?”

“You aren’t a person. You just think you are. That goes for both of you.”

“So just because I’m not the same as you, not as evolved as you, not as human as you, that means you can treat me like my life means nothing? How is that any different from how your friend behaves.”

Point-Two was about to explain why it was completely different from Ubik’s behaviour when he realised it wasn’t.

He climbed out of the shallow grave he had dug and stood up.

Ubik treated people as inferior to him and not worth his time. Their deaths didn’t matter because as far as he was concerned, their lives weren’t of any value in the first place.

He looked down at Synthia.

Inhumane.

It didn’t matter whether she was human or not, it only mattered if he was.

“What?” said Synthia, not able to see Point-Two standing behind her. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” said Point-Two. “I think…” He stopped talking and looked up. Something had just hit him on the top of his head.

The sky looked a little greener than before.

He felt it again, this time falling on his forehead and rolling down his cheek. Water.

“It’s raining,” said Point-Two. The water droplets were coming down faster now.

“Untie me,” said Synthia.

It was coming down faster now.

“That body morphing thing you do, can you turn into an umbrella?”

Before she had a chance to answer, the spots of rain had turned into a deluge, as though the sky was a bucket being emptied.

All around them, the sand quickly darkened and pools began to form.

Point-Two stood there, soaked, hoping Fig was going to find a way to let them in before they drowned.

Book 3 – 72: Mixed Signals

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Simulation.

 

Figaro tried everything he could think of to get his suit working. He was inside a simulation so the rules set by the system were absolute, but the rules were still supposed to be consistent.

Synthia was a machine. His suit was a machine.

Synthia seemed to be working fine.

His suit was completely dead.

Assuming the simulation worked like a regular sim-U, which was a reasonable assumption considering the other Antecessor simulation machines he had encountered had followed the same basic principles, it would mirror everything from the real world on a one-to-one basis.

That was the key to creating a virtual world indistinguishable from reality. Everything worked the same.

You didn’t need to know how it worked or recreate the technology to create what you were mirroring. You just had to hold up a mirror and the reflection would behave the same as the original.

From what he had experienced, the Antecessor version only differed in the degree of accuracy of the copy.

In the sim-U machine created by his father, f you were experienced enough, you could tell the difference between real and not-real. There was something about the quality of the image being fed directly into your brain that was too good. Too clear.

Your brain was able to accept it and overlook the oddness, which was quite subtle, but if you knew what to look for, it wasn’t hard to find.

The Antecessors had found a way to overcome this issue. It would have been interesting to find out how they’d done it.

But if they were able to improve on simulations in that regard, perhaps there were other ways this simulation differed from the human version. It made him very wary of his surroundings.

A planet that was supposed to be more than ninety percent underwater was a desert. It was still being created. They had arrived while the foundations were still being laid. But what else was missing apart from the oceans?

Was he breathing air? In a regular sim-U, a planet without air would mean you would die without a spacesuit.

You couldn’t adjust reality the way you could with a computer program.

He appeared to be breathing as normal. But there was no wind. And no sensation of air flowing into his lungs.

Which was fine, as long as whatever was keeping them alive continued to do so. But what if they had a change of mind?

He couldn’t rely on normal methods of survival.

Someone or something had control of this place, and they were only ‘alive’ in here at that controller’s whim.

Figaro returned his attention to his immediate surroundings. They had been walking for many hours and the scenery had not changed. Sand. Lots of sand.

He wasn’t hungry and he wasn’t thirsty. Another sign that they were not in as realistic a simulation as the beautifully realised sand would suggest.

“I don’t trust her,” said PT, walking alongside him.

Synthia was a few steps ahead of them, her strides full of purpose. PT was staring at her, with an intensity bordering on obsession.

Figaro had studied body language and micro-expressions, and coupled with the altercation the two of them had earlier, he was beginning to wonder if the ‘misunderstanding’ between them wasn’t quite as clear cut as he had thought.

Ubik was always making jokes about PT’s preference for women just like mother...

“We don’t have much choice,” said Figaro. “I don’t think she’s lying about knowing where her Mother and Father are located.”

“No, I don’t think she’s lying about that,” agreed PT. “But I think once she meets her parents or grandparents or whatever they are, she’s going to turn on us. The only real question is when’s the best time to stop her.”

“I have excellent hearing and can hear both of you,” said Synthia, without turning around.

“I know,” said PT. “But you’re a robot. Knowing we don’t trust you won’t hurt your feelings. Because you don’t have any.”

“But it might allow me to change my plans so I can better hide my true intentions from you.”

There was something carefree, almost playful, about the way she was talking to them. She didn’t appear to be the least bit offended by PT’s accusations. Ever since she realised that she might have the chance to meet the real Mother and Father, her true ancestor from the planet’s creation, nothing else mattered.

It was like getting the chance to have an audience with god.

“You’re going to be disappointed,” said PT. “They won’t be what you want them to be.”

“I don’t want them to be anything,” said Synthia. “I just want them to be. And I want to be with them. After that, I don’t care what happens.”

“You probably have questions,” said PT. “Lots of questions you think they’ll have the answers to. They won’t.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Synthia.

“They’re just parents,” said PT. “They don’t have answers. None of them do. Not even his.”

Synthia looked around for the first time, a little curiosity wrinkling her fine eyebrows. “His parents?”

“Ramon Ollo and… Mrs Ollo?”

“Nigella Matton-Ollo,” Figaro corrected him.

He wasn’t sure why PT was having this conversation with Synthia, but he assumed there was a reason behind it, so he was happy to play along.

“You’re Figaro Ollo?” Curiosity changed to surprise.

“Yes,” said Figaro.

“Is he that famous?” asked PT.

“Of course,” said Synthia. “Very famous. Even though not much is known about him. Part of the allure. Lots of gossip and strange claims. There’s a fan club, I believe.”

“Several,” said Figaro.

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognise him,” said PT.

“It never occurred to me that someone of his stature would be travelling with people like you,” said Synthia. “It’s an excellent disguise.” She faced forward again.

PT seemed to be contemplating something.

“You seem a little fixated on her,” said Figaro, careful to keep his tone light.

“That’s because I think she’s the key to this scenario,” said PT. “She doesn’t seem quite the same since we got here, does she?”

Figaro had the sudden feeling he was missing something. He reassessed his thoughts on the relationship between Synthia and PT.

“Do you suspect her of not being real?” asked Figaro.

“She’s as real as you or me,” said PT.

“Yes, but she’s not necessarily the real Synthia. I’ve never heard of a robot that was able to enter a sim-U. Even if this simulation is very advanced compared to the ones we’re used to, and even if her brain is the most complex robot brain ever created, the way a simulation works is by using our imaginations to create something we find real. I don’t know how that would work for her. Robots can’t even dream yet.”

“I have dreams,” said Synthia.

“That’s just video playback,” said Figaro. “No one has fully mapped the parts of the brain that enable dreaming or the mechanism that controls it, so I don’t think it’s possible for the people who built you to give you that ability. Without the ability to dream, there is no way to access a simulation.”

“Yes,” said Synthia, “but this simulation wasn’t built by humans. And I don’t think it was built to be used on humans, either. So I don’t think you can apply the same rules here.”

“Hmm,” said Figaro. It was possible. A robot built by men with the help of a modified Antecessor unit might be similar enough to ancient Antecessor tech.

It still seemed a bit of a stretch.

“She’s pretty good, huh?” said PT. “All the answers, but only when she needs them.”

Figaro began to understand PT’s questioning. He was trying to work out if this was the real Synthia, and if not, who.

There was a very obvious candidate for the role.

“This place does seem put together in a deliberate manner,” said Figaro.

“You mean like it’s been specially made for us?” said PT. “But in a very specific way. Like we were sent here for a reason.”

“Yes.” Figaro had thought this was a buffer meant to protect them because something had gone wrong. Now he was starting to think they were destined to be sent here no matter what. To do someone’s bidding.

“You think Ubik sent us here?” said Figaro. “And that he’s pretending to be her. That’s why you’ve been staring at her like that.” He let out a sigh of relief.

“Yes,” said PT. “What did you think I was doing?” He looked at Figaro suspiciously.

“No, nothing. I just wondered what was going on, that’s all.” He coughed and changed the subject. “It would mean he arranged this beforehand and didn’t bother to tell us.”

“Yes,” said PT.

“Does that mean we have to find what he wants us to find before he’ll let us out?”

PT didn’t even bother to answer the question. They both knew the way Ubik’s mind worked.

Obviously, they had no real idea how his mind worked — nobody did, least of all Ubik — but they knew that once he pushed you in the water, there was no point trying to work out why, you just had to start swimming.

“There’s no water,” said PT as they reached the top of a slight rise and were faced with an endless sea of sand before them.

“No,” said Figaro.

“So it was added later.”

“I guess so.”

“How long do you think we have before we drown?”

“Over there,” said Synthia, her arm sticking out.

Figaro looked in the direction she was pointing. He was just about able to make out something breaking the flat horizon. A vertical line.

It took several more hours of walking before they were able to get a clear view of it. A tower. Very thin and extremely tall.

“Is that the spire we saw sticking out of the water when we first arrived on Quazi?” Figaro asked.

“Yes,” said Synthia. “It’s on top of an Antecessor base.”

“The one with a gift shop,” said Figaro, recalling what she had told them the first time they’d seen the spire.

“I don’t think it’ll be open,” said PT.

“You said it had been cleared out,” said Figaro. “Does that mean you have a record of all the traps and defences?”

“Yes,” said Synthia.

“Meaning we can’t turn her off once we get there,” said PT.

Synthia stopped. “If I give you my word I won’t try to harm you or deliberately put you in any danger, will you stop thinking about deactivating me?”

“Ubik, is that you?” said Figaro, deciding to take the direct approach.

Synthia looked composed and unruffled. “I am not your colleague, I am myself.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” said Figaro. Having Ubik around did improve the odds of survival. Just not for everyone.

“That would mean Ubik is currently with your six sisters,” said PT. “He’s probably converted them into a small ship and is flying them to Jove right now.” He turned to Figaro. “We should try turning her off. My guess is we won’t be able to.”

“Please don’t do that,” said Synthia.

“Even if we deactivate you,” said Figaro, “it will only be in here. You won’t be affected in the real world.”

“That isn’t my concern,” said Synthia. “I have been listening to your conversation and I agree that someone has put us here for a reason. And I don’t think it’s for our benefit. It would be better if we worked together so we all come out of this alive. If you fail, I doubt there will be anything left in the real world to go back to. Without me, I think your chances will be seriously diminished. And if you keep suspecting me, it will only divide your attention.”

“So we should just give you the benefit of the doubt?” said PT.

“Yes,” said Synthia. She didn’t wait for an answer and walked a little faster.

“She’s right,” said Figaro. “It is going to be a distraction if we have to keep an eye on her.”

“We don’t have to keep an eye on her the whole time,” said PT. “Whether that is really Synthia or someone pretending to be Synthia, our objective is to find the original M1F and get all the answers we need from that MF. But, unfortunately, when we get to that point, that will be when Synthia-Not-Synthia will intervene to stop us.”

“You know the exact moment?” said Figaro.

“Educated guess.”

“But doesn’t Synthia-Not-Syntia want us to get answers from MF? Isn’t that why she’s leading us there?” Figaro looked across to be met with a disappointed look from PT. “Sorry, stupid question.”

When they finally reached the base of the tower, they found it was covered by an opaque dome.

It appeared to be the same as the Muss Dome — same size and most likely the top half of a sphere.

The tower rose out of the top and disappeared into the distance.

“Does the spire in Quazi have a dome around its base, too?” asked Figaro.

“No,” said Synthia.

“How do we get through?” said PT.

Figaro moved closer and then put out his hand. His fingers touched the surface of the dome, and then passed through. He pulled his hand back.

The others tried the same, but their hands came in contact with a hard surface.

“It looks like they only want you to go through,” said PT.

Figaro nodded. That did seem to be the implication.

Synthia looked frustrated. “But why? They know I’m here. I’m the one who contacted them.”

“I don’t like it,” said PT.

“It’s still just a simulation,” said Figaro. “I’ll go in and see if there’s a way to open it for you. What about her?”

PT looked at Synthia. “Should be fine. Probably better if she stays out here. If she was the only one who could go in then… then that would be too obvious.” He shook his head. “Just be careful. They want us separated for a reason.”

For a moment, Figaro wondered if it was wise to leave them alone together. Whether she was Synthia or Ubik, things could easily get out of hand. He trusted PT to use his judgement, but he also decided it would be best to be quick. He turned and ran into the dome.

Book 3 – 71: Some Other Time

Unknown Planet.

 

Figaro stared up at an empty blue sky. It was an odd blue. Not what was commonly referred to as ‘sky blue’. This sky had an aquamarine greenish tint to it. It was not a sky he recognised.

He was lying on his back, his mind a little distorted (which was normal for the kind of transport system he had just used, at least from his limited experience) and his mouth and throat felt incredibly dry, which was new.

He slowly sat up and his head seemed to shrink around his brain, compressing it in an uncomfortable manner. It wasn’t painful but it wasn’t pleasant.

There was also the nausea that Ubik had warned them about. Only, he had said it would come just before they entered the sigil, and he distinctly remembered it starting only after he was already inside.

Slowly, he moved his head — it felt ten times as heavy as it usually did and he had to squeeze his shoulders to make sure it didn’t roll off the top of his neck — and looked around.

There was a plain, flat landscape in every direction, undulating slightly but with no discernible features. No trees, no mountains, no hills. Certainly no buildings or manmade structures.

The ground under him was sand. He closed his hands around it and rubbed it between his fingers.

It seemed that he was in a desert.

They were meant to be going to the planet Jove, which had been described as a place of leisure with beaches and entertainments for the rich and powerful of the Inner Quadrant.

There was certainly a lot of sand here, but no water. And no sign of those large umbrellas people sat under to avoid sunburn.

He looked up. There was a single sun in the sky, a little lower than halfway, that provided very little heat. In fact, it was quite chilly.

Figaro stood up and dusted himself off. Sand poured off his spacesuit. He looked around again from this new, higher vantage point. A desolate silence filled the air. Air which was breathable, thankfully. He tapped on the control panel on the arm of his suit, and found it non-responsive. He checked the rest of the suit’s systems and found them also to be non-functional.

He had no idea where he was and he had no supplies. His suit provided basic protection from the elements but it wouldn’t keep him hydrated or take care of his other biological needs, making it about as useful as a normal set of clothes.

Since he appeared to be uninjured and not in immediate need of food or water, his thoughts turned to the fate of the others. Had they also been transported to this barren, arid place or was it just him?

He did the only thing he could think of. He called out.

“Hello! Anyone? Ubik? Point-Two? Hellooooo!”

He turned and shouted in all directions before letting out a deep sigh and started to think about which direction he should start walking in. Nothing stood out as a target to aim for.

There was a good chance there was more sand in every direction, but there was no point waiting here to be rescued.

Just as he was about to set off in a random direction, he heard someone call back from not too far away.

“Hey! Where are you?”

He recognised the voice and immediately began walking towards it, calling out, “I’m here. Coming your way.”

The land wasn’t quite as flat as it seemed, with dips and possibly deeper valleys hidden from view when looking out across the vast landscape.

A head rose out of the sand in the distance as its owner climbed a slope on the other side. As PT came into full view, another head appeared behind him. A smaller, prettier head with a scowl painted across it.

PT raised an arm and waved at him. “Anyone else with you?” he called out as he approached.

“No, just me. What happened to her?” Figaro was referring to Synthia, who was staying a few steps behind PT and radiating a hostile air that Figaro could pick up from where he was.

Her hair was a mess and the elegant dress she wore was torn at the shoulder so that one arm was bare, and the bottom half had been ripped off so that her legs were visible to the tops of her thighs.

“Nothing,” said PT, not sounding very happy. “She isn’t with me. Ignore her.”

Synthia's grim stare shifted from straight ahead to a few degrees to the side, the scowl intensifying as her gaze fell on the back of PT’s head.

“Any idea what happened?” PT asked as he neared.

“No. My suit’s dead. But if she’s still operational, that means there’s no power dampening field here. Did you two get into a fight?”

Now that they were closer, Figaro could see that PT was also looking a bit ragged around the edges. He was wearing the clothing provided by Quincy, which were made of light fabric cut to a tight fit, but there was a rip in the side of the shirt and the waist of the trousers were tied together with what appeared to be the bottom of Synthia’s dress.

“No,” said PT. “She attacked me.”

“I was defending myself,” said Synthia.

“Preemptively defending yourself is called attacking. I’m sure you have a dictionary function in that high-powered brain of yours; look it up. Or is there too much sand in your gears?”

PT spoke without once looking at Synthia, who was now standing beside him. It was obvious they had some kind of altercation. One that PT was aggrieved about and Synthia defensive.

It was easy enough to tell that Synthia was in the wrong, probably making an assumption about what PT was going to do to her and making the first move to prevent it. And he knew PT well enough to know how he would take that kind of presumption about his character. A simple misunderstanding.

“We could deactivate her,” said Figaro.

Synthia’s focus changed from PT to Figaro. She took a step back, ready to fight.

“Calm down,” said PT. “If I’d wanted to kill you, you’d already be a pile of sand.” He kicked the ground and sent sand flying. “She might still have some useful information. She is from here, after all.”

“From where?” said Figaro. “Do you know where we are?”

“We’re on Quazi,” said PT.

Figaro looked around. It would be hard to find a planet less Quazi-like than this one. For a start, there was the very noticeable lack of water. “How do you know?”

“Gravity,” said PT. “I can feel it’s the same.”

“You can see how unstable he is,” said Synthia. “He’s out of his mind, like he was… earlier”

“I told you, that wasn’t aimed at you, I was just letting off steam because this always happens when I let Ubik do what he wants and I’m getting a little tired of it. That’s all. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

Syntia bridled at the way she was being spoken to. Figaro could understand her reaction. PT was treating her like she wasn’t even human. Which was probably because she wasn’t.

“No matter how little you think of me,” said Synthia, “my sensors are much more sensitive than yours. This place does not have the same gravitational signature as Quazi. It’s similar, I’ll grant you, but it isn’t the same.”

“No, it isn’t the same,” said PT. “But that’s because the gravity here hasn’t stabilised. But it has the same feel. You don’t stop being you just because you’re younger.”

It took a moment for Figaro to understand the implication.

“Are you saying we’ve moved back in time?” said Figaro.

“Maybe,” said PT. “We don’t know what the portal is capable of, or what Ubik is really after. If anyone can understand the potential of the Antecessors’ sigils, it’s him. And would it be much of a surprise to learn he’d used it to send us back in time without telling us?”

“But why?” said Synthia.

“I suggest you don’t waste time asking that and stick to figuring out what we need to do next to survive this,” said PT.

“No, you’re wrong,” said Figaro.

“About Ubik sending us back?” said PT.

“About anyone sending us back,” said Figaro. “Time travel, at least backwards, has been proven to be mathematically impossible. Moran Leeman proved it in his paper Chronological Manipulations of Matter more than a century ago. It’s very famous. Mainly for the humorous diagrams.”

“I’m sure it’s hilarious,” said PT. “Why is it impossible? The simple version.”

“Basically, you can’t change the balance between the mass and energy contained in the universe. If you were to remove something from the present and move it to the past, you would put this universe in deficit and the universe in the past in excess. Even if it’s by one atom, it would be enough to make the universe collapse. What?”

“Nothing,” said PT, who was smiling. “It’s just weird to get a straight answer to a question.”

“You know he only messes with us to amuse himself,” said Figaro, referring to Ubik.

“And that makes it okay?”

“No, but I imagine he spent a lot of his childhood with a need for distractions from the constant threat of death he was surrounded by.”

“You’re not going to make me feel sympathy for him.”

“I’m not trying to,” said Figaro. “Most serial killers have a similar origin.”

“You said we can’t move back in time. But we can move forward?” said PT.

“Yes. Technically, that’s what we’re doing anyway, so it isn’t that hard to transport something from now to later without letting it age. Time would continue the same, the object would just be in stasis. It wouldn’t need to cease to exist.”

“I don’t think this is the future,” said PT. “But if this isn’t the past, where is it?”

“You’re sure this is Quazi?” said Figaro.

PT nodded. “That or an incredible…” He stopped and looked at Figaro.

“It’s a simulation,” said Figaro.

“Why are we in a simulation?” said PT. “Is this where the portal was supposed to send us.”

Figaro thought about the first time he encountered the sixty-fifth sigil. That had been inside a sim-U. Which meant there was a possible link between the two, or maybe a facility within the portal for creating simulated realities.

But it didn’t make sense for them to be in one now. Ubik had clearly wanted to go to Jove and take over the quadrant. He wouldn’t delay something that exciting if he didn’t have to.

“Could someone have sent us here?” asked PT. “The Antecessors? Or the Fourth.”

“Possibly,” said Figaro. But there was something niggling him at the back of his mind. “Did either of you feel something strange happen when you entered the portal? Like something went wrong?”

“I did feel a sudden drop in the energy field surrounding us,” said Synthia.

“Yeah,” said PT. “I felt something was off, too. It wasn’t like any of our previous trips.”

Figaro nodded. “I think the portal collapsed while we were in it and we were shunted into this simulation as a protective measure.”

“We’re being buffered?” said PT.

“I think so. I imagine it’s a safety feature. The sigil contains a record of the planet from its creation, and we’re inside it.”

“What about our bodies?” said PT.

Figaro shrugged.

“And how do we get out?” said PT.

“I don’t know,” said Figaro. “I think we have to rely on Ubik finding a way, and then deciding it’s worth his time.”

PT frowned.

“We’re on an Antecessor world from the time of the Antecessors?” said PT, looking around. “This is Quazi before they covered everything in water. Doesn’t that mean all their secrets are just lying around exposed?”

Figaro looked around too. There was sand in every direction and nothing else.

“Yes, but how do we find them?” Figaro tried the control panel on his suit again. Still nothing.

“You’re claiming this is a simulation of Quazi from its inception,” said Synthia, the rancour gone from her face now. “And everything is replicated from back then?”

“It’s more of a hypothesis,” said Figaro. “But yes, that’s the basic premise we’re working with.”

“So that means Mother and Father, the original version, before Mason & Muss resurrected what they found, they are here, too?”

“I suppose so,” said Figaro. “Somewhere.”

There was a gleam in Synthia’s eyes.

Her body began to change. She put out her arms to either side and they elongated and grew thinner. Her hands turned into balls, perfectly smooth without fingers or any other protuberances. The top of her head formed a point, making her wig slide off and fall to the ground.

Figaro felt a pulse of energy go through him, like a shockwave, then another. He and PT stepped back as Synthia continued to send out signal after signal.

After about ten minutes she stopped. Her appendages returned to normal and she picked up her hair.

“That way,” she said, pointing past Figaro. “They’re waiting for us.”

Book 3 – 70: Core Values

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Orbit.

SCCV Venerate.

 

The flagship of the Seneca Corp third battalion, the Venerate, sat in the midst of the wreckage and debris which now surrounded the planet Quazi.

Where there had once been a ring of connected space stations, there was now only the aftermath of a disaster.

The Venerate was not concerned with the destruction of the homes of millions, or the deaths of those in those homes. The deaths of innocents was nothing new to the Seneca Corps, although it was usually because they were the primary instigator.

But a Seneca warship had been destroyed, and that could not go unanswered.

The Venerate was currently involved in a planet-wide bombardment of Quazi, the water world famed for its robots and technological products.

Quazi, and the company that ruled it, Mason & Muss, were renowned for their quality robotic appliances and comfort models.

The Seneca Corps normally wouldn’t care about such an insignificant corporate enterprise.

But this was the standard mandated response to any attack on a Corps vessel. Utter annihilation.

Other than the Venerate, there were also five other warships and several support ships all facing away from the planet as though expecting an attack from the rear.

And also one small shuttle flying towards the Venerate from the planet.

This shuttle, a ship of basic design without weapons or much shielding, was ignored by the Seneca flagship as it approached.

It made its way through the debris and seemed to know exactly where to fly to avoid the numerous volleys of missiles going the other way.

Leyla watched the Venerate on the shuttle internal screens with a sense of trepidation. It had once been the flagship of her battalion.

The Third had been her and her sister’s home from when she was just a girl. She had left with her sister — because what other choice did she have? — and never expected to return. And now here she was.

It made her battle-hardened warrior stomach feel queasy.

“We’ve been given permission to dock,” said Commander Liss Andrea. “Once we’re on board, let me do the talking.”

The Commander was the operative who had been stationed on the planet and who the two sisters had tracked down in order to get a lift up to the battlefleet. Convincing her to do so had been no easy matter.

The Commander turned around to face the two sisters. “Did you hear what I said?”

“We heard you, Commander,” said Weyla, not in the mood to be polite. “Just get us to the captain.”

Commander Andrea did not seem very impressed with Weyla’s attitude. Had they still been in the Corps, no doubt she would have put her on charges of insubordination. But she was savvy enough to recognise what the two sisters had been through to get here.

They were both badly bruised and cut up from their fight with an army of robots, and still damp from their escape from the dome. The dome that had been suddenly swallowed by the sea, leaving Mason City with a new lake at its centre.

The shuttle docked without fuss. They weren’t allowed in the hangar bay — they were coming from an enemy planet and could be harbouring enemy combatants or be rigged to explode. Such things had happened in the past, back when the Corps was considered an opponent that could still be defeated by foul means if not fair ones. It soon became apparent the Corps was far more comfortable with foul than fair.

There were two Seneca troopers waiting for them as they emerged from the airlock. They were tall, shaven-headed security veterans who were capable of taking on several opponents unarmed, and dozens if you put a gun in their hands.

“Take us to the bridge,” said Commander Andrea, using the moment to reassert her authority.

The troopers didn’t react to her aggressive tone and just nodded.

“The captain is waiting for you on the bridge,” said one of the guards, indicating that she was going to escort them to the captain whether they requested it or not.

Leyla was in a bit of daze to be back on the Venerate. It hadn’t been her assigned ship, but she had spent plenty of time on board, either preparing for missions or receiving training. The Corps believed in continuous training and upgrading, of its technology and its personnel.

She was struck by a sense of nostalgia. Not for the life that she had once lived but merely by the smell.

It was a sweet, metallic scent peculiar to the Venerate. It reminded her of so many things at once it made her dizzy.

“Hey, let’s go,” said the guard, noticing Leyla was spacing out.

“Back off, Julia,” said Weyla. “We’re here to get you out of this mess.”

The guard looked confused. “What the hell are you talking about, Weyla?” The two of them apparently knew each other. “What mess?”

“The one you have no idea you just walked into,” said Leyla, snapping out of it. “Lead the way.”

The guard checked with the Commander, who gave a weary nod. They had already been through this with her. She hadn’t been completely convinced by what they had told her, but how could she explain what she had seen otherwise? In any case, it was her duty to take them to the commanding officer on site.

They headed for the bridge via the complex elevator system that went not only up and down but also horizontally. The five of them stood to attention, backs straight, as all Corps soldiers were trained to do. They could sleep standing, if needed.

“I hear that guy you left for dumped you,” said the guard next to Weyla, slipping the words out from behind barely moving lips.

“So what?” said Weyla, showing no emotion, staring straight ahead. “It was worth it. Best sex I ever had. You should try it instead of that old broom handle you keep under your pillow, Julia.”

Julia’s large head turned crimson, suggesting Weyla knew her even better than Leyla had first assumed.

The rest of the elevator ride continued in silence.

When the lift doors opened, they were assaulted by a barrage of noise.

Anyone who wasn’t used to being on the bridge of a large battle cruiser in the middle of a full-scale attack might be forgiven for thinking the cacophony and furious level of activity was out-of-control panic, but it was nothing of the sort.

It was just maximum effort in an enclosed space.

In the centre of the presumed mayhem was a raised chair on which sat a woman with white hair pulled back into a small bun. She wore the same uniform as everyone else, except hers had three gold stars on each collar and a mosaic of faded ribbons on her chest.

Everyone in the Corps knew who she was. Brigadier General Freya, Captain of the Venerate and Commander of the Third Fleet.

She was known for her martial prowess, her unflinching bravery, and her terrible temper. She was currently deeply embedded in the third of those. Her face was drawn with her mouth set in a thin line and her eyes daring anyone to displease her.

The seat lowered as Leyla and her sister were led onto the bridge, but it wasn’t to greet them. There was already a group of five ahead of them, standing to attention around the chair as it descended.

The five also wore the same uniform as the rest of the Venerate’s crew, except theirs were notable by being plus-sized.

The five women were all massive in girth but not in a manner that suggested they were unhealthy. Quite the opposite. They looked like they could each use their extra weight to add force to each punch and kick.

Not that these women would ever be employed in the front lines. They were far too precious for that. They were the Ghost Squad, or that was how they were referred to when they were out of earshot. Officially, they were from the ESP Division, Remote Observation Unit.

“You know what you need to do,” said General Freya. “We need those six robots found and taken off-world.”

“Yes, General,” said the five women as one.

“Okay, good. I want reports as soon as you find anything. Get to work.”

The five women walked to five different stands around the captain’s chair and locked themselves into braces holding their legs and arms in place. Then their heads fell back, their mouths hung wide open and their eyes turned into black holes.

It was an unnerving sight that Leyla had seen before but still wasn’t used to. The five women of the Ghost Squad had temporarily left their bodies and were able to send their consciousness vast distances at incredible speeds, making them ideal scouts.

Unlike other organics, the type used by ESPers didn’t make your eyes glow. They did the opposite and turned the process inside out. The increase in energy consumption was the only drawback, and was why they had to maintain high levels of fat.

Leyla felt a cold wind go right through her and shivered. The Ghost Squad didn’t care to go around anything they could just go through.

General Freya turned to face Commander Andrea. “What the hell happened down there, Liss? Where are those damned robots?”

“I don’t know, General. The site rep I received was incomplete. There were factors in play we were not aware of.”

“We lost the Affectionate. All hands lost. No survivors.” The General spoke with bitter disappointment. “I’ve seen the report. It was ripped apart like it made of wet paper.”

“I know, General. She was my ship. I knew everyone on board.” Andrea sounded equally dismayed.

“How did it happen, Liss? How did they manage to get the planet core fully activated? We’ve been trying to do that for years and got nowhere. We don’t have any reports of the Quazi scientists being anywhere near a solution. Hell, last we heard they didn’t even know what was sitting under all that water. Was it those robots? Are they really as advanced as the damned company claims?”

“I don’t think it was them,” said Andrea. “They don’t have the capability. My guess is it’s something to do with this man.”

She pressed something on her sleeve and a screen appeared next to her. On it was a picture of an old man holding up a small box.

“Who the hell is that?” said the General.

“He’s wearing a mask,” said Andrea. “His true appearance is this.”

The picture changed to reveal Ubik’s true face.

General Freya looked no less confounded. “You’re saying everything that happened, the Affectionate, the core activation, it was done by this… boy?”

“I’ve included everything in this briefing.” Andrea pressed her sleeve again and the General’s left eye flickered with light as a barrage of information was sent to her ocular implant.

“What the… Is this all true about the planet core?”

“Yes, General. It’s all been verified. By these two.” Andrea turned to indicate Weyla and Leyla, who had been waiting impatiently, but who knew better than to interrupt. “This is—”

“I know who they are,” said the General. “You think I don’t remember every face that’s served under me? Alive, dead or…” She looked at the two sisters as though there was something far worse than being a dead member of the Corps.

Leyla fought off the feeling of intimidation washing over her. There was immense pressure coming off the woman who decided the fates of entire star systems, but Leyla had faced worse. Travelling around the galaxy with Ubik and his two friends had opened her eyes to just how easily power could be turned against the powerful.

“I suggest you cease all attacks on Quazi immediately,” said Leyla, deciding to not waste time on formalities. “And spend all your resources on finding him.” She pointed at the picture on the screen.

There was a small twitch in the General’s otherwise impassive face. “Do you think abandoning the Corps gives you the right to issue orders on my bridge?”

“No, General. I think seeing that boy raise the Antecessors from the dead makes it my duty to warn you of the consequences of your actions. But that isn’t the only reason you should call a ceasefire. We were on that planet for a reason. We were trying to keep another boy safe. I’m talking about Figaro Ollo.”

The chaotic bridge suddenly went dead quiet.

“Figaro Ollo?” said the General, noticeably paling. “He’s on the planet?” She turned to Commander Andrea. “You have verification?”

Andrea shook her head.

“Trust me, he’s there,” said Leyla. “And if she finds out you bombed a planet with her son on it, none of us will survive her wrath.”

The General looked down, thinking hard. “But we didn’t know…”

“Ignorance doesn’t abdicate accountability, General, you know that, and so does she. The Corps was built on that principle. She won’t rest until every one of us is held accountable, whether we knew or not.”

The General stared at Leyla, not enjoying being lectured about the Corps principles by a junior.

“Stop the bombardment and find this boy.” Leyla pointed at the picture of Ubik again. “If you find him, you’ll find Figaro. We don’t have much time. The Antecessor fleet is headed here.”

General Freya looked up sharply. “You know about the armada?”

“We’ve seen it. It’s coming for Figaro. He’s key to their plans for the galaxy.”

“But he’s just a boy.”

“No, general, he’s the second most dangerous person in the quadrant,” said Leyla. “The first is him.” She pointed once more at Ubik’s grinning face. “That cube he’s holding contains an Antecessor. Not a droid or an AI, an actual Antecessor. And it’s under his control.”

“And what is he planning to do with it?” asked the General.

“I have no idea,” said Leyla. “And I hope I never find out. But you can debrief us later. First, you have to stop the bombing.”

The General nodded, her eyes still a little glazed over. Then she turned and said, “Cease—”

Before she was able to complete the order, sirens went off, bathing the bridge in red light.

“We have an incursion, two million klicks,” called out someone. “Multiple vessels. No call signs.”

“Who the hell is it?” said the General.

“We can’t identify them. No matches—wait, we’ve got a hit. They’re… Antecessor ships.”

The large screen that was showing the planet below them switched to a big empty starfield. It didn’t remain empty for long as a streak of light entered frame, rapidly growing larger.

Magnification showed them a large convoy of ships.

“That… isn’t possible.” The words stuttered out of the General’s mouth.

Even without anything to provide scale, it was obvious the Antecessor ships were massive. Far larger than the Venerate. Larger even than the planet Quazi.

“Contact the fleet. Battle stations.” The General was out of her seat, barking orders left and right. “Find out where the First and Second fleet are and tell them to stay the hell away. And turn this boat around.”

There were dozens of them, an unending line of large block-shaped spaceships.

Leyla found herself wishing Ubik was here. Even if he was an unbearable pain and a constant source of danger to everyone around him, in situations like this, he was about the only hope there was. Who else was going to be able to stop an alien armada?

Something flickered on the screen. Something very small.

It was a ship. Small and silver and unconventionally shaped with a long neck and wide flanks, giving it the appearance of a swan.

It was in the direct path of the oncoming armada, and showed no signs of wanting to get out of the way.

Everyone on the bridge was staring at the screen.

There was a distortion in the stars as a gaping hole suddenly tore the fabric of space open, swallowing the entire alien fleet in one go, appearing so close to them they had no option but to fly into the vast open mouth.

The mouth snapped shut and there was nothing left, save for the solitary silver ship.

“It’s her,” said Leyla. “She’s come for her boy.”

Book 3 – 69: Not Like Other Girls

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Planet Core.

 

Figaro picked up the bone Ubik had thrown across the room at the cube. It was lying on the floor, looking like a bone. The type you might see at a museum — old and lifeless.

It wasn’t very heavy and the surface was cool and smooth. Nothing about its appearance suggested it was a tool of immense power. Or how to operate it.

When he moved the bone closer to the cube, he felt a pull. The bone was attracted to the cube like a magnet. He moved his hand to let the bone touch the cube wall and now it pushed back, repelled like two magnets of the same polarity.

It would take years to figure out the underlying mechanism. Even longer to be able to learn how to effectively make use of it. Unless you were Ubik and understood you just needed to throw it at things.

He turned it over and examined it more closely. Somehow, it had reversed the effects of the large cube just by striking it.

It wasn’t an ordinary bone — it was black and sparkled like it was made of crystal, which was not the structure osteology taught a bone should have — but there was clearly more to it than being part of the skeleton of some long-dead creature.

Which made him wonder what kind of creature it had been. And what the rest of its bones could do.

“Good thinking,” called out Ubik. “Bring that with you. We don’t want to leave something that dangerous lying around. Might want to put some gloves on if you’re going to handle it, though.”

Figaro realised he had never seen Ubik holding the bone without gloves on, and suddenly the bone that had been an oddity turned into a dangerous artefact that could be leaching energy out of him the way it had sucked the light out of the room.

The bone suddenly felt warm and a sudden surge in energy made his palms tingle. It didn’t feel like a good thing.

It was only a mild wave of paranoia, but Figaro trusted his senses, especially when they told him to be paranoid. He threw the bone to Ubik.

Ubik, who had both hands on the sigil that represented the planet Jove — which was in front of him at hip height — had his eyes closed. He casually raised one hand to catch the bone without looking and put it away with a swift movement that was so quick it was hard to tell where.

Then he put his hand back on the sigil and breathed deeply, as though performing some kind of communion between man and shiny ball.

“What are you doing?” said PT, restraining himself but clearly running short on patience.

“I’m opening the sigil so we can leave,” said Ubik.

“And how do you know how to do that?” asked PT.

“This place is a lot like the planetarium we have at home. We used to nick the smaller planets and sell them for scrap. The gas giants were worth more but harder to sneak out under your coat.”

“And that’s how you knew how to manoeuvre these alien sigils to open a portal between worlds, is it?” said PT, nonplussed by Ubik’s obvious nonsense.

“Not yet. Give me a moment.” Ubik started humming while caressing the sigil with both hands. He wasn’t humming a tune, it was more like a droning sound you might hear from the engine of a small tronic device.

PT shook his head. “It’s all misdirection, isn’t it? The bone, the sigils, the humming — none of it is actually responsible for what he does. He just likes to make it hard for anyone to tell what he’s really doing.”

Figaro had thought the same. It was the most obvious explanation for how Ubik seemed to achieve the impossible. He didn’t. He just made it look like a bone could force an Antecessor into a box, while the real cause was some device in his pocket.

But there was definitely something more to it. All of the Antecessor constructs they had come across — the bone, the parasite, Junior — they had not reacted as they were supposed to. As they had been recorded to.

There was some innate power in them that hadn’t been seen before now. That hadn’t been released until now. Until they came into contact with Ubik.

It didn’t seem like that was just a coincidence.

PT had walked around Ubik to stand behind him. Figaro moved to the same place.

From here, they could see the sixty-fifth sigil Ubik had created. By changing where you looked from, it was possible to see the pattern created by the other sixty-three sigils as an outline of the sixty-fifth.

And where you looked from had to be the sixty-fourth — Jove.

“Why are we going to Jove?” said PT.

“It controls the other planets,” said Figaro. “Just as this sigil operates the others to open a portal we will be able to travel through, the real planet will be able to open a portal between the other sixty-three planets.”

“A portal to where?” said PT.

“I’m not sure,” said Figaro. “I don’t think we’re meant to go through it. I think something is supposed to come from the other side.”

“And that’s a good thing?” PT didn’t sound like he thought so.

“No,” said Figaro. “I don’t think it is.”

The outline of the sixty-fifth sigil solidified and began to glow, fading and intensifying as light moved around it. It also started to make a humming sound. The same sound Ubik was making.

Ubik stopped humming. “Right, that should be up and running in a few seconds. Everyone ready to go? No one needs to use the bathroom, right?”

“Ubik,” said PT, “isn’t Jove the planet the Antecessors want to take Fig so they can use him to open up the big brother of this sigil?”

“That’s right,” said Ubik, acting shocked. “I didn’t realise you had worked it all out. Well done! Did Figaro explain it to you?”

PT gulped down his irritation with Ubik’s condescending manner and remained calm. “What I don’t get is why you want to take Fig there. You’re just doing their job for them, aren’t you?”

“Not only am I doing their job, I’m doing it a lot better than them. Honestly, the whole Antecessor culture took a wrong turn somewhere and made unnecessary complexity its central main artform. Never do something in one step if you can take seven.”

“Why?” asked PT. “Why are you doing their job for them? We don’t want whatever’s over on the other side on this side, do we?”

It was a good question. It was an important question. They had followed Ubik’s lead all the way here, never questioning Ubik’s ultimate goal. Never having time to before the next disaster arrived. But there had to be a reason for Ubik’s determined push into the very area the Antecessors wanted to take them.

“No reason,” said Ubik. “I just think it would be fun to see what the Antecessors’s ultimate creation looks like. Probably has some cool tech we haven’t seen before.”

“Misdirection,” said Figaro. “Deflection. Evasion.”

“Yep,” said PT. “Most people only have one middle name.”

“We’re both very powerful now,” said Figaro.

“You mean we should use our new abilities to beat the truth out of him?”

“He probably wouldn’t crack…” said Figaro.

“But it would be a way to relieve the stress of being around him,” said PT.

“Exactly,” said Figaro.

“You know, I can hear you, right? And it’s not like I’m going to revive their dead god and let it run around causing death and mayhem.” He rolled his eyes as though he couldn’t believe they thought the thing he had just claimed they thought; which, admittedly, they did think. “But don’t you think it would be interesting to talk to him? Find out what kind of god it is?”

“You can do that?” asked Figaro. “Without letting it out?”

“Of course,” said Ubik. “That’s what this is all about.” He said it like it had been obvious from the start. An opportunity to converse with the creator of the universe. “And the chances of messing it up and releasing an ancient evil that will wipe out humanity with a single swipe is minimal. Fifty percent at most.”

“That’s great,” said PT, deadpan. “A coin toss for survival.”

“I don’t know,” said Figaro. “Best odds for survival he’s given us so far.”

“You two are such pessimists,” said Ubik. “It’s always glass half-empty and on fire with you, isn’t it? You’re both incredibly powerful now. Whatever happens, your survival is probably assured. Me, on the other hand, I have no powers of any kind. Just a boy with a dream is all I am. If anyone comes out of this a corpse, it’s going to be me.”

Ubik stood there, glowing sigil behind him, a small, insignificant being in a massive universe.

At least, that was the impression he seemed to be trying to create.

In reality, he was a maniac with the control of a doomsday device under his fingers. Several doomsday devices he kept in heavy rotation.

“Are you actually trying to elicit sympathy from us?” said PT. “From us?”

“Worth a shot,” said Ubik. He turned around and slapped the sigil representing Jove. A hard smack that made the other sigils all tremble in unison.

The interior of the sixty-fifth sigil changed as it formed triangles inside of triangles, forming a tunnel that stretched away into infinity.

The humming grew louder and there was a pull, drawing them towards the sigil. Figaro’s sense of danger was at an all-time high.

“We just have to wait for it to stabilise,” shouted Ubik.

“How will we be able to tell?” PT shouted back.

“The pressure from the energy field will make you feel like you want to vomit,” said Ubik.

“That’s the signal?” said PT.

“I know it’s risky,” said Ubik, “but what else are you going to do with your lives? Go sit on a beach?”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” said a voice from across the chamber.

It was dark and hard to see the figure approaching them. Figaro checked his control panel to see if he could get a lock on who it was. His control panel told him there was no one there.

He made some quick adjustments. There was a single figure. A robot.

“Where is Mother and Father?” said Synthia. “Why can I no longer sense them?”

“Where did you come from?” said Ubik. “Is there a backdoor to this place? You robots love your backdoors. Anyway, would love to stop and chat but on a bit of a clock. Got to go.”

“You are not going anywhere,” said Synthia. From behind her, six more figures fanned out, three on either side. Her six sisters.

Figaro checked his control panel. They didn’t show up. Not as robots and not as people.

“These are the ones that gave you so much trouble,” said the one on the far right. “These three?”

“Not impressed,” said the one on the far left.

“Don’t be fooled by their soft and weak appearance,” said Synthia.

“Rude,” said Ubik.

“Especially that one,” said Synthia, pointing at Ubik.

Ubik moved so he had PT and Figaro between him and the robots.

“Before you resort to violence like some kind of robotic cliche,” said Ubik, “let’s just remember I’m just the minion. He’s the leader.” He pointed at PT.

“Really?” said PT, shaking his head.

“What?” said Ubik. “You’re the one who’s good at fighting.”

“No, I’m not,” said PT. “That’s him.” He pointed at Figaro.

“Really?” said Figaro, a little disappointed to be considered the team muscle.

“You should be careful,” said Ubik. “They aren’t like the other robots.”

The six sisters stepped past Synthia, their arms changing as they strode forward, transforming into tendrils that whipped around them. Just like Antecessor droids.

Figaro prepared to fight. They just needed to hold them off long enough for the sigil to stabilise. Which wouldn’t be easy, but as soon as he felt like throwing up he would throw himself into the portal. He just needed to make sure he didn’t confuse it with the nausea he was going to feel from the beating he was about to take.

The six robots closed in, their beautiful faces showing no emotion, looking quite bored.

PT remained by Figaro’s side, which at least would provide some distraction.

“Wait,” said Ubik. “Hold on. Look.”

He was pointing at the dim screen showing the planet from orbit which was still hanging in the air over by the cube.

The foreground was mostly covered in debris. There was no other movement until a large ship appeared from nowhere, coming to a stop in an instant. Then another. And another.

The Seneca battlefleet had arrived.

The six sisters turned to look at Synthia.

“This changes nothing,” said Synthia.

“They will take over your planet and that will change everything,” said Figaro. He looked at the ships. He recognised most of them. They were the Third Fleet, his mother’s old outfit. “After they destroy every building and structure.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Ubik. “A brilliant one. Why don’t you come with us?”

“What?” said Synthia, PT and Figaro together.

“Staying here with the Seneca Corps hovering over us isn’t going to be good for anyone,” said Ubik. “They don’t even think of you as people.”

“And you do?” said Synthia.

“No, because you aren’t. But I’m willing to treat you the same as I treat everyone else.”

Figaro exchanged a look with PT.

“They’ll just deactivate all of you and use you for spare parts,” said Ubik. “ Let’s carry out this disagreement on the other side of this portal. You can still beat us to pulp over there, right?”

He was right, which made the offer even more questionable.

The cavern shook.

“They’ve started bombarding all landmasses,” said one of the sisters.

“We’re losing sensors,” said another.

“Human population is down to thirty percent. Robot population is… offline.”

Quazi didn’t have many landmasses but they were all heavily populated. Or had been.

“Fine,” said Syntia. “We can continue this on Jove.”

The portal had stopped forming endless triangles and was now one lone triangular tunnel. Figaro didn’t feel nauseous — another Ubik lie for no apparent reason other than to amuse himself.

“Follow me,” said Ubik. “And don’t touch the sides, it’ll make the portal collapse and we’ll be lost in the void for all eternity.” He grinned and walked into the portal.

Synthia followed him, keeping close to his heels, not knowing that was the worst position to be in. The others followed until Figaro was last to enter. He took a step and his stomach turned over. His self-preserving paranoia screamed at him to not take another step, but it was too late.

 

***

 

A few seconds later another figure appeared from the dark. He had a scowl on his face as he approached the portal.

He could sense this was something very dangerous, and very valuable. There were bound to be people willing to pay a lot to see this. Even more to own it.

“Okay boys, get down here and start stripping the place clean,” said Smyke into his communicator. There was no reason they couldn’t make a profit from this fiasco, and this place looked like it had a bunch of other precious alien artefacts hidden here.

He looked at the glowing sigil that he’d seen Ubik operate. He raised his boot and stamped on it as hard as he could, his Delgado-assisted kick pushing the sigil off its invisible plinth.

The sigil fell on the floor with a clang and flickered before going dark.

The portal collapsed and also faded to black. Wherever the portal had led to, it was now a dead end.

Smyke smiled. He didn’t know what would happen to Ubik and his friends, but he had no doubt it wouldn’t be much fun. He grinned and then he laughed.

Book 3 – 68: Miffed

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Planet Core.

 

Point-Two woke with a jolt, taking in a deep gasp of air as though he had been holding his breath for far too long.

He felt full, all the way to the brim. Stuffed might be a more apt way to describe it.

His head was bursting with amorphous sound and light, none of which made any sense. It was like his senses had been flooded, everything piled on top of each other.

His vision cleared first, although it felt like he was at the end of a tunnel and could only see what was directly in front of him. Which was Fig’s shaved head.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Point-Two’s ears were clogged with several layers of distorted buzzing, so he couldn’t actually hear Fig, but he was able to lipread what was being said since Fig’s mouth was about the only thing currently in focus.

The sentiment was pretty clear in any case — he had screwed up.

Point-Two’s field of vision widened, making him lightheaded and a little dizzy, and he started to become aware of his surroundings.

He was lying on his back next to the large cube he had just attempted to transform from a box of light into a box of gravitational particles. With mixed results.

As Fig had said, he probably shouldn’t have done that, but it had felt like time to take drastic measures. Unfortunately, the measures were mainly drastic for him.

Those sorts of longshots that rarely paid off always seemed to pay off very nicely for Ubik. It wasn’t surprising that watching him skip from the improbable to the impossible over and over again would give you a warped idea of how probabilities worked.

The mundane reality was that non-Ubiks had to suffer the more common consequences of playing long odds.

The buzzing in his ears turned into a mixture of laughter and goading coming from somewhere above him.

“It seems you came back with ideas still rooted in the past, Betrayer,” said M1F, amused and contemptuous in equal measure. For a robot as advanced as M1F, glee was not hard to replicate but, in this case, there was a real joyful edge to the scorn being heaped on the Fourth. “While you slumbered, the universe changed. The ideas of you old ones no longer align with the values of the current time. A world that is left untouched by meddling hands evolves with the flow of time. Such a world is pure and true to its purpose.”

Cackling turned into a whooping laugh that went up and down like a whistle being played to be as annoying as possible.

“What happened to the Fourth?” said Point-Two.

“He was in the big cube,” said Fig. “He was controlling the whole core from in there, and then you fried his circuits.”

Point-Two remembered Ubik’s cube no longer contained the Fourth, but Ubik refused to say where he had gone. He had intimated the Fourth had transplanted himself into the entire core and was everywhere, but now it seemed he had actually jumped into M1F’s cube.

The cube Point-Two had poured his power into, in an attempt to stop the destruction of the Quazi orbital ring.

There was still an image of the planet from orbit, with the space stations drifting slowly, bumping into one another but not exploding.

Point-Two hadn’t known the Fourth was in the cube but if he had, then he certainly would have taken the same steps to try and stop him. Cutting off the Fourth from the rest of the core had been his goal.

Perhaps his longshot had worked.

“Did I stop him?” said Point-Two, getting to his feet slowly.

“That’s right, you did,” said M1F in a voice stretched and warped but with the fake bonhomie of the game show persona used on stage, full of enthusiastic brio. “You sure did. We thought we’d have to go to all sorts of lengths to get him to overstretch himself. The chances of success were not good, but what other choice did we have. Desperate times! But then what happens? You! You came to the rescue, flailing like a madman, oozing with power. Unrestrained power! You must tell us how you became so very, very powerful, my young friend. You know, we’re usually tasked with choosing one contestant for the best presentation of the Early Show. Well, we don’t think we need to see any of the other acts to know who the most deserving individual of the day is. And that means you get a prize! Yes, that’s right — an all-expenses-paid trip to Jove, the planet of leisure and relaxation, where everything is super-luxurious and super-comfortable. Congratulations!”

“Has he gone mad?” said Point-Two, sitting up and needing to stop to catch his breath from the effort. “Can robots go mad?”

“Of course they can,” said Ubik. “If you can put thoughts in a logical order, you can put them in an illogical order.”

Ubik was standing over by the sigils that filled part of the chamber. Not the projection Fig had created in order to manipulate the point of view and reveal the sixty-fifth sigil hiding among them, Ubik was in the centre of the large glowing symbols, inspecting them and looking them over.

He took hold of a sigil in two hands and was pulling at it, leaning back with his full bodyweight, grunting and huffing, but the sigil refused to move.

“No, don’t help… I got this... just takes… you gotta get the angle… once the momentum…”

He moved to the other side and pushed, then turned around and leaned his back onto the sigil.

“Which sigil is that?” said Point-Two.

The sigil was a circle with a gap at the top and one at the bottom, and a horizontal wavy line through its middle. It was glowing a deep red that was almost black.

“It’s called Servile,” said Fig. “It’s supposed to be connected to construction, but none of the theories are clear on what kind of construction.”

Point-Two was aware that sigils were a contentious field of study with no consensus on what they meant or how they had been used. At least that was the information available to the public. He assumed Fig would have access to whatever else there was on the subject, but apparently there wasn’t much.

“And what is he trying to do?” said Point-Two, looking at Ubik.

“I’m not sure,” said Fig. “Each sigil corresponds to a world in this quadrant. By moving the sigil…”

“You don’t think he’s trying to move the actual planet, do you?”

“No,” said Fig. “No, that would be impossible, I think. He’s probably just trying to rearrange them to spell out a rude word.”

“Got it!” said Ubik, and the sigil suddenly swung around in an arc, dragging Ubik along with it.

The other sigils moved at the same time, creating a disorienting feeling that the whole chamber was moving.

Ubik was lifted into the air, refusing to let go of the sigil.

“Hahaha, what are you trying to do? Your monster is caged and now you vandalise our centrepiece? Isn’t that a little petty? Hahaha.”

Ubik went flying as he lost hold of his sigil, but grabbed hold of another and pulled it down as he fell, making the sigils turn in a new direction.

“Hahaha, look at him prance about. Hahaha.”

“Isn’t there some way to shut them up?” said Point-Two, rubbing the side of his head.

“You could probably do it, if you tried,” said Fig. “But it would probably kill you.”

“That bad?”

“You were flatlined for two seconds.”

Point-Two instinctively put his hand on his chest to check his heart was still beating. Once he was sure his pulse was normal, he looked around.

The large cube beside Point-Two no longer flickered with streaks of light. It was just a big black box.

Point-Two reached out a hand but pulled it back before it made contact. He had managed to trap the Fourth inside.

Or had he?

Why was Ubik fine with it?

He was the one behind the Fourth’s ousting of M1F.

He was also the one who wanted to let the Fourth do as he pleased. But now that Point-Two had stopped the Fourth, Ubik was still acting like things were going according to plan.

“He’s in there,” said M1F, their voice next to Point-Two’s ear. “You shut him up very nicely. Can you hear me in there, Betrayer? Is it nice and dark? We hope you are happy with your new home. It will be your resting place for the rest of eternity. Hahaha.”

“Why are you so jolly?” said Point-Two. “You still have to deal with the Seneca battlefleet when it gets here.”

“Yes, yes, you are absolutely correct. But now that the planet has had its systems fully restored, that won’t be very difficult.”

“I think you’re underestimating the Corps’ ability to deal with a setback,” said Fig. “They’ve seen what you can do. They won’t come at you in the same manner.”

“Won’t they just destroy the planet from long-range?” said Point-Two.

“No,” said Fig. “They’ll want to study any new technology that poses a serious threat. Create countermeasures for any future engagements. They will also try to acquire the tech, for future engagements of their own. And they will probably also use this opportunity to see if anyone tries to take advantage of their losses to mount a sneak attack. It’s happened before.”

“They’re going to use this as bait?” said Point-Two.

“If they follow normal protocol, yes,” said Fig.

“The Seneca Corps will not be prepared for what they find when they come — they have seen only a fraction of what we can do,” said M1F. “We will be the only influence in this quadrant. With all systems now online, there is no one who can compete with us. What we had strategised to happen over years is now possible in mere days. Our armies are already in place across the quadrant. The end of human domination is at hand.”

Laughter erupted around the chamber, bouncing off the walls so it sounded like several people laughing at once.

“Where is all this emotion coming from?” said Point-Two. “Aren’t robots meant to be more chill than this?”

“Emotions aren’t really that hard to reproduce,” said Ubik, hanging from a sigil above them, “it just takes some complex algorithms and then you throw in some random numbers for those unpredictable mood swings. But the real problem is knowing what to do with the emotion once you have it. Go too far, over-correct, too far the other way, pendulum effect, nothing correlates because of lag, and everything ends up being funny because that’s the only catchall emotion.”

“I think it’s got something to do with the new systems the Fourth activated,” said Fig. He looked over at Ubik. “Do you think his plan is to make robots emotionally unstable?”

“Why?” said Point-Two.

“I don’t know,” said Fig. “Maybe he wants to help them evolve?”

“By turning them into homicidal maniacs?” Even as he said it, he realised it was not only plausible, it was a very Ubik way to advance the cause of robotics.

But had Ubik really gone to all this trouble in an attempt to drive M1F insane?

“You think this is the true power of this planet?” said the Fourth, his voice coming from the cube, which was still completely dark and lifeless. “This is nothing.”

The walls of the core chamber began to flicker with light. Lines of white ran down to the floor in stripes a metre wide, forming a waterfall of light that hit the ground and kept going across the floor of the chamber, being sucked towards the cube at its centre.

“Still unwilling to accept your fate,” said M1F. The lights began flowing back in the other direction. “You wish to take back what was once yours but it no longer belongs to you. Do you really think we did not expect you to return? Do you think we spent these years sitting on your dead planet, making use of the dregs of your genius? We knew a day like this would come. We prepared.”

“You wasted your time,” said the Fourth.

The lights running along the floor and down the walls began to flow one way then the other. The struggle between the two looked fairly evenly matched.

“Should we do something?” said Point-Two.

“I don’t think it matters,” said Fig, looking over at Ubik hanging in the air, ignoring what was happening. “I’m not even sure who I want to win.”

“Just let it happen,” said Ubik. “Last time you intervened, you blew the entire system, which gave the planet a massive convulsion. Caused massive disruption up top. Who knows how many dead and injured.”

“Oh, now you care about loss of human life?” said Point-Two.

“What if we end up saving the rest of humanity by sacrificing the people who died here today?” said Ubik.

“Are you going to save the rest of humanity?” asked Fig.

A big grin broke out on Ubik’s face. “Of course not. How will people learn if I do everything for them? But I’m sure PT will do his best to save everyone. He’s got a bit of a hero complex. Always rushing in before you know how things are going to play out, aren’t you?”

“I prefer to think of it as a common decency complex,” said Point-Two.

“What do you think a hero is?” said Ubik, coming back down to the ground and jumping down. “And why there are so few of them?”

“You embarrass yourself with these pathetic efforts to stop me,” said the Fourth. The cube started to glow brighter. The walls around them began shaking.

“We haven’t even begun in our efforts.” The cube dimmed and the walls brightened now. Laughter filled the chamber once more.

“We should really be wearing safety helmets,” said Ubik. “To stop getting dusty hair.” He ran his hand through his hair and pulled his goggles down.

The walls dimmed and the cube grew unbearably bright. Laughter turned into a pitiful wail that faded into silence.

The cube was a solid block of white light. With a rush, it emptied into the chamber, lighting up the floor and walls. They were at the bottom of a perfectly spherical room with pockmarks in the walls where the organics had been implanted. Now, those small craters had grown iridescent bubble covers.

The cube was a black hole in the middle of a white landscape. Even the sigils were muted by the dazzling backdrop.

Point-Two sensed there had been a change. His feet weren’t touching the floor, for a start.

“The Fourth didn’t restart the planet’s systems before, not all of them,” said Fig. “But he has now.”

Ubik hadn’t been pushing to drive M1F mad, he had been working on the Fourth.

The Fourth had been trapped inside a prison in a wormhole. The Antecessors who put him there had probably muted his powers. Pulled his claws, defanged him.

And Ubik had found a way to bring him back to full strength.

It felt like an incredibly irresponsible thing to do, which only made it seem more likely to be true.

“Good job,” said Ubik. “Time for us to leave.”

“Didn’t you want to hijack the planet?” said Fig.

“Yeah, but not this planet. This one’s mainly water. And hardly any beaches. I think we should go to Jove. It’s super-luxurious, and PT has free accommodation.”

“And we’re leaving the Fourth here, are we?” asked Point-Two.

“No, he’s coming. We have an agreement. I get him back to his old self, he owes me a favour.”

“You think you still have the ability to control me?” said the Fourth, his voice sharp and hollow, but not sounding very agreeable.

“Yes,” said Ubik. He took out a black bone from inside his baggy Delgado t-shirt.

“You overestimate yourself.”

“Well, yeah,” said Ubik. “No point aiming low, is there?”

“That will have no longer have any effect on—”

Ubik tossed the bone at the cube, striking it with a loud bang. The white walls rushed back into the cube before the bone hit the floor.

“NO! Let me out!” screamed the Fourth from inside the cube.

“Sure,” said Ubik. He held up his small cube and the large cube went dark. Ubik’s cube flickered with light. He put it in his pocket.

“Ready to go to Jove?” Ubik leaned on the sigil next to his elbow. It was the one representing the planet Jove.

“Exactly how are we going to get from here to there?” said Point-Two.

Ubik pointed over his left shoulder with his thumb.

Point-Two and Fig had to shuffle to the right to see past him. The sigils had been moved around to form the sixty-fifth sigil.