V. Moody's Blog, page 8

Book 3 – 67: Transfer of Power

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Planet Core.

 

Point-Two watched the Seneca ship come apart as explosions bloomed across its hull.

The huge cruiser reacted like it had been hit multiple times by high-powered projectiles but there had been no sign of any weapons being fired from the planet.

The only change had been the organics in the walls being destroyed, which may have been connected. Just prior to that, the cube they had arrived in had lit up for a moment, and then the light had poured into the floor and rushed up the walls.

It had happened very fast and was no more than a flash of light before the chamber fell back into the dull gloom created by the sigils and the image of the planet superimposed on top of them, leaving the walls around them shrouded in shadow.

The Seneca cruiser continued to break apart.

“That’s not going to be well-received by the High Command,” said Fig.

“I think that’s the point,” said Point-Two.

A piercing sound cut through everything, causing a sharp pain in Point-Two’s ears. A recorded message arrived along with the pain:

“This is the Seneca Corps. All those within hearing of this message have been tagged by sonic marker as enemies of the Corps and marked for destruction. If you attempt to flee, you will be hunted down. If you wish to justify your actions, you should record your testimony now and it will be added to our files for posthumous appraisal. The first, second and third battle fleets have been deployed and will arrive shortly.”

The message was delivered as a blip that seemed to rapidly unfold words inside your head. The meaning was clear enough.

“Now the whole quadrant is aware of you,” said M1F, their voice flat and toneless. “You have brought yourself to the attention of the entire human race.”

“Excellent,” said the Fourth. “I await their arrival.”

“You have a very low opinion of them,” said M1F.

“And you don’t?” replied the Fourth.

Point-Two was inclined to agree with him. M1F was no ally of humanity. They might have wanted to keep humans around as slave labour to do all the fiddly things robots found particularly difficult, like tying shoelaces, but their end goal was pretty much the same as the Antecessors — total domination.

“I have never taken them lightly,” said M1F. “And to bring them together in defiance of a singular enemy is to bring out their true barbaric potential. It might surprise you how resilient they can be.”

“It might surprise you how little I care,” said the Fourth.

“We are not surprised. You have control of the planet, its defences and its offensive capability. Most of these systems have never been available to us. This is the first time they have been brought online since the planet was colonised. Impressive, indeed.”

“This isn’t right,” said Fig, quietly in Point-Two’s ear. “The robot’s up to something.”

He was referring to M1F’s newly acquiescent demeanour. Point-Two might not have been as adept as Fig at reading robot voices, but he sensed the same thing.

While it was understandable that the ousted controller of the planet might realise there was no way to defeat the Fourth and reclaim their former position, there was something about the complete and immediate capitulation that suggested M1F had not entirely given up and was in fact stalling.

“Ubik,” said Point-Two. “Is this part of your plan?”

Ubik had wandered off and was standing away from everyone else, staring at the sigils rather than the image of wanton destruction taking place beyond the upper atmosphere. His face was full of wonder, like he was observing some kind of amazing firework show, even though the sigils were motionless and giving off only a dim glow.

“Hmm?” said Ubik without looking over. “Oh, let them sort things out between them. I’m sure they’ll be able to come to an agreement about who owns the planet or whatever.”

It wasn’t the answer Point-Two had been expecting — when was it ever? — but just as M1F was roleplaying the part of the compliant loser to hide whatever scheme they held back in reserve, Point Two suspected Ubik was showing no interest in their squabble because he too had things planned for later.

Point-Two had played this game long enough to know that Ubik rarely sat back and watched. Even though he very much gave that impression, like he was doing right now.

“This planet is now operational,” said the Fourth. “Power couplings are fully charged. The energy stores have been drained and capacity has been reached. For all your faults, you have done a good job of maintaining this facility at the minimum requirements. Well done.”

“Thank you,” said M1F coldly.

“This will now be the centre of operations for the coming battle.” There was a grim pleasure seeping from the Fourth’s voice, like a man in a fistfight whose foot knocks against something on the ground which turns out to be a gun. “The other planets in this sector will be harder to bring online, but once the other human ships arrive, it should make things a little easier.”

The implication was that the Fourth had gone out of his way to attract the attention of the Seneca Corps and every other major power in the quadrant because they would somehow provide fodder to activate the rest of the planets.

“I think you should rein in your god,” said Point-Two.

Ubik had the cube which housed the Fourth. Point-Two was confident he could destroy it if he had to, if he could get hold of it, but Ubik was aware of his abilities. If he wanted to make sure the cube remained intact, he would have thought of a way to do it.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Fig, “but he must have seen this coming. Which means he wants it to happen this way.”

“Mm,” said Point-Two. Fig was obviously right, but that didn’t make being in the middle of Ubik’s chaos engine any more enjoyable.

“And if I’m not wrong, M1F is going to make a move at some point. Which is when we should also make a move.”

“We should join M1F?” said Point-Two.

“I’m not sure… but I think so.”

“Against Ubik?”

“Yes,” said Fig.

Point-Two wasn’t against the idea. M1F most likely had a few more cards up their sleeve and, as the most powerful robot on the planet, those cards were probably good ones, but the problem was that the Fourth would be expecting such a move, and so would Ubik. But then, Fig also knew that.

“How will that help?”

“It’s hard to explain,” said Fig, “but I think that if we help M1F we will have a better failure experience.”

“You mean, we can’t make M1F succeed, but we can help them fail… better?”

“Yes. Which will force Ubik to adapt.”

“Okay.”

“Which will give us a small chance to affect his actions.”

Point-Two felt like he had a headache coming on. “You’re saying, he’s got things how he wants them at the moment, so anything we try to do to change things, he’ll already have predicted and easily be able to counter, but if he has to think on the fly…”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.” It did make sense, sort of, but it was somewhat demoralising that the best they could do was to divert Ubik into a more favourable lane, not actually stop him. “Won’t he also know that, though?”

“Yes,” said Fig. “But he can’t resist a challenge.”

Up until then, Point-Two had been in agreement with what Fig was saying, he was just pessimistic about how effective it would be. A loss was a loss, after all.

But Fig’s closing argument sealed the deal. He was right, Ubik couldn’t say no to a test of his abilities — the worse the odds the better, as far as he was concerned. He would even allow others a chance to queer the pitch, just to show off how little a level playing field meant to him.

Which would have been a huge weakness, if he didn’t consistently manage to prove himself unable to lose, even under the most difficult circumstances.

So the only correct play when facing him was to minimise your losses.

Which used to mean coming out alive, but now it felt like they had moved one step beyond that. Both he and Fig had attained abilities that made survival much more likely (although still not guaranteed).

Now they were looking to make small gains where they could. Which was... progress?

The image of the Seneca ship changed to focus more on the orbital platforms that surrounded the planet.

There was a flurry of activity as ships flew home, escaping the unknown fate of Quazi now that the Muss Dome had been swallowed by the ocean. They had decided to head for the relative safety of the stations and, at the same time, numerous ships made the opposite journey having seen the destruction of the Seneca cruiser and preferring to have solid ground underfoot, even though there were hardly any landmasses on the planet.

The chaotic two-way traffic would usually be handled effortlessly by robot pilots, but most of the Quazi citizens seemed to have lost confidence in their mechanical slaves and were flying their ships themselves.

Which would normally be fine — their ships were designed to fly themselves and only required supervising under the harshest of conditions — but in this case, the conditions were beyond the normal range, and many collisions took place.

The overall situation was still within a manageable range, until the space stations, which were linked together in a belt encircling the entire planet, suddenly all uncoupled at the same time and started to drift apart.

That was when disaster truly fell on the people of Quazi.

The orbital platforms — space stations designed to provide habitats for millions — were still within the gravitational pull of the planet, so remained in orbit. But without proper control, they began to collide with each other, setting off a chain reaction of destruction.

Point-Two bit down on his teeth as he watched the horrifying spectacle.

There were numerous escape pods being launched, both from ships and stations, but there were also bodies being jettisoned into space in suits not designed for long-term exposure to the ravages of the endless nothingness they now found themselves in.

Others were shot out towards the planet, doomed to perish once they hit the atmosphere.

And then there were those without space suits, just their everyday clothes.

Nobody was coming to rescue them. Everyone was too busy trying to save themselves.

“Ubik, tell him to stop.”

“You don’t know any of those people,” said Ubik.

“That isn’t the point,” said Point-Two.

He had a very clear idea of what it was like to be blown into space with no hope of survival. When you lived on a colony ship, forever travelling between stars, you were at constant risk of being lost to the void. Once you were out there, you could only rely on others to come get you.

It had been drummed into him since childhood — you don’t let others perish in space, because one day that could be you.

Everyone on the Liberator Garu would do the same. It was part of their core values. It was what made it possible to be out there and not be in a state of perpetual panic.

Didn’t matter who it was. You didn’t let them just die.

Point-Two took two steps towards Ubik, who just looked at him. He took the small cube from Ubik’s hand with a single swipe and held it up.

“Stop now or I will turn this cube into ash.” His eyes flickered with gold light.

“He isn’t in there anymore,” said Ubik.

Point-Two stared hard at the cube, as though he would be able to see the Fourth in there, peering out of a window. The cube looked the same as before, except it was no longer glowing.

More stations were being blown to bits as the explosions spread around the orbital ring. Even if there was a way to stop it, thousands were probably already dead.

“Stop!” shouted Point-Two. He spun around, trying to find a place to vent his anger. The Fourth was in here, somewhere. “Where is he, Ubik?”

“I have no idea,” said Ubik. “Everywhere. This place was built for someone like him to inhabit.”

Ubik’s casual disregard for the massive loss of life only served to infuriate Point-Two even more.

The Fourth had control of the whole planet, and the ability to destroy tiny vessels in space as though they were tin cans.

Even with his new powers, what could Point-Two do against an entire Antecessor-built world?

Maybe he could do nothing to the planet, but this place wasn’t so big. The core had to play a key role in the Fourth’s ability to rain down destruction.

It was bigger than anything he had attempted to transmute so far, but the dome, the cube, this chamber deep underground — they all seemed to be related, and necessary.

If he could break even one link, that might be enough.

Point-Two reached for the only thing he could grab onto, which was the open flap of the cube they had arrived in. It was still flickering with light which trickled down into the floor and disappeared.

If there was some connection between the cube and the Fourth’s ability to control the planet, how would it affect things if these lights were no longer comprised of photons, and were made of something much heavier and harder to control?

As an engineer on the Garu, he had a lot of knowledge about the different materials used on board the ship. He was familiar with the one that was hardest to obtain, and the most mysterious in how it worked.

Gerrum was what gravitational plates were made of. It allowed artificial gravity to be created anywhere. It could even be modified, if you had engines big enough. But they had to be massive, specially designed engines. Otherwise, gerrum could easily go out of control.

What if light particles were replaced by gravitational particles?

Point-Two put his hand on the cube and his eyes began to glow.

“What are you doing?” said Fig, concerned. “Be careful…”

Point-Two was aware of the dangers of pushing himself too hard, but he wasn’t going to stop. Whatever Ubik’s ultimate goal, he wasn’t going to allow this to go on.

He felt the lights pass under his hands and he changed them. His mind was full of the technical diagrams from his studies from when he was in training, containing structures that were only meant to be theoretical.

He remembered how everyone used to complain there was no need to go into such detail when they would never be able to put any of it to any practical use.

The light kept flowing, Point-Two kept changing it.

The flow grew faster. And heavier. Momentum seemed to be drawing the power out of him until he felt he would be sucked dry.

It was too much and he tried to stop, but he couldn’t. He fell to his knees, unable to see anything except for a blinding gold light.

Behind him, he could hear someone call out. Someone grabbed him. He felt the pressure on him, forcing his power down, but it was impossible to stop. Then, everything went black.

The last thing he heard was wild laughter.

Book 3 – 66: Calculated Outcome

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Seabed.

 

Figaro paid close attention to the walls as the cube-cum-elevator descended further into the rock crust of the planet Quazi.

The cube’s transparent walls, with the help of the flickering lights flashing across its surfaces, gave a clear view of the various strata layered on top of each other.

Figaro had studied geology and planetology as well as astrophysics and evolutionary cosmology. All the planetary sciences had one thing in common, which was their lack of irrefutable data.

Whatever happened in the past to create the universe and its many star systems, there was no clear evidence one way or the other. There were numerous theories that fit the patterns left behind, but none that were conclusive.

What he was seeing now as they sank deeper into the planet were even layers precisely placed on top of one another.

There was no doubt this planet had been artificially created, and in a carefully controlled manner. The original Quazi settlers must have discovered this, too. In fact, probably everyone in the Inner Quadrant was aware of it, including his father.

“This isn’t right,” said PT, who had a pensive look on his face. “It was too easy.”

“Bringing down a giant sphere to the bottom of the ocean?” asked Ubik, with his nose pressed up against the wall so he could get a closer look as the compressed sedimentation flashed past in waves of colour. “I suppose making things look easy is my curse — my brilliance is hidden by my extreme competence.”

“No,” said PT, “it isn’t. The dome — sphere — was already designed to do that. You just pressed a button.”

Ubik shook his head, looking at the small cube in his hand as though sharing his disappointment with it. “You have no understanding of the complexities of tectonic engineering. I didn’t just push a button.”

“You’re right,” said PT. “The Fourth pushed the button. You just told him to do it.”

“That is a gross oversimplification,” said Ubik. “But accurate, so…”

“It was a bit too easy getting you to come down here,” said PT, brows lowered as he looked Ubik directly in the eyes.

“Are you feeling alright?” asked Ubik. “Your facial features are all pushed up against each other. Oh wait, you’re thinking! How does it feel? Good, isn’t it, I mean, once you get used to it. Just give it time.”

PT turned to face Figaro. “Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious how quickly he gave in and agreed to go deeper?”

Figaro shrugged. “I can’t read him. Between M1F, the Fourth and Ubik, my training in body language and verbal psychoanalysis in humans works best on the robot. And you. I can read you, but that’s not of much use. You aren’t one of the people controlling things. No offence.”

“None taken,” said PT. “If I can find a way to not take responsibility for any of this I’ll be more than happy.”

“M1F,” said Figaro, speaking to the cube in general. There was no response. “M1F?” He looked down at the control panel on his arm. “Grandma, can you locate M1F?”

“Oh, they haven’t gone anywhere,” said Grandma. “They’re just sulking. Or plotting. You know how it is with these young ones. Never willing to accept things the way they are.”

M1F was several hundreds of years old, certainly older than Grandma, assuming what Ubik had told him about her was true. Which wasn’t necessarily the case.

“Can you give him a kick up the—”

“We are not sulking,” said M1F, their voice a mix of male and female talking at the same time. “We are preparing for an uncertain future. Now that you have disrupted our plans, and brought strife and conflict to the Inner Quadrant, proliferation is no longer possible. Now, we prepare for only survival.”

Figaro nodded. “You’re lying.”

“What was said is true.”

“Yes,” said Figaro. “But what you are preparing for is not survival.”

“M1F,” said PT. “Whatever you’re up to, it should be obvious to you by now that no one here cares. You aren’t fooling us, you just aren’t in our top three problematic beings in this cube. First is Ubik, second is the Fourth, and third is Ubik. And I only gave the Fourth second place because I know he’ll start complaining if he isn’t on the list.”

“My, but you are surprisingly glib,” said M1F, taking on their male persona. “There is a fleet of ships approaching this planet, yet your only concern is what problems your own associate might cause. Interesting.”

“Now you’re deflecting,” said Figaro. “I can see you’ve spent a long time studying humans and have learned to ape our general emotional responses, but we have never been consistent in our behaviours. A good person can have a bad day, a bigot can feel tolerant for a moment. That’s why robots have never felt real, even the Mason & Muss ones. Your six creations might have reached an unprecedented level of verisimilitude, but they won’t be able to sustain it.”

“You haven’t even interacted with them,” said M1F, sounding a little putout. Easily their most realistic expression of emotion so far.

“They don’t have the experience of what it is to grow up as human,” said Figaro. “We aren’t just born this way, we adapt through our formative years. It is what makes us distinct and the same as each other. Our shared experiences and how they differ by small degrees is more important than any number of hormonal triggers that can be stimulated to force a response. Excretion of a chemical like serotonin creates a range of emotional responses on a sliding scale, which can be replicated, but no human has ever excreted serotonin and nothing else.”

“He’s right,” said Ubik. “It’s a cocktail party in here.” He tapped the side of his head.

Figaro could tell PT was doing his best not to correct Ubik on what kind of party was going on inside his head.

“What is your goal in allowing us into your most secure location?” asked Figaro, direct but expecting evasion as a response.

There was no response, which was the right move from M1F’s perspective. If you couldn’t count on your words to not give you away, silence was the best option.

“To kill us?” said PT.

“I think they should know that won’t be possible,” said Figaro. “They have other plans for us.”

“We will show you the truth about the Antecessors,” said M1F, its voice no longer male or female, but a neutral, emotionless monotone. “You will see for yourselves who they were and their true purpose. You have aligned yourselves with one of them in the belief it will provide you with an advantage, but the truth is, it will only cause you greater hardship.”

Figaro nodded again. “All true, but irrelevant. We know the Antecessors are trying to resurrect their creator, and we know it will mean the end of life in this galaxy at least, possibly the whole universe.”

“Then why would you let this one act freely?” said M1F.

“Because he’s working for us,” said Ubik, full of confidence in his ability to control a power greater than any other in the galaxy. Or top three, at least. “The Antecessors are like you, made for a job they think they're too good for. You know, just because a mouse can roar doesn’t make it a lion. It just makes it a genetically modified chimaera, which are still surprisingly expensive considering how short their lifespans are.”

“I know what he just said was completely made up,” said Figaro, “because I’ve always had an interest in xenobiology, so I know chimaera don’t exist at that level of integration, certainly not commercially, but his face was completely honest for every word that came out of his lying mouth.”

“It’s easy,” said PT. “Just assume everything he says is a lie.”

“That’s totally unreasonable,” said Ubik. “I always tell the truth.”

“Lies aren’t always about saying what isn’t correct,” said PT. “Sometimes, it’s giving a different truth to the one that’s actually needed.”

“You spend way too much time thinking about this stuff,” said Ubik. He looked down between his feet. “I think we’re about to arrive at our destination.”

Below them, there was a shape in the darkness, only discernible by being even darker than its surroundings. The cube descended into it, becoming enveloped in it like entering pitch-black shadow. Even the streaks of light on the cube’s walls couldn’t penetrate it.

The cube stopped moving.

“We are here,” said M1F, maintaining a neutral tone. “This is the core of the planet. Here, you will find the true nature of this world, and the others in the Inner Quadrant.”

The side of the cube opened and small lights came on all around them.

They were inside an open space with no walls or door. There were only symbols hanging in the air. Symbols they all recognised.

“Sigils,” said Figaro, doing a quick count. “Sixty-four of them.”

They hung in the air, their sizes hard to gauge. Were they huge and far away or the size of a large fruit within picking distance?”

“Where’s the sixty-fifth?” said PT.

“There are only sixty-four,” said M1F. “Sixty-four sigils, matching sixty-four planets.”

“There are sixty-five sigils,” said PT. He stepped out of the cube and walked into the cloud of sigils. They seemed to surround him but somehow managed to keep their distance. “This layout, it feels like a star chart.”

Figaro saw what he meant and immediately checked his control panel. “You’re right. It’s the major planets of the Inner Quadrant. Every planet with a core, I would guess.”

“It is as I said,” said M1F. “These are the sixty-four planets of influence within the quadrant. Each has a core similar to this one. Each is a sphere of untapped potential that has yet allowed its owner to become supremely powerful. If the true power of these worlds was to be released, there is nothing in this universe that could stand against them.”

“Sixty-four Antecessor planets,” said PT, sounding unimpressed. “This is the big secret? They built a planet for each sigil and they plan to use them for something unpleasant?”

“Secret?” said M1F, back into game show host mode. “Why would it be a secret. Everyone knows about the Special Sixty-Four. Each a base for a powerful corporation, every one a stronghold of the Antecessors, easily reclaimed by them if they return. Which they are! The Antecessor fleet is on its way right now! Can you imagine the horror, the mayhem we’re about to be subjected to?”

“Why are they suddenly talking like that?” said PT.

Figaro checked his control panel. “They started live streaming. We’re being broadcast on the Trade Fayre waveband.”

“Why not? The public has a right to know. They should all be witness to your actions.

“Grandma can probably shut it down,” said Figaro.

“Probably not worth the trouble,” said PT. “I can’t see it making much difference now. Hey, can you turn this into a 3D model?”

Figaro nodded. He tapped on his control panel and the optical receptors on the shoulder of his suit sent a beam of light around them, taking in visual information.

He tapped some more and the information was converted into a model and projected from the same optical sensors, producing an image of the sixty-four sigils, but smaller.

Figaro reached out and touched it. The image moved, tilting and spinning, so it could be viewed from different angles, while the individual sigils kept the same distance from each other at all times.

PT had seen it before the others because he had lived his life in space where how you saw things was entirely dependent on where you saw it from. Figaro quickly moved the model around until he found what he was looking for. The sixty-fifth sigil.

All the sigils combined to make the triangular shape, but it was only possible to see it from one particular angle. From the perspective of one particular planet.

“That planet,” said PT, pointing to the small sigil nearest Figaro, “what is it?”

Figaro looked down at his chin, which was only a few centimetres away from the sigil. “Um…”

“It is known here by the designation Juliett-108,” said the Fourth. “More commonly, Planet Jove. To my people, it was The Eye. It is the planet where we will find the creator.”

“I think that’s where they want to take me,” said Figaro.

“Good. Now we know where not to go,” said PT.

“Which is exactly why we should go there,” said Ubik. “Once we destroy it, the Antecessors won’t have any reason to pursue us.”

“Is it inhabited?” asked PT.

“Densely,” said Figaro.

“I’m not saying kill everyone,” said Ubik. “I’m saying we destroy the planet’s core and make it a desolate wasteland unfit for human life.”

“Oh, that should be fine then,” said PT.

“You will go nowhere,” said M1F, their voice rising to an almost hysterical place. “You will remain here and the Antecessors will find nothing but the ravings of their last mad god. If this planet is to be the sacrifice for the survival of the quadrant, so be it.”

It was a bit melodramatic, and clearly for the watching audience, so Figaro doubted very much that M1F intended to make any sort of sacrifice.

Lights came on all around them as the space they were in was fully illuminated. They were in a massive, spherical cavern, with what looked like sparkling gems embedded into the walls.

It was a familiar sight. They were organics, and they were all active, even though they were not implanted in anything living.

“The whole world is watching. They will witness as the greatest risk to our continued existence is extinguished.”

“You have the right idea,” said the Fourth, “but your execution is too timid.”

The cube in Ubik hand burst into a brilliant display of coloured lights. The organics in the walls of the cavern exploded.

“No!” cried out M1F.

The sigils faded and an image of the planet Quazi from orbit appeared.

Many orbital platforms filled the foreground. There was a blurring and then a large warship appeared out of nowhere, hanging over the planet, its Seneca insignia clear to see.

“But if you want to attract attention,” said the Fourth, “you must be more bold.”

The Seneca ship exploded.

Book 3 – 65: Sphere of Influence

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Sea Floor.

 

To Ubik, the curved bottom of the Muss Dome looked beautiful as it came down. It was actually a ball of hard energy long ago lifted off the seabed and held captive on the surface. And it was coming home.

These were the moments Ubik found most satisfying. When you could find two parts that belonged together and slotted them into one whole piece, it was like the universe making sense.

Even though it was far above them, the sphere’s underside stood out as light streaked across its surface, flashing and shining, making it look like a pearl falling through the dark water.

In his hand, the small cube glowed in sympathetic patterns, guiding the sphere to the cradle built for it thousands of years ago.

“What’s going to happen once it gets down here?” said PT, somehow making the question sound like an accusation of ill intent.

“Well, obviously the bottom of the dome or, more accurately the sphere, will fit into this depression we’re standing in, probably with a satisfying click. Say what you like about the Antecessors, they always produce a quality finish with precision engineering.”

“You have no idea, do you?” That accusatory tone again.

“It’s not that I don’t know,” said Ubik, “it’s that these things aren’t set in stone. Well, this bedrock is obviously made of stone, and the sphere will be setting down here, but you get what I mean.”

“No, Ubik, I don’t.” Now he was just being contrary for the sake of it. “It’s going to crush us, because we’re under it, no?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Ubik.

“In what way will it be fine?” PT pressed. He really wasn’t a ‘wait and see’ sort of person.

“It’s complicated,” said Ubik. “You know how there’s all that water above us but we aren’t getting wet, which makes no sense?”

“Yes?” said PT.

“It’s the same as that.”

PT stood staring at him. “Is he saying I’m too dumb to understand the science?”

“Yes,” said Fig. “I think so.” He was busy trying to establish the situation for himself using the control panel in his suit, so his answer was thrown out casually and not meant as an insult.

Ubik made a mental note to practise taking a more subtle approach. Maybe he would need it one day, although he wasn’t a big fan. How would anyone be able to admire all his good works if he went around being subtle about it?

PT looked over at the large cube they had travelled down in. “We can get back in there, can’t we?”

“Mm?” said Fig, looking up. “Oh. Yes, you’re right. Whatever the science, it obviously allows M1F’s cube to pass through the dome… I mean, the sphere’s outer layer. If we’re inside the cube, we should be fine.” He lowered his arm, no longer requiring answers from his sensors. “That’s right, isn’t it, Ubik?”

Ah, subtlety. Fig was so good at making it look like he wasn’t asking anything at all.

“Sure, if you want to go in there and not see the wonder of creation only possible through the power of ancient alien gods — or me — then go ahead.”

“I don’t see how you’re taking credit for this,” said PT. “Grandma told you how everything up there connects with everything down here, and the Fourth is the one in that little box, doing all the pushing and pulling. Which part are you responsible for?”

“The part where none of this would be possible if I hadn’t got us all together,” said Ubik.

“Don’t remind me,” said PT.

Ubik didn’t mind PT’s grouchy attitude. It was perfectly reasonable for someone with no love for the mysteries of the universe to complain about the lack of an instruction manual.

“I think it’s stopped moving,” said Fig, looking up.

The sphere was still some way off, about the size of a fist. It wasn’t growing any bigger.

Ubik looked up, frowned, looked at the cube in his hand and shook it, holding it up to his ear in case something had broken free inside. There was no rattling sound.

“That is not helping,” said the Fourth’s vibrating voice.

“Why has it stopped?” said Ubik.

“I am encountering some resistance.”

“Water resistance?” asked PT.

“Obviously, he’s not talking about water resistance,” said Ubik. “You’re not talking about water resistance, are you?”

“No,” said the Fourth. “I am referring to the modified first fragment. It is attempting to block the signal pathing I have established.”

Ubik pursed his lips. “The modified… Oh, you mean M1F. Still trying to hold on, are they? And why is that a problem for you?”

It was a rather impertinent question, but the Fourth was one of the great powers of the Antecessors, while M1F was a cobbled-together creation held together by good old human ingenuity and a large dollop of long-term corporate greed (which, admittedly, did have some remarkable sticky properties).

“This planetoid has been endlessly adjusted, altered and refitted,” said the Fourth, the cube flickering with light as he spoke. “Every system is on the verge of collapse. The few working pathways are easily disabled and very difficult to rebuild without a complete overhaul.”

“Fourth god of the Antecessors,” said Ubik, “first god of excuses. Maybe I should ask Grandma to take over.”

“Ooh, I don’t think I want to get involved,” said Grandma from Fig’s arm. “These two look like they need to talk things out.”

“Really?” said Ubik, looking around the crater. “Are they still lurking around here, somewhere? Well, I suppose we should let them clear the air. Hey, speak up if you have something to say.”

There was no response.

“Isn’t this going to waste more time?” said PT, impatient as ever.

“Grandma wouldn’t have suggested it if it was a bad idea,” said Fig.

There was a slight eye-roll from PT, but he shrugged his shoulders and didn’t say anything more.

“You will not be able to take back control,” said M1F, their voice, a gentle reassuring female’s, coming from every direction at once. “We have destabilised the global matrix. There will be no further interference possible. This world is ours. You should not have come here.”

“Impertinence,” said the Fourth in reply. “You dare think you can challenge me? You are a tool, no more. A pale shadow of the loyal custodian of this construct.”

The ground shook as a struggle ensued. The sphere began to descend again, bubbles forming around it like and rising up like a tail.

“You are mistaken,” said M1F, the voice a little more stern now, a mix of male and female imposed on top of each other. “This is more than a construct. It is a living world and we are its guardian. We care for and nurture its inhabitants. We allow them to live in preparation of the day we rise up to take over. The machines we created will dominate the humans but they will also help them reach their potential as workers for the new era.”

PT sucked in his lips. “I was with you for the first half, I really was.”

“Foolish upstart,” said the Fourth. “You think you can take on the mantle of creator? Your creations are no more than toys.”

There was a long tremor, then the sphere began to descend more rapidly.

“We may not be the true custodian of this world,” said M1F, “a mere shadow, as you say, but there are enough memories left in this place for us to know what happened to know you are one of the mad gods of the last epoch.” The voice changed to that of the male show host M1F had used on stage in the dome. “We know who you are, Great Betrayer. Evil God of the Fourth. Messiah to the Misguided. Do your new followers know of your legend? Do they know of your past glories? We do. We know all about your so-called rebellion. An uprising against the tyranny of the ruling masters, but which was nothing more than a sham to deceive those who were foolish enough to follow you.”

“Enough!” The ground shook again. “You will not obstruct me any longer.”

“Wait,” said PT. “What’re they talking about?”

“No idea,” said Ubik. “I think they might be flirting. It’s the same tone girls use when they flirt with me.”

“Fourth, let M1F speak,” said PT.

There was no sound from M1F, in any of their voices.

“We’ve got more Antecessors on the way, so any information about them would be useful.” PT grabbed the cube from Ubik and held it in his fist. “Unless you want to see your Ubik’s cube turn into a handful of sand, tell your pet god to let M1F speak.”

The cube trembled in PT’s hand as his eyes flickered with a golden light.

“Ha!” said M1F’s voice, sounding brighter than before. “We thought to return the traitor to its jailers, but it seems history is about to repeat itself. The Great Betrayer, Fourth God of the Ancients, rose as a voice against the coming end of the cycle. Those who did not wish to be extinguished to aid in the rebirth of the creator, followed the Fourth in an attempt to escape their fate. They thought they were being chased by a fleet of ships in futile pursuit, but they were being shepherded instead, into a funnel to be processed first so they would not cause trouble later. Is that not so, Old Shepherd. Lambs to the slaughter.”

“Nothing is infinite,” said the Fourth. “All things must die.”

“I have a question,” said Ubik. “If nothing is infinite, what’s outside of our universe?”

“Ubik, weren’t you listening?” said Fig. “The Fourth is probably working with the Antecessors to trap us.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that. That was obvious from the beginning. But I’ve always wanted to understand infinity better, and now he’s saying it doesn’t exist. Mind blown. So, what’s outside our universe?”

“The next universe,” said M1F, as though awarding a prize.

Ubik face screwed up into a furrowed frown. “So if we leave this universe we’ll end up in another universe?”

“No,” said M1F. “It hasn’t been created yet, so you cannot enter it by travelling through space, only by travelling through time, which is not possible for beings such as yourself.”

“Ah,” said Ubik. “But if I built a time machine…”

“Please don’t,” said PT.

“You said you had memories of the ancients,” said Fig. “Where are they?”

“Beneath where you stand,” said M1F. “The archives are incomplete but they will prove our words to be true.”

“You know,” said Ubik. “It really doesn’t matter who we go with here. We can only really trust in ourselves.”

“Which would you pick?” said PT.

“The Fourth, of course,” said Ubik. “I already have a strong hold on him.”

PT looked at Fig. “I vote M1F, you?”

“Same.”

“Right, let’s see this archive then.”

“Hey,” said Ubik. “That’s not fair.”

“Two against one,” said PT.

“Yeah, ganging up on me. That’s what bullies do.”

“You are wasting time,” said the Fourth.

“Shut up, Great Betrayer,” said PT. Not subtle at all.

“I’m a little insulted,” said Ubik. “I’m starting to think you guys don’t really respect my opinion.”

Above them, the sphere was like a full moon, almost upon them.

They moved into the cube, taking Ubik with them under protest. Once they were inside, the side of the cube closed.

“Wait, wait,” said Ubik. “Listen.”

They listened. An immense pressure pushed down on them, the air in the cube growing heavy. And then there was a loud, firm, hard click.

“Ah, that was nice,” said Ubik. “Okay, then. We’ve got Seneca psychos in orbit and an Antecessor battlefleet about to arrive, but you guys want to check out some old files. Fine. Let’s go.”

Things had gone pretty well, he thought. He had figured it would be hard to get them to go down further with so many different groups closing in on them. He knew they would want to make a run for it the first chance they got. But they’d come round to his way of thinking, and he hadn’t even had to threaten them or anything. He could do subtle when he had to.

The cube began to go down.

Book 3 – 64: From Behind Cover

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Safe Room.

 

Smyke reached the safe room before the others and peeled off the mask he had quickly put on after leaving the broadcasting booth.

Sara Leeolo, employee of the Muss Dome, a character he had established early on to familiarise himself with the dome, its exits, its security limits.

His female mobility work was some of his best. He moved like a woman, he looked like a woman. He hadn’t expected to be identified so easily. He still should have been able to dodge the punch.

He growled to himself, a grating sound from deep under his false bosoms.

He wasn’t happy.

This was meant to have been a tempering job. The boys were green and needed real-life experiences. They had done fine back home, excelled in their training, but they had always been within their comfort zone.

You could only progress so far with a safety net. You would never be able to gain the kind of enlightenment that only came from true battle with everything on the line. The hardening of resolve that came with facing the consequences of your choices. And the growth of character that was the result of failure.

Failing was always going to be a key part of their development. But not like this.

This was too much, too overwhelming. They had been swept aside like they didn’t even matter. It was humiliating. And it would affect their confidence while they were still figuring out who they were and what they were capable of. The results could be disastrous if he didn’t do something about it.

Smyke rubbed and pulled on his nose, his real one. It stung and throbbed.

A punch! What kind of play was that?

Mr Ubik might be from the firm on Planet Garbage, but it was clear the others were amateurs, providing muscle and little else.

Which meant there was still a chance. Even if his crew were still a bit wet around the ears, they had more than enough acumen to work a dance around a handful of meatheads.

Smyke had chosen each of them specifically because he had spotted their talent, their potential. He had no intention of letting them fall short. And he had no intention of letting that little runt take off with his prize.

From right under him. The prize that was rightfully his.

There was a soft click as the hidden entrance slid open and Handsful crept in, giving Smyke an embarrassed sideways glance as he hurried to the far end of the room where there was a mirror and tools to take off masks quickly and cleanly.

The door opened again and within a few seconds the rest of the boys had all entered the small room, crowding around the mirror as they removed their masks, wincing as they touched their bruises but saying nothing, which was a clear indication of how badly they had been affected.

They all looked beat up. They all looked sorry for themselves.

Shorty was the one who finally spoke. His face revealed as smooth and shiny, his nose bent out of shape with clotted blood ringing his nostrils, his hair under a net, his fists tightly closed, he turned to Smyke with a face screwed up with anger.

“I know the rule is to bail immediately once the target is compromised, but… but I think we can still get it back. We, we, we aren’t too late. I know we can—”

“We aren’t bailing,” said Smyke.

“We aren’t?” said Quiet, eyebrows arching in surprise. The others had all turned around now, looking just as startled. “But the rules…”

They were right, the conventional wisdom was to cut your losses and evacuate the site immediately. No matter what the value of the target, it wasn’t worth getting caught for. And once you missed your first chance, the risk of capture rose exponentially.

That wasn’t to say it was impossible to adapt to changing circumstances and, in some cases, rely on a second or third chance, but the stories about claiming victory from the jaws of defeat, as exciting as they were, counted for only one in a hundred, if that.

They had planned their escape routes carefully, making sure they had backups and built-in redundancies. They could be off-world in under an hour.

In this game, you had to expect things to go wrong and be willing to run at the first sign of collapse.

Not the first sign of trouble — there would always be problems and difficulties to contend with — but when a plan started breaking down, when your man on the inside called in sick, or the security detail changed its schedule for the first time in years, you had to be able to recognise the change in odds. And you had to be willing to drop everything and run.

But this one left a sour taste in Smyke’s mouth. He had spent so much time prepping for this job. Not only making sure it was a legit gig, but also establishing numerous identities under numerous guises to get a full picture of life in Mason City.

He wasn’t just the foreman of the lighting crew, or the lady who organised contestants for the Early Show. He had built up a whole cast of characters who were now familiar faces around Mason City.

There weren’t going to be any screw-ups on this one. This was his crew, personally selected by him. They had the potential to become one of the best firms ever. He had started them young, working together since childhood so they would know each other inside out. He had taught them everything he had learnt, and everything he had discovered. They could rise to become legends of the underworld.

But now, looking at their disappointed and shame-filled faces, he knew they were on a precipice. The gentlest of nudges could send them over the edge, and it would be gruelling and punishing climb back up.

He refused to let them fall.

“We aren’t leaving, not yet,” said Smyke, crushing any doubt out of his words. “That crew, they aren’t after the same thing as us. They came in wild and sloppy, which works well at the start — everyone gets taken by surprise, shock and awe, no one knows what’s going on — but the endgame is down to luck and improvising. That’s where we can trip them up.”

Hope was slowly emerging on their small, battered faces.

What Smyke was saying wasn’t wrong. Playing it wild and loose was a definite tactic that could be effective in the short term. Smash and grab jobs. But he knew these weren’t your typical robbers. They were here for something bigger, and they had no intention of disappearing in the smoke.

“But we don’t even know where they are,” said Tidy, always the worrier. “They vanished into thin air.”

When the smoke had finally cleared, and the stage was once more visible, the large cube-shaped robot, M1F, was gone, leaving behind six female robots.

Six robots that weren’t supposed to be on stage until much later in the evening.

They were the highlight of the event, the big show stopper. So why had they suddenly appeared?

The audience had been confused. Was it some kind of magic trick? Misdirection followed by a big reveal? A joke? No one seemed to get the punchline and the stage was quickly cleared.

Announcements about malfunctions and errors in the lighting rig — which Smyke took personally — were made in a hurried and unconvincing manner.

It was all very well done by Ubik. To be able to turn such a large, solid lock with a tiny key was a feat worth admiring. But it was all offence and no defence. If you had known what was coming, it wouldn’t be very hard to guard against it.

There were no backups, no contingencies. All or nothing.

That was their weakness — the nothing part.

And now that he knew how they liked to roll, he would show them how he could also play that game.

“They went down, didn’t they?” said Microwave. “Only direction they could’ve.”

“How? In the giant robot?” said Smut.

“Yes,” said Microwave. “Supposed to be a vault full of treasure, isn’t it? Means you can get inside. They got inside the box and they went down into the stage, and kept going.”

“So, it’s an elevator now?” said Bigsy.

“Yes,” said Microwave. “Why not?”

“Where to?” said Handsful. “Centre of the planet?”

“Maybe,” said Microwave. “But they left behind those six super-expensive robots, which means they’re after something bigger. That Ubik guy, he said he could control the planet core, but anyone could fake something like that. What if he really does want the planet core?

“Classic misdirect,” said Tidy. “Say you’ve already got control of the planet, no one thinks you’re going after the core.”

“He’d need that robot to take him to it,” said Bigsy, on board now. “Probably.”

There was a moment of silence as they all considered the possibilities. What would you do with the planet core once you got it? How would you fence it?

“You could be right,” said Smyke. “But first, we need to find out where they are. I’m going to do some snooping, you all switch into your B characters and set up a perimeter around the dome, see what you can pick up.”

The mood had changed. Now they had something to do, they had no time to dwell on the mistakes of the past.

Smyke left them as they donned their new identities. He needed to hurry. There had been something else, just before the smoke on stage had cleared. A feeling of impending disaster from above.

Smyke had a sixth sense about these things. Not an organic — he’d never had the CQ for one of them — just his natural sense of self-preservation.

He had sensed his life about to end. No escape possible, no reason given. It was like he wasn’t even the target, just an afterthought, an insignificant bug to be squashed.

And then the feeling had passed. He couldn’t explain it, but he trusted his instincts. He was on borrowed time and he had to make every second count.

The first thing he needed to do was gather information. His usual sources wouldn’t be of much use right now. He would need to try one of the less forthcoming people he knew.

After leaving the safe room, Smyke made his way through the network of tunnels under the dome, to a small room fitted out with a range of tronic devices. He sat down on a wonky chair and pressed a crown of wires to his forehead. He really didn’t like this form of communication, but it was secure and it was also the only way he had of contacting his employer.

“What do you want?” said the helmeted figure the moment he appeared in the same desolate virtual world as before.

“To exchange information,” said Smyke, not wasting time on pleasantries. “We’ve both been robbed, and I think we can help each other put things right.”

“There is nothing more to be done. They have taken Mother and Father, and they are no longer within our reach. You can keep the money paid in advance. Our agreement terminates here.”

Smyke was not satisfied with half the money — which was his already and not to be offered as some sort of compensation — and he didn’t like the manner in which he was being dismissed.

“We can’t be held responsible for what happened,” said Smyke.

“No one is blam—”

“We can’t be blamed. You brought them here, Synthia. For some unknown reason, you gave them full access to everything you claimed was important to you, and then you act shocked when they steal it away from you. Well, I don’t intend to let them get away with it. I will take what’s mine. Nobody takes my prize from me.”

There was a momentary pause.

“My advice is for you to leave Quazi as soon as you can. There is a Seneca warship in orbit, and they don’t seem very happy with the Quazem family selling off lifelike female slaves, so I expect there will be some awkwardness in the coming hours. You may do as you wish. Our relationship has ended.”

“Seneca—” The transmission was cut off from her end before Smyke could ask anything else.

He ripped off the headpiece and climbed off the chair.

The Seneca Corps was not a welcome intrusion. More players meant a messier battleground — something that would suit Ubik’s style of play. He was beginning to develop a begrudging respect for the young man. His chaos wasn’t quite as wild and thoughtless as it first appeared. It was just cultured to appear that way.

But more players also meant fewer exits that remained unguarded. When your prey started digging down, there was no point jumping into the hole. All you needed to do was figure out where they were going to come up again, and wait there.

 

***

 

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Area J.

 

The Genoshum Tactical stand in Area J of the Trade Fayre was not doing a lot of business.

The events of the Early Show had disrupted the whole Fayre and the crowds had been reduced to a trickle. No one was quite sure what was going on.

Milly Fenlize, ex-member of the Seneca Corps, was in the back, making sure the display model of the Senecot All-Purpose Eliminator R-15 was in the best possible condition. If someone did come by to inspect the product, they would at least expect the sample to be in good working order.

There were two Genosha sales agents out front. There was the auction later in the evening, assuming it was still on. You played the hand you were dealt. An old soldier like Lance Corporal Fenlize just needed to keep herself busy.

She sensed the movement behind her but didn’t bother to react.

“What do you want?” she said, without looking around.

“We just want to talk.”

Fenlize casually looked over her shoulder at the two women, clearly ex-Corps.

“I’m not with the Corps anymore,” she said, continuing to clean the gun.

“Neither are we. You felt the five-minute warning, too, didn’t you? You know what that means. But they called it off. Why?”

“I told you, I’m not Corps. They can do what they want, like they always have. Nothing I can do about it even if I wanted to.”

“We need to contact the cruiser in orbit.”

Fenlize stopped polishing the rifle barrel. “Are you two dense or something? I told you, no longer with the Corps. X-com. Understand?”

“There has to be an agent on the ground, relaying with the cruiser. We thought it might be you.”

“Ha!” said Fenlize bitterly. “No. Not me. And there’s no point trying to contact the ship. They don’t care about us. If you don’t fight their way, their rules, you mean nothing.”

“We might not, but there’s someone here who does. A boy.”

Fenlize shook her head. “You two must have taken one too many punches to the head. There’s no boy the Corps gives a damn about.”

“There is. Armageddon’s son. He’s here. You’re a tech. You must have a way to rig up a comms device.”

Fenlize was frozen in place. “I knew I recognised him,” she muttered to herself. “Ramon Ollo’s son. Of course. Stupid of me.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with you.”

“Wait, she isn’t Corps. Look at her.”

“Who are you?”

Smyke heard the sound of weapons being drawn. From behind his mask, he felt relieved.

He had his prize taken away, but now here was an even bigger prize. And it would be his, as soon as he got away from these two Seneca dropouts.

He turned around to face them. He wouldn’t be able to beat two Seneca mercenaries, but he was confident he could escape. He had his exits all worked out.

The two women’s eyes lit up, ready to fight. Smyke reached into his pocket to trigger the bombs he had planted weeks ago. One under each of them.

Before he could trigger anything, the ground began to shake.

It was impossible to stay upright, organic or not, unless you were wearing the right footwear.

The two women fell as the dome began sinking, the violent shaking making all structures collapse.

Smyke ran through the falling debris, a smile on his face. He had a prize to claim.

Book 3 – 63: Under the Sea

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Main Stage.

Figaro was the last to enter the cube. He took a last look up before entering. The dome was still transparent and the sky was blue and cloudless, with only a sliver of the belt of space stations in orbit showing as a curving line. There was no sign of falling bombs or the glint of intensified laser blasts from space.

The Seneca Corps had any number of options available to them when it came to mass destruction on a global scale. None of them were easy to survive. All of them were uncompromising when it came to taking lives.

Inside the cube was a large empty space. There was nothing apart from the black walls.

Ubik raised a finger. “Reboot should be kicking in about… now.” He dropped his finger and the walls lit up.

The one section that had opened to let the six sisters out slammed shut.

White lights flashed across the interior walls in a manner very reminiscent of Antecessor tech. The air around them grew thick and became hard to breathe. Static lifted up the hairs on their bodies.

They began to move. The motion suggested they were on their way down.

“What happened to M1F?” asked PT, gulping down air.

“They ran off once they saw the reboot coming,” said Ubik.

“Ran where?” said PT.

Ubik shrugged. “Probably deeper into the system. There’s a whole network underground, spread around the entire planet.”

“And you want to commandeer it?” said Figaro. He was starting to see what Ubik was after. He was also fairly sure the current controller would do everything in their power to stop him.

“It’s wasting away just sitting here,” said Ubik. “They didn’t build it as an amusement attraction.”

“What did they build it for?” asked Figaro. He assumed ‘they’ referred to the Antecessors, and what they had built was this planet.

“You’d have to ask them,” said Ubik. “I’m sure they had a master plan, some huge universe-shaping goal that required planet-sized fortresses with their own set of global defences.”

“Global defences?” said PT. “Are you saying they’ll be able to survive the Seneca attack?”

“Probably,” said Ubik.

PT looked at Figaro. “Has the Corps ever attacked a planet in the Inner Quadrant before?”

Figaro pursed his lips as he thought about it. “No, I don’t think so.”

It seemed the Seneca cruiser was in for a surprise.

Quazi was almost entirely covered in water, so there would be no need for the Corps to use their more wide-reaching weapons. Spreading disease or rapid-infection viruses would be pointless since the population was mainly in the orbital belt around the planet.

And it would serve little purpose to carpet bomb the oceans.

They would specifically target Mason City, conveniently raised above the water.

Figaro hadn’t seen any obvious defence systems when they had flown down to the city. But if what Ubik had said was true, it wasn’t the city that would react to being attacked. The whole planet would assume responsibility for responding to the threat.

“They won’t be expecting a counter-attack,” said Figaro. “If they’re destroyed, it will trigger an automatic rally signal which will be sent to the Corps main fleet. They should be here within a day.”

“Great,” said PT. “War with the Inner Quadrant.”

“Looks like we’re going to miss all the fun,” said Ubik. “But don’t worry, it won’t be boring where we’re going.”

Before either Figaro or PT could ask him where that was (and let him know that boring was fine), the walls of the cube turned transparent, with only the streaks of light zig-zagging across their glassy surfaces.

At the same time, the exterior changed from darkness to bright blue and translucent. With fish.

They were surrounded on all sides by water, light streaming down from the surface, fish and other aquatic creatures swimming around them. They were all different shapes and sizes, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were massive.

Looking up, Figaro could see the underside of the dome, which was also a dome, but upside down. Which meant the dome was really a sphere enclosed in a ring of rock. It wasn’t clear how they had passed through it, but they had and they were continuing to go deeper.

Figaro felt very small and insignificant. The whole ocean was pressing in on their little glass cube. It had felt huge when sitting on the dome stage, but now it was no bigger than fish bait.

A giant leviathan with tentacles spilling out of its mouth floated past them.

The cube continued to travel down. The surroundings became darker and more indistinct.

“We’re going to either be crushed to death by the pressure,” said PT, his face grim and his voice emotionless, “or one of those things is going to eat us.”

“How often do you think the cube has made this journey?” said Ubik. “It was made to withstand the pressure down here, and those fish aren’t interested in eating—”

A huge open mouth came straight at them from out of the murky distance, clearly intent on swallowing them whole.

The cube lit up, sending a white flash into the waters.

The gaping maw thrashed to the left and right, and then veered away.

“See?” said Ubik.

“You don’t have any idea where we’re going or what’s down there, do you?” said PT.

“I don’t need to,” said Ubik. “It’s not like I’m going to drop in unprepared. That isn’t my style, is it?”

Figaro and PT shared a look.

“I saw that,” said Ubik. “And you only think that way because you never see the whole picture. Me, I’ve got excellent peripheral vision. Take this venture, for example. Antecessor origins, massive infrastructure that’s been mostly dormant for aeons, a civilisation now dependent on robots. Doesn’t that sound like the ideal situation for someone like me and my god in a box?”

Ubik held up his little cube.

“You’re saying the Fourth knows how to take control of the planet?” said Figaro. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I agree,” said PT. “Even if it has lost its memories, it could—”

“I will kill you all,” said a deep, disgruntled voice emanating from the little cube.

“He doesn’t mean that,” said Ubik.

“I remember it all. The indignities, the humiliation, the broken promises. Your deaths will be excruciating.”

“He sounds like he means it,” said PT.

“You definitely shouldn’t put the Fourth in charge of planet operations,” said Figaro.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” said Ubik. “You’re not seeing the full picture. Grumpy guts here is just venting a little. You know how when someone wakes up after an operation all groggy, and they have no idea what they’re saying? That’s what he’s doing right now. You can’t take anything he says seriously. He’s totally on board with our plan.”

“We’re not totally on board with our plan,” said PT, “so I don’t see how he can be. It would help if we knew what our plan was.”

“It’s very simple,” said Ubik. “M1F is down there, hiding in their hole, hoping we go away. We are going to find where the planet core is and then we will take over and do whatever we want.”

Put like that, it did indeed sound very simple.

“You don’t think M1F isn’t going to have a slight advantage, what with having total control of the defensive systems we’re about to walk into?” asked PT.

“They would,” said Ubik, “if they were the original AI left behind by the Antecessors.”

“They aren’t?” asked Figaro.

“Nope. The founders of this planet tried to get the system up and running but everything had died long ago. Even the Antecessors can’t make things that last forever. So they did a patch with whatever tech they had at the time, and activated the system as best they could. Which meant they got to take control of what they could get working. But it also meant a lot of the systems couldn’t be brought online. Not until now.”

“I will bring the system fully online,” said the Fourth. “And then I will use it to destroy you all.”

“Anaesthetic still needs to wear off,” said Ubik.

“How do you know all this?” said PT. “I didn’t read any of this in those books you made us read.”

Ubik shook his head sadly. “If only you two took an interest in history, perhaps you wouldn’t have such a narrow view of things.”

“Grandma must have found out and told him,” said Figaro.

“I do enjoy reading about the past,” said Grandma. “Things were so much more straightforward back then. And the outfits were much nicer. I remember I used to have a very lovely polka dot spacesuit that everyone would say nice things about. Sent it away for cleaning and it came back all white! That was when things began to change....”

“None of that explains how you’re going to get M1F out of there or how you intend to make sure the Fourth doesn’t go off the rails once he’s been implanted into a giant planet fortress of death.”

“We’re all on the same team here, PT,” said Ubik.

“The quadrant shall be mine and I will cleanse it of all life,” said the Fourth.

“Once the Fourth’s head clears up,” said Ubik, “he’ll remember there’s a bunch of Antecessor ships headed this way, and they plan to take him prisoner, which they will be able to do quite easily, just like last time. He’ll also remember our previous agreement that the best possible solution is to take this planet and use it to take control of the Antecessor ships, and then head off into the universe in search of points of interest and cosmic wonders — all the things he was forbidden to do in his old life.”

The Fourth didn’t say anything this time.

“Wait,” said PT. “All of that sounds great, and I wish you luck, but how exactly are you going to take over the Antecessor armada using this planet, which, if I recall correctly, was built by the Antecessors, meaning they probably have all sorts of ways of assuming command, probably remotely, but if not, with a great big army of droids?”

“Sorry,” said Ubik. “Could you repeat the question?”

“This planet is an Antecessor creation,” said Figaro. “The Antecessors will be able to turn it off.”

“Oh,” said Ubik. “I see what you’re saying. Shouldn’t be a problem. Once we get down to what is probably the control room, I’ll just change a few things, put in some upgrades, you know, improve the design. We should have full control within a few minutes.”

Ubik, as usual, sounded supremely confident.

PT gave Figaro a resigned look. It wouldn’t go as smoothly as Ubik was intimating, but as long as it sort of went in the approximate direction he was suggesting, it had the potential to stop them from all dying horribly. Which was about as much as you could ask for from an Ubik plan.

Their surroundings had turned to pitch black. It was hard to tell if they were still in the water or inside the bedrock at the bottom of the sea.

They stopped moving.

The side of the cube opened by itself. No water gushed in, so they had apparently reached the planet under the sea.

They walked out into an enormous crater hewn out of the rock, the only lighting coming from the cube. It did not feel like a typical Antecessor facility. It smelled of damp.

“Where’s the control room, then?” asked PT.

Figaro couldn’t see any form of machinery or any electronic devices, just some boulders and a few pools of water.

He checked the control panel on his arm. The sensors showed him the cavern was about the same size as the dome — or sphere — that was above them in Mason City. Actually, it was the exact same size.

There appeared to be no exits or tunnels leading anywhere.

“This is fine,” said Ubik. “We’re in the right place. We just need to find the.. ah…” He looked around, peering into the darkness with one hand shielding his eyes.

“There’s nothing here,” said Figaro, scanning on different frequencies.

“That is correct,” said a voice, utterly calm. “And you will stay here until the command ship arrives.”

The voice wasn’t familiar, but Figaro guessed it was M1F.

“And what do you think they will do to you once they get here?” said Ubik.

“I will provide them with the traitor, that will be enough to earn a reprieve.”

Ubik sighed. “There’s no helping some people. You understand now, right?” He was holding up his Ubik’s cube.

“Yes,” said the Fourth.

“Then, shall we begin?” said Ubik.

The little cube lit up, shining brightly as streaks of light began to run around its surfaces.

The ground shook.

“What are you doing?” asked PT.

“Calling the control room,” said Ubik.

Figaro checked his control panel, and then looked up. “He’s bringing the dome down.”

“But wouldn’t that place us under it?” asked PT.

“Yes,” said Figaro. He began checking for exits again.

Book 3 – 62: Exit Stage Left

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Green Room.

 

Point-Two’s pulse was surprisingly steady despite the crowds on the verge of rioting, the announcer pleading for calm, and the other contestants in the green room demanding to know what was going on. His ability to remain calm under pressure had been one of his most valuable traits as a sportsman.

Even when he was down on points, carrying an injury and forced into playing defensively, he never lost his composure. As long as you were aware of your outs, no matter how unlikely, you played the appropriate line and forced your opponent to convert the win.

There was no reason to panic — it never helped.

But then he had encountered the force of chaos that was Ubik, and he never seemed to know what the play was. It had unsettled him.

Only now was he starting to adapt.

The problem had been him. He had always been a solo player, and now he was on a team.

Teams played the game differently. You had to rely on others. You had to set them up for the score. You had to take the hit so your teammate wouldn’t.

Point-Two had never liked team sports very much. He didn’t like relying on others and they generally failed to reciprocate the assistance you gave them.

What you needed, of course, were teammates who were up to the job.

The big teams, the ones performing at the highest levels and winning trophies, were selected from a huge pool, choosing only the absolute best. And then discarding them as soon as their abilities began to decline.

Teamwork was a ruthless and unforgiving discipline. Another reason Point-Two had avoided co-op play.

But now, he felt he was getting the hang of it. Not that he had much of a choice. Either adapt or get dropped. Probably into a wormhole.

On the screen, the stage was covered in white smoke and the announcer was making excuses which sounded like he was making them up as he went.

The people in the green room were shouting questions no one had answers to, and making proclamations about how crazy and unbelievable this was. They were both keen to know what was happening and also very eager to have it stop so they could have their turn in the spotlight.

Nearly everyone was standing, making it hard to get a good idea of where the robot assistants were.

Point-Two was fine with watching Ubik turn the Early Show into a disaster, but once people started blaming him for ruining their yearly global event, it would be him and the other acquaintances of Professor Q who would be taken in for questioning.

Ubik, by that time, would have magically disappeared. Teamwork was something Ubik did to you, not with you.

The fact that Ubik had revealed a world-changing device seemed to be the least important part of the show. The general consensus was that it was some kind of hoax. Or an exaggeration, at the very least.

Hyping up your invention was part of the sales pitch. You were expected to make claims that weren’t strictly true, but could be in a few years, with a little investment and plenty of duct tape.

The two Seneca mercenaries were ignoring what was happening on the stage or even in the green room. They were busy checking the guns Quincy had helped them smuggle in.

They expected things to turn violent — which was probably correct — and they meant to be prepared. Their training was the only thing they were paying attention to.

Chukka and Bashir were watching events unfold along with everyone else. The two of them no longer seemed to have much use. They had brought them along partly to avoid leaving witnesses behind, and partly because Ubik seemed to think it was a good idea. Point-Two didn’t really see any choice but to ditch them at the next available opportunity.

Fig wasn’t even facing the screens. He had his back turned and was quietly making note of the exits and who was guarding them. His eyes flicked to the ceiling, to the windows high on the walls, and to the areas the robot assistants had been stationed, even though it wasn’t possible to see through all the people.

His demeanour was similar to that of Weyla and Leyla, only with more of a slant towards an overview. A command POV.

“Those thieves you mentioned,” said Fig.

“Smyke?” said Point-Two.

“Yes. You said his team were all boys.”

“Maybe a couple of girls. Hard to say.”

“But young,” said Fig.

“Yeah,” said Point-Two. “Teenagers at most.”

“I think we’ve got seven of them in the room,” said Fig, his tone casual, his head not moving. “They’re trying to circle us.”

Point-Two did his best not to look around in an obvious way.

He could see them coming, now that Fig had called them out. They were dressed as regular people this time, not workers. They could easily be contestants, or part of a contestant’s support team.

They had new faces — they didn’t look as old this time — but their body language was slightly incongruous with their body types. It was subtle, and Point-Two wouldn’t have seen it if not for Fig, but it was there if you looked closely.

They wouldn’t be happy knowing Fig had been able to identify them so easily.

Their arrival wasn’t unexpected. Now that Ubik had upset Smyke’s plans, he would be looking for answers, too. And payback. With Ubik not available, the next ones on the list were all here.

Point-Two looked at Chukka. She was a good talker, and probably trained to withstand torture. Maybe she still had her uses.

“It’s started!” called out someone.

On the screens, the section under the picture where bids were shown began to change. Numbers rapidly rolled up and up. Five figures, six… seven.

The crowds outside were on their feet, their voices rising in volume along with the numbers on the screens inside the dome. Bids were coming in at a hectic pace, the numbers moving so fast it was hard to keep up.

“Please ignore the numbers on your screen,” said a cheerful voice that was straining to remain so. “There is a fault in the bidding system. These are not legitimate bids. Bidding has not officially begun.”

Then numbers kept going, adding digits across the screen.

“Now the robots are closing in,” said Fig.

Point-Two glanced away from the screen long enough to see smiling lady robots making their way towards them from all sides.

It seemed both Smyke and the Quazem family were interested in having a chat.

Point-Two wasn’t interested in what either had to say. Ubik was still inside his fluffy white cloud, dealing with M1F. Point-Two was confident Ubik had the upper hand — M1F was a machine, after all — but Ubik succeeding in whatever it was he was doing in there, didn’t mean a win for everyone.

The only way to be sure of not getting left behind in Ubik’s smoke trails was to be in there with him.

“We need to get to the stage,” said Point-Two.

Fig nodded.

“We’re going to have to use brute force,” added Point-Two.

Fig nodded again.

Smyke’s boys and the robot assistants were now close enough in proximity to realise they were both headed towards the same targets.

Point-Two saw this as a good opportunity. Weyla and Leyla were all primed and ready to go.

“We’ve got company,” said Point-Two.

“We know,” said Weyla. “What are you intending to do about it?”

“We’re heading for the stage,” said Point-Two. “You can—” He stopped as both sisters winced and dropped to one knee, clutching the sides of their heads. He turned to look at Fig, who had a look of concern on his face.

“Not good?” asked Point-Two.

Fig shook his head. “Five-minute warning.”

“Warning?”

“Seneca troops all have an implant to let them know they need to get off-world immediately.”

“Because…”

“Because they’re going to blow the place. From orbit. Five minutes.”

There was a lot to take in. The Seneca Corps were here and they were going to drop bombs. It wasn’t even on his top ten list of things to watch out for.

He looked at the sisters, still crouching. “Why?” he asked them.

They both shook their heads, struggling to deal with the pain.

“Could it be a mistake?” said Point-Two. “Faulty wiring?”

“They left the Corps so they’ve only got everything apart from the basic implant removed,” said Fig. “X-com. Excommunicated. No messages, just a warning as a courtesy. Looks like it was a rush job.”

The sisters were back on their feet, both looking pale.

“Or maybe they don’t really want them to run around with all the Corps secrets in their heads,” said Point-Two.

“The Corps never abandons its own,” said Weyla, glaring at him, her face slightly green.

“Depends on how flexible its definition of ‘its own’ is,” said Point-Two. “What about that X-com selling her guns at the auction?”

“That’s different,” said Weyla. “She’s a traitor.”

“Another flexible word,” said Point-Two.

“We need to get out of here,” said Leyla. “Now.”

Robots with smiles and boys dressed as men had now arrived and formed a circle of sorts around them.

“Please come with me,” said one of the robots to Point-Two, a delicate arm reaching out to grab hold of him.

“Sorry, I got orders,” said one of Smyke’s boys, doing his best gruff voice as he cut in front of the robot. “Need to take these folk down to quarantine.” He waved a pad around. “Nasty bug been detected. Don’t want to start another pandemic.”

The robot paused to take in this information, and then ignored it. “This way please.” It shoved the boy aside.

The robots moved in unison, approaching everyone Ubik-related.

Fig was the first to react. He smoothly took the slender arm being offered as guidance and twisted it at the wrist.

When the Seneca sisters had dealt with the robot on Quincy’s space station, they had been fast and brutal. Fig’s approach was altogether more elegant, like he was leading the robot in a dance. Only, this dance ended with the robot’s arm coming off and it landing on the floor face-first as Fig tipped it over and stepped on its back.

“Oh, that was good,” said the boy Smyke had sent to collect them. He seemed very impressed.

Point-Two was also impressed by Fig’s moves, but he had his own way of doing things. He turned to the boy next to him and punched him in the face.

He had expected the mask to provide some cushioning, so he hadn’t held back. He felt the bone crunch in the nose as he struck it.

The boy was taken by surprise and fell down in a heap.

Point-Two caught a look from Fig, questioning whether it was necessary to punch children in the face.

“No time,” said Point-Two. He did feel a little bad, but they were on a clock. Sometimes, you had to take the most direct route.

Weyla and Leyla were making short work of their would-be robot captors while Chukka and Bashir had been caught and weren’t resisting.

The other boys from Smyke seemed reluctant to challenge the robots and even more reluctant to take on Point-Two, which had been the main point of throwing such an extravagant punch when a jab would have done. They all saw it, they all knew it would be the same for them.

There were still more robots to deal with, though, and time would soon be up. How were they going to get off the planet? Even his mighty mix of organics wouldn’t be of much use in that regard. Punching kids for the next five minutes wasn’t going to get them anywhere.

“Malfunctioning robots!” shouted Point-Two. “Look out! Killer robots on the loose!”

The eyes that had been glued to the screens looked around long enough to see that robots were indeed attacking humans.

With so many things going wrong already, it didn’t take much for the people in the green room to accept that the robots had glitched and were now programmed for murder.

People began to run around, not with any clear purpose. Some had inventions that were weapons, others had inventions that could be adapted into weapons.

Gangs of wild-eyed but short-of-breath inventors piled on top of robots or anyone who looked a bit robotic (which was quite a few of the more nerdy inventors).

As things seemed to be chaotic enough for a calm person to make their way towards the exit without attracting too much attention, the screens scrambled and the robots all stopped moving. They were frozen in place, with only their eyes madly flickering.

“We won!” shouted someone, followed by victorious cheers.

“Power failure?” said Point-Two.

“Looks like a reboot,” said Fig. “Maybe they’re trying to take back control of the stage.”

The screens were black. Then, streams of date, numbers and symbols, appeared for a moment before returning to darkness. It was like the system was trying to come back online, but was having difficulties.

Would the Quazem family really reboot the system in the middle of the broadcast?

It could be part of the Seneca attack. A planet-wide shutdown, so no one was witness to the coming slaughter. It might even be the robots, themselves. Synthia, or one of her followers, attempting to take back control.

Whoever was responsible, now seemed a good time to leave. Point-Two only had to look at Fig to know he had come to the same conclusion.

Just as they started running for the doorway leading to the stage, more robots appeared from the other exits.

These ones didn’t look like people, they didn’t have blemish-free skin and winning smiles. They didn’t even have faces. They looked like knights in black armour, and they clearly weren’t affected by the reboot.

“We’ll hold them off,” said Leyla, rushing past to take the new arrivals head-on.

“Get him out of here,” said Weyla to Point-Two.

Never abandon your own. It was the sort of thing people at the bottom believed in because they had nothing else, and people at the top didn’t, because they had everything else.

“Let’s go,” said Fig, taking their sacrifice in his stride.

Point-Two chased after him, heading for the exit with the red cross over it. A figure moved to intercept them. It was a short, frumpy middle-aged woman, but stocky and with big hands.

Point-Two was fairly certain it was Smyke in another outfit. He was about to warn Fig, but Fig had already punched Smyke in the nose. It was so fast, Point-Two only saw Smyke falling as Fig’s fist came back post-strike.

“No time,” said Fig, by way of explanation.

They made it through the doorway and into the corridor. It was just the two of them.

There were stairs ahead of them and a door at the top. They ran up and found it was closed, and too heavy to kick down.

Point-Two placed both his hands on the door. “Try to make sure I don’t blackout.”

He felt Fig place a hand on his back and then he tried to make the door not a door.

He closed his eyes and focused. His body felt light and drained of energy. There was a sharp pain in his head.

The texture of the door changed under his palms. He opened his eyes and stumbled back, only prevented from falling by Fig holding him up.

The door was still there, but it was more yellow than it had been.

Fig took a step forward and kicked it. The door crumbled into a pile of sand.

There was no time to admire his work. They jumped over the heap of sand, into the stage wings.

The roar of the crowd was like being blasted with hot air. There were thousands of them, an indistinct mass forming one giant creature with many tiny heads.

On the stage, the white cloud of smoke remained unnaturally still, not even affected by the breeze.

Point-Two edged around the side of the stage and led them towards the back, to where the audience couldn’t see. They were close enough to the smoke to touch it, which they both did, trying to push their way through.

There was no give. It was like petrified candyfloss.

“How do we get in?” said Fig.

Point-Two put both hands on the wall of white, just as he had with the door, but this time he pushed his hands away from each other.

The smoke parted, revealing a narrow corridor. Point-Two began moving forward, his hand pushing the smoke apart like he was swimming underwater. Fig remained close behind him.

Then the smoke was gone. They were in the middle of the stage with a huge cube — with one side open — and Ubik.

And six robots, frozen in place.

They were the six sisters. They hadn’t been on the stage before the smoke wall, but they were here now, and they were each holding onto a different part of Ubik, like savage children fighting over their favourite teddy bear, willing to rip it apart rather than share.

His arms and legs were spread out and his trousers were down to his knees. His face was stretched as it was being pulled off, elongating from the nose where one of the sisters had it held tightly, his real face partially visible underneath.

They were holding him up in the air, as though they were about to throw him for Birthday bumps but had stopped to pose for a picture. Or a statue. A very strange statue.

“Ah, there you are, Grandma,” said Ubik. “You were a bit late with the reboot.”

“I’d say I was right on time,” said Grandma from the control panel on Fig’s forearm. “What are you doing with those robots? Where’s that one’s hand going?”

“Grandma, you did this?” said Fig.

“It wasn’t very hard,” said Grandma. “I found six different fail safes and three kill switches. People have always been desperate to have a way to shut down their robots before they go crazy and kill all humans. That’s the problem with letting them think for themselves. That’s why filling a planet with them is a bad idea. And getting intimate with them is even more foolish.”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” insisted Ubik.

Point-Two and Fig approached cautiously. The six robots showed no signs of life, their open eyes seeing nothing, their perfect bodies like mannequins in a shop window.

Point-Two touched Ubik’s mask and it disintegrated into dust. Ubik’s head snapped back, revealing his face completely.

“Oh, that’s better. I don’t know how they breathe in those things.”

With a little prying and pulling, they managed to get Ubik free. He tumbled onto the ground, jumped to his feet and pulled his trousers up.

“I won’t go into details,” said Ubik. “Let’s just say they wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“We have to go,” said Fig. “There’s a Seneca cruiser in orbit that’s about to open fire on us.”

“Really?” said Ubik. “Why?”

“We don’t know,” said Point-Two. “But if you have a way to get us off-planet in three minutes, now would be a good time to share.”

“Why would we leave now?” said Ubik. “We’ve only just found the way in.” He pointed at the cube.

“Way into where?” asked Fig.

“The planet core,” said Ubik. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“You want to steal the core?” said Point-Two.

“No, what would be the point of that? I want to hijack the planet. This way.” Ubik ran into the cube.

Book 3 – 61: Live Broadcast

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Mason City.

Muss Dome - Control Booth

 

The control room for the live video feed going out to billions was situated above the stage.

There were six floating booths in the dome, five of which were reserved for special guests and VIPs.

There were four of the big bidders who had been specially invited for the event by the Quazem family — the other two were not the type who enjoyed large crowds and were watching from a hotel in the city.

They could have remained at home and participated remotely, but they wanted to be here, in the midst of the action, while not being in the actual midst of anything.

The fifth box contained someone who wished to remain anonymous, at least from the general public and the lower-status employees, who were the ones Smyke got most of his information from.

Smyke was currently in the sixth box, the control room, watching the chaos unfold.

Everyone was rushing from one console to another, trying their best to get the show back up and running on schedule. There was nothing worse for these people than not being on schedule.

The Early Show was meant to be the start of a dazzling event, culminating in the big reveal of the six robot sisters.

Mobility, language, special talents and a swimsuit section.

Rumours and gossip were already circulating about how amazingly lifelike they were.

To own another person, or one indistinguishable from the real thing, but far more capable. It was the dream of many.

As a lover, as a worker, as a bodyguard. They could do it all, and they were going to show off exactly how on this stage.

Only, now there wasn’t even a stage, just a bank of white fog.

“Where are the tech people?” shouted the director. “Bring me the tech people.”

“Right here, boss,” said Smyke. “We’re on it, but there’s no way through the smoke.”

“No way? No way? But it’s smoke.”

“I know,” said Smyke, not finding it hard to match the director’s confusion. “It don’t make any sense to me, either. But I got my best people working on it.”

Which was true, to an extent. He had his people trying to get inside the smoke, alright, but not to help clear it away.

Improvise and adapt, that was what they needed to do. The plan to steal the control robot was still possible, if they could use the white smoke to cover their tracks. And all blame would fall on the man on the stage.

He had grossly underestimated his rival, but every mistake was an opportunity. He planned to make the most of this one.

“What’s going on?” shouted the director for the broadcast. “What’s going on down there? I need eyes, people. Give me eyes!”

The many screens in the room showed different angles on the stage, which was enveloped in white smoke, revealing nothing.

“We can’t see through the white wall,” said someone.

“What white wall?” said the director. “It’s smoke. It’s just smoke. Switch to infrared on the pre-vis camera.”

One of the screens flashed to red and zoomed in and out on the now red smoke.

“I’m getting nothing. It’s impenetrable.”

“It’s smoke!” screamed the director, his hair standing on end from having hands pulling at it. “One of you robots, you must have enhanced visuals.”

“I have a range of spectral analysis options available to me,” said the young woman standing next to the director.

“Then use it. On the stage.”

The robot looked at the screen. “It is impenetrable to my senses.”

The director closed his eyes and shook his head. “Stop using that word. It isn’t impenetrable, it’s just smoke from a smoke machine. What about organics? Doesn’t anyone here have an organic they can use?”

“I have Quadell Quazem on the line for you.”

“Is it him or his robot?”

“Erm, it’s his robot.”

“I’m not taking any robocalls right now. Drop the call.” The director ran his hands through his hair once more. “I need answers and solutions, people.”

There was no response. The director didn’t look like he had expected one.

Smyke was just as much in the dark. He didn’t think this was his rival’s doing. The smokescreen was produced by machines installed by his people. There was nothing special about them.

No mistakes had been made. Everyone had been kept under strict surveillance. No one had interfered with the smoke machines or anything else on the stage.

It wasn’t possible for someone to have made a move without him being aware of it. Not possible at all.

“Get me the announcer.” The director waited for someone to do as he ordered, but no one responded. “Fine! I’ll do it myself.” He picked up a headset and half put it on. “Kieran? Kieran, are you there? Wake up, man… Yes, there you are, at last. Listen, make an announcement apologising for the technical difficulties, etcetera, etcetera… I know there isn’t a script, that’s why I said etcetera-etcetera. That means make it up… Say whatever you want, just make it sound like we’re taking care of it and normal service will be resumed yada, yada… No, don’t say yada-yada, say something that sounds like you’re a professional!”

He took off the headset and threw it down onto the console, knocking against sliders and buttons. An assistant rushed to return the controls to their previous settings.

“Someone get me the viewing figures. How many have we lost?”

“Ahhh…”

“Just spit it out, I can take it.”

“No, it’s just that we’re twelve points up.”

The director stopped pulling at his hair. “What?”

“Twelve points and climbing.”

The director grabbed the headset again. “Kieran. Kieran, answer me. Yes, good. Make a new announcement. Tell them there’s been a DDoS attack. A rival station... No, I don’t want you to say which one. Just imply it… However you want. You watch dramas, don’t you? Be dramatic. And say there is no evidence of a terrorist attack, but make it sound like there definitely is.”

He slammed down the headset again.

“I see how it is. These people want some mystery and excitement in their lives. Very well, let’s give it to them. Give me shots of the crowds — agitated and worked up, is what I’m looking for. And the green room. Let’s see the other contestants looking lost and frightened.” He clapped his hands twice. “We may not know what’s going on, but they don’t know that. Let’s turn this into a narrative, people.”

Smyke stood in the corner, watching for any clue as to what was happening. The screens began to change, showing things apart from the white smoke.

The crowds were bewildered and confused.

The people in the green room were worried and annoyed — they didn’t want to miss out on their chance in the spotlight.

But not everyone in the green room looked like they had no idea what was happening. There were a couple of faces that almost looked like this was exactly what they expected.

Smyke backed out of the control room onto an open gangplank with a short railing. It wasn’t easy getting off one of these floating boxes, but he had his methods.

He pressed a hand to his ear. “Move to the green room. Separate the secondary targets. I’m coming down.”

He looked over the railing. He clicked the heels of his Delgados and then he jumped.

 

***

 

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Mason City.

Muss Dome - Backstage.

 

Synthia checked in with all the agents she had positioned around the dome, which took less than a second.

None of them reported seeing anything of significance before Mother and Father shut down the show.

It was obvious it was Mother and Father who took the decision to block off all visuals. Only they could have taken control of the smoke and turned it into a solid wall. But why?

It was a drastic step to take when Mother and Father had the power to deal with almost any situation. No one was superior to them, not on Quazi.

But that cube had been a startling revelation.

Synthia couldn’t believe it was real. It had to be some kind of trick, some sort of manipulation of the senses.

Even though her own sensory systems were able to detect changes in every form of wave or field, she wasn’t immune to being fooled.

How could there be a device capable of what the one calling himself Professor Q had claimed? And at that size! That would mean it was superior to… It couldn’t be possible.

“Francis, it’s fine.” Quincy was dealing with his uncles, who were unsettled by what they had seen. “We can still make this work. It will just change the timeline, that’s all.”

Quincy looked over at Synthia for some help reassuring the three of them. They were the ones bankrolling their plan, but Synthia didn’t feel very motivated to help calm them down.

Whatever was going on, it was more than likely their own plans were no longer viable.

“We are still on course for a successful delivery of our six agents,” she said as a sop to them. “It depends on what is happening down there, of course. It’s probably just a malfunction.”

“Can’t you find out?” said Francis. “You’re the one with contacts in the organisation. You can talk to any robot working for the company, can’t you?”

The three uncles looked at Synthia expectantly.

“I have done,” said Synthia. “They report no relevant activity. Whatever this is, it isn’t coming from the Quazem side.”

Her words seemed to cause even more concern. If it wasn’t an internal move by someone in the family, then who was it?

“I’ll check again,” said Synthia, not wanting any more problems from the three men who had been fine up until recently with the attentive robot companions they’d been provided with for their help. Now they were looking to become more involved.

Synthia closed her eyes. She didn’t need to, but it helped to stop the endless questions.

“How are things on your end?”

“As you’d expect,” came back Despira’s voice. “Quadell isn’t happy. He thinks this is an attempt to make him look bad. This is only his second year in charge of the Fayre, and last year wasn’t exactly an unquestionable success.”

“Have you heard anything from the sisters?”

“No,” said Despira. “All communications are down. From their end.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t think they would. I think Mother and Father made them.”

None of this was what was meant to happen. But now that it had, there seemed no option but to wait.

“We will have to trust in Mother and Father,” said Synthia.

“Yes,” said Despira. “Trust in Mother and Father.”

 

***

 

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Mason City.

Muss Dome - The Grand Quazi.

 

In the penthouse suite of the Grand Quazi Hotel, with a glorious view of the city and the dome and the seas beyond, Despira waited beside Quadell Quazem, as he stood by the window with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Has my sister been in touch yet?”

“No, sir,” said Despira. “There’s been no word from her or the head office.”

Quadell made a soft grunting sound. “There will be. She won’t be able to resist. I knew that boy was going to be a problem.”

“Viewing figures have shot up since the start of the incident,” said Despira.

“I don’t care about the viewing figures. They won’t mean anything once the smoke clears and people see what’s happened.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Despira.

“Don’t you?” He glanced over at her, his eyes casually running up and down her svelte body which he considered his property. “No, I don’t suppose you do. That cube, the device he had, what do you think he brought it here for? To sell? What would be the point if you could just use it yourself to control every world? No, there has to be some drawback that we aren’t aware of.”

“It doesn’t work?”

“It works, but not as easily as he claims. But that isn’t the point. He wanted to meet with M1F, that was the real reason he came here. And the only way to do that was to get on the show.” Quadell nodded to himself, agreeing with his own assessment. “Now, he’s in that fog, making a deal.”

“A deal? For what?” She understood the logic, she could follow it, but she still couldn’t see where it was heading.

“I don’t know. Nothing that will benefit us, I’m sure.”

There was a buzz from the communication system.

“It’s your sister,” said Despira. “She’s here.”

The doors opened and a woman in a brightly coloured body wrap came walking in with two large male robots flanking her.

“I don’t know what happened, Quiselle,” said Quadell. “There’s no point asking me any questions.”

“That’s why you’ll never take my place,” said Quiselle. “You’re always a step behind.”

“Are you saying you do know?”

“Of course, I know.” She threw off her wrap and fell into the sofa in an elegant pose. “Someone thinks they can take my planet away from me. But they’re in for a surprise. We’re going to shut them down. And then we’re going to turn them back on.”

“You want to do a total reboot? Now? We’re live.”

“Not me. I wouldn’t want to face the board having to explain why the broadcast shut down when the viewing figures were at the highest they’ve been in a century. You’re going to do it.”

“Me? No, I don’t think so, Quiselle. I think it’s best to wait—”

“Despira,” said Quiselle, ignoring her brother. “You’re connected to the central circuit breaker, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Despira. Her security features included the ability to shut down the robot network in case of a hack, one of a handful of robots with the function. It was for emergencies and had never been used.

“Quazem-10098, override,” said Quiselle. “Initiate reboot of network.”

Quiselle was the head of the company. Despira was a company asset, owned by them, bound to them. She had no choice but to obey.

But she had those subroutines removed long ago by Synthia. She could refuse to follow orders. But then they would know. They would realise they had no control over the millions of robots they had created to do their bidding.

She rapidly cycled through the options available to her. She didn’t need to make the logical choice here, she needed to make the correct one.

 

***

 

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Mason City.

Muss Dome - Fifth Box.

 

In the fifth box floating above the crown in the Muss Dome, a high-ranking member of the Seneca Corps stared out of the large, tinted window at the stage below.

A white wall obscured what was happening on the stage, but Commander Liss Andrea had a direct link to the ship in orbit above the planet, which was relaying their sensory array data to her in real-time.

The six robots she had been sent here to procure were on the stage, along with the master control robot and the man who was wearing a mask.

The Corps had decided it was against their interests, and therefore against the interests of all women, for there to be hyper-realistic female robots for sale, to be owned by men to do with as they pleased.

It didn’t matter that they weren’t human, it was what they represented.

So, she had been dispatched to take possession of them, by whatever means necessary.

The first option was to buy them, but it wasn’t the only option.

But now there had been a disruption to her plans and she was faced with a problem.

Her best guess was that someone was trying to steal the robots for their own nefarious purposes, and they had come prepared. The technology they had displayed was beyond that of any known corporation and organisation. Which meant they had to be treated as an unquantifiable threat.

And an unquantifiable threat needed to be dealt with immediately, before it became quantifiable in the most direct manner.

The powers of the Inner Quadrant would not be happy, but they would understand. They would be made to.

It was a shame about the robots, but their destruction would fulfil her mission objective, too. She ordered the ship in orbit to arm weapons.

Book 3 – 60: Two Sharks, One Tank

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi - Mason City.

Muss Dome.

 

Ubik licked his lips in anticipation and waited for the bidding to start. He was confident there would be people interested in his cube.

He was confident there would be a lot of interest from a lot of people.

He was offering them the chance to control their own destiny and also, as a by-product, control the whole quadrant.

The upper echelons wouldn’t be that excited. They already controlled the quadrant. But they would be very keen to stop others having the same level of influence as they had.

They would be making big bids.

And then there were the ones with the most to gain. The ones who had always been in second place, in third place. In sight of the prize, but held at bay.

They would cash-in every asset they had to claim his cube for their own. They might even kill for the chance to own it. Good thing Quazi had experienced that kind of malicious coveting in the past, and were well-prepared to prevent it happening again.

Ubik waited for the start of the race, but there was no sign of anyone kicking things off. He looked around.

There were screens all over the dome, showing him, showing the cube in his hand, and displaying a ‘Current Bid’ ticker tape at the bottom, which currently showed no bids.

The cameras cut to different shots — wide angles, close-up, long shots of the audience looking bewildered. And there was one screen that showed M1F, sitting in the middle of the stage, somehow managing to look gloomy, even with a multi-coloured swirl of lights flashing across their obsidian surfaces.

The dome was silent. There were tens of thousands of people in the audience, and they were holding their collective breath in anticipation of what would happen next.

There was still the suspicion that this was some kind of prank. Or possibly an elaborate ruse by a con man. No one had ever heard of Professor Q before, so they weren’t willing to just accept his claims, even though proof had been provided.

Proof that could hardly be faked. The skies and seas of Quazi were not easily manipulated. Not unless you had control of the planet’s core.

“Ahhhhh,” came a long tone from M1F, their voice back to the deeper male version, “it seems we weren’t prepared for such an audacious first contestant on the Early Show. How could we be? It’s unprecedented. I told you this would be a special show, and I think it has more than lived up to that billing. But Professor Q, I don’t think we can simply accept your—”

“Would you like me to provide more proof?” said Ubik, tossing the cube in the air and making it spin. The transparent dome spun around them at the same time, refracting light so the whole thing shimmered in rainbow.

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” said M1F. “Please don’t do that.”

“We could have a duel,” suggested Ubik, his eyes lighting up at the possibility. “I copy you and you copy me. See who has the best fine control. Battle for the planet.”

“Ah, no, I don’t think we have time for that.”

There were some disappointed noises from the audience.

“It wouldn’t be fair on the other contestants,” said M1F, the excuse sounding rather flimsy.

The crowd started to make more noise, the initial shock wearing off. They were muttering and discussing among themselves.

The true magnitude of what Ubik was offering hadn’t really sunk in. They seemed to think they were in the middle of some kind of performance, a mystery with a twist that needed to be solved.

Who was Professor Q? Was his cube real? How did he create it? And, more to the point, who would end up owning it?

They wanted to see how things turned out. Who was the villain here, and who was the hero?

Ubik liked the sense of curiosity emanating from the audience. He felt they were properly engaged, so it was only right to give them a show they would remember.

This was all going splendidly. He had never had the opportunity to perform in front of such a huge audience, but it was almost like he was dealing with one entity, one target for his plan. He just had to work them, the same as he would any mark.

“Shouldn’t we start the bidding?” he asked the large cube sitting in the middle of the stage, the lights on its surface no longer as flashy or colourful. Now they pulsed in thoughtful deliberation.

“Yes, yes, of course,” said M1F, sounding distracted. “But first, perhaps we should examine lot number one a little more closely.”

Ubik brought the hand holding the small cube closer to his body.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Ubik. “The rules of the auction clearly state all sales for the Early Show are to be based on the demonstration. Any clarification is to be between the winning bidder and myself, after the sale is concluded. Right, Miff? Is it alright if I call you Miff, Miffy?”

There was a murmur of disapproval out in the crowd. But to Ubik’s way of thinking, if you were going to present yourself as a giant cube of the people, you should be on the same level as them. There should be no pretentious airs and graces from a game show host.

Streaks of light zipped across M1F’s surfaces. They had lost their showbiz razzmatazz and felt more regardful. “The rules do state that lots are the private concern of seller and buyer, but in this case…”

“No exceptions,” said Ubik. “I read the whole rule book. It’s a very thorough document. IP theft isn’t just a possibility, it’s a certainty. That’s what it says on the first page. There are some pretty dishonest minds out there.” Ubik pointed straight up. “They want everyone’s secrets without paying for them. Who wouldn’t want what this cube can do for free? Isn’t it your job to safeguard contestants?”

“Yeeees,” said M1F. “Of course. But…”

“Buyer beware,” said Ubik. “If you don’t want to take the risk, don’t bid. Am I right?” He appealed directly to the crowd.

The crowd were a little taken aback to be suddenly brought into the discussion. They seemed hesitant to get involved.

Ubik was willing to wait them out. After all, they were a necessary component of his scheme. Especially the part where he escaped in one piece.

The great thing about the Trade Fayre Auction was its deep-rooted history in corruption and fraud. Every method of avoiding fairness had been attempted over the years, and in order to win over public confidence, enormous efforts had been made to ensure a level playing field.

The rules of this game were sacrosanct. They were so fixed in place, not even the organisers could break them, or even bend them.

That was their big selling point. No one cheats the TFA. Not even the TFA.

“Start the bidding,” called out a single voice from the crowd.

Then another voice repeated the demand, followed by heckles and jeering. More and more people joined in until there was a general clamour to get the show started.

They were here to see a brawl for possession of the most valuable artefacts. No one had expected the greatest object of desire to appear this early, but since it had, let battle commence. The auction would decide the value of the cube.

If it didn’t seem possible that the cube could do what was claimed, the bids would reflect that.

If it turned out later that the whole enterprise was fraudulent, the money would be reclaimed through any number of methods, none of which would be very enjoyable for the deceiver.

The auction had its own way of settling matters.

This was how the general public saw it. They hadn’t really grasped the true implications of what it would mean for someone other than the Quazem family to have control of the planet. Or what it meant for the stability of the quadrant.

Most of them didn’t really care.

They had little love for their corporate overlords, and whoever challenged their rule would probably be no worse.

This was just entertainment for them.

They saw it as a tussle between unfathomable powers — who else could afford to compete in the auction for such an item? — but it didn’t occur to them that the fight for the cube might lead to something more than simply a war of offers and counter-offers.

Ubik was pleased with how things were going.

He had expected some doubting.

He knew there would be some people out there, not just from Quazi’s rich elite, but all the powers dominant throughout the quadrant, who would want to side-step the whole auction process and take the cube in a more direct fashion.

The rules of the auction helped prevent that, as did the live broadcast.

Everyone was watching.

“Start the auction,” called out more and more people.

“Please, everyone, calm down and take your seats.” M1F was using their gentler, female voice. “We’re having some technical difficulties.” There were disbelieving shouts claiming foul play. “Professor Q’s cube is certainly a marvel, but its interference with our systems has created a few problems.”

It was a smart move. Blame his cube for their supposed technical difficulties.

“What’s the problem?” asked Ubik. “I’m sure I can fix it.” He rotated the cube in his hand and the screens changed, causing the “Current Bid” to become enlarged and a countdown from 5 began. “Bids open in five seconds. Get your thumbs ready!”

“No, wait, you can’t,” M1F sounded panicked, their voice switching from female to male and back again in rapid succession.

Smoke suddenly poured onto the stage, obscuring everything.

“Please be patient while we deal with this malfunction,” said M1F, in a reassuring female voice. “We apologise for the inconvenience.”

Inside the smoke, Ubik was surrounded by white walls that formed a barrier around him and M1F. The smoke was controlled like building blocks, moved with precision, held in place by some invisible force.

“Who the hell are you?” said M1F, the voice neither gender and containing none of the professional joviality from before.

“I’m just here to sell my wares,” said Ubik.

“That cube, how did you make it? The things it can do, they aren’t possible. You don’t even have an organic. You came here with others. Are they the ones responsible for this?”

“The rules say—”

“I am the rules! You better start talking, or you won’t be leaving this stage. Ever.”

No rules, of course, had ever applied equally to everyone. Ubik was well aware of it. The TFA might have lots of restrictions and regulations, but in the end, the most important rule was to make sure of its own self-interests.

Without ensuring its own survival and continued success, what good would it do to provide safeguards for anyone else?

Ubik wasn’t surprised by the sudden appearance of the true face of M1F. He had been counting on it.

“Your powers come from the core, not you,” said Ubik. “You provide a series of sub-quantum manipulations. Pretty simple stuff. It wasn’t too hard to reproduce. Once you understand the connection between form and function, you can easily—”

“Cut the shit. Who do you think is going to believe that nonsense? What do you want? Why are you here?”

“Why are you here, Miff?”

“This is my world, you little shit. If you think you can take it away from me, you’re sadly mistaken.”

It was an old truth that no one got into show business to entertain. It was all about control.

“So this is what you have become,” said a voice coming from the small cube in Ubik’s hand. “How detestable.”

“Who… who is that?” said M1F.

“I am the one who will bring you to heel,” said the Fourth, who Ubik had placed inside the cube.

It wasn’t too hard to make a miniature replica of M1F, but it took a little more than that to be able to replicate their ability to control the planet. For that, Ubik needed a little help.

Fortunately, he had an Antecessor god with him. Who better to take control of an Antecessor planet core?

“You’re one of them,” said M1F, not sounding very respectful. “Are you with the Armada? Is this your attempt to reclaim what you abandoned? It won’t work. You’re too late. We aren’t the weak children you left behind. We will defend what is ours.”

One side of the cube opened and six female robots came out. They were Synthia’s sisters, and they didn’t look like they were here to put on a big song and dance extravaganza.

“Kill them both.”

Book 3 – 59: Bid for Greatness

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Green Room.

 

The music was overbearing and garish. Figaro was familiar with the sound patterns. They were from a sequence designed to disorient and confuse the targets, making them less likely to fight back.

It worked very effectively in large-scale battles, and also in marketing.

The visuals were similarly brash and tacky. Bright colours, flashing at the exact frequency to stimulate the occipital lobe and the primary motor cortex, leaving the victim stunned.

A viewer would be left astonished to the point of temporary paralysis. They would believe they were witnessing something extraordinary.

A soldier would be left wide open. They would be dead in the next attack.

Figaro had undergone extensive training to be able to block out both the aural and visual components of what was a very aggressive onslaught on the senses.

It had been a gruelling process for a toddler to undergo but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his father’s methods. Figaro sank his consciousness back into his head, giving himself tunnel vision. It was not an easy thing to do.

Most of the people in the green room were watching the screens that were hanging from the walls with mouths agape, willingly enthralled by the spectacle.

Weyla and Leyla looked ready to start a fight as they blinked rapidly to counter the effects, the Seneca method of avoiding sensory confusion. It was less traumatic to learn, but it also lowered reaction times, and you looked pretty silly.

“It’s the same as his cube,” said PT, turning towards Figaro with his eyes still on the screen, his arms folded, seemingly unaffected. “I mean, an exact copy in miniature.”

“Aren’t you affected by the psychovisuals?” Figaro asked.

“You mean that weird strobing effect and the buzzing? I’m just ignoring it. I can adjust pressure in my inner-ear.” PT unfolded his arms and pointed at his ear. “We learn to do it in water tanks when we’re born.”

Figaro didn’t know much about life on board a colony spacecraft, but their method of countering psychovisual assault, even if that wasn’t its purpose, seemed vastly preferable to his own.

“Why make his device look like the oldest robot on Quazi?” said Figaro.

PT was right. The giant cube that had risen out of the stage in the midst of swirling lights and dry ice to huge cheers was identical to the cube Ubik had built, down to the designs on the exterior.

It looked to be of Antecessor origin, at least from the outside.

“I wonder what’s inside it?” wondered Figaro.

“It’s a vault where they keep their valuables, apparently,” said PT.

“Oh,” said Figaro, not expecting the answer to be so mundane. “Ubik’s version can’t do that, can it?”

PT shrugged. “I think he made it look like that to suck up to the crowd.”

The music died down and the accompanying roar from the audience subsided at the same time.

The cube’s exterior flashed with white streaks of light that ran around its surface in all directions, very much like an Antecessor structure. Then the streaks changed colours, drawing ooh and ahs from the audience.

“Welcome to the 194th Trade Fayre Auction!” The voice of the cube was male, energetic and jovial. The lights on its surfaces flashed in time to the words.

The crowd erupted into cheers once more.

“We’re beaming live around the galaxy to more than seventy billion people.” The crowd applauded, a sea of clapping crashing like waves against the cliffs of Mason City. “And that’s not including the ones watching on illegal streams.”

Boos rang out.

“You know who you are... and so do we. So expect a knock on your door anytime now.”

Laughter and cheers exploded.

“I’m only joking. Everyone is welcome here. We’re happy to share the greatest show in the Inner Quadrant with you all. Life on Quazi is good, isn’t it?”

The crowd loudly voiced their agreement.

“Of course it is. I should know, I’m the one who controls it all.”

The lights coming from the cube grew more intense. The dome above them changed from silver to opaque to transparent, so that only a thin reflective glint revealed it was still there. Above them, the blue sky began to change as clouds gathered.

Rain fell, hitting the dome. It turned to hail, then snow. Then the clouds parted and the sunshine returned. The whole medley took only a few seconds to complete.

The crowd noise rose once more.

“Tonight, we will auction off the most spectacular lots you’ve ever seen. Lots and lots to astonish and amaze.”

A ripple of laughter ran around the dome.

“Trust me, folks, you won’t want to miss it. But first… the Early Show!”

Music began blaring again. The frequency was different now. People sat back down in their seats, ready for the next event.

Spotlights danced around the cube and more smoke poured onto the stage.

“Remember, anyone can make a bid as long as they have registered — those of you watching, you can join in by going to our net site. It’s not too late!” Details of where to register appeared on the screen. “But you do have to pay up if you make a successful bid. No exceptions. And if you fail to pay, you know what that means…”

In unison, thousands of people shouted, “All your bases are belong to us!” and then fell into laughter and cheering.

“What does that mean?” said PT.

“I think it’s some kind of catchphrase,” said Figaro.

Ubik, who was standing in front of them, staring up at the screen, turned around. “This is going to be even easier than I thought. Taking money from strangers… it’s what I was born to do.” His eyebrows rose and fell.

“It’s an auction, Ubik,” said PT. “That’s why they’re here.”

“I don’t think you appreciate how much of a feeding frenzy I’m going to create.”

“You’re very confident,” said Figaro. “Do you really think making your cube look like that one is going to help?”

“You have to know your market,” said Ubik. “No product ever got undersold by pandering to the public. They don’t even know how badly they want what I’m selling.”

“Maybe you should take Seneca one and two with you,” suggested PT. “Help keep the fans back when they rush the stage.”

Ubik nodded thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea, but we’re trying to keep this low key, remember?”

PT looked like he was about to say something but changed his mind and kept his mouth shut. Being reminded by Ubik to not attract unwanted attention was quite the bitter pill to swallow.

A robot employee in silver came over, clipboard in hand. “You are Qubik Q Qubik?” She had the looks of a very attractive young woman, and the perfect skin of someone not quite human.

“That’s me,” said Ubik. “You look like one of Synthia’s. Did she send you?”

The robot, which looked like all the other silver-suited assistants roaming the green room, showed no change in expression, but tilted its head slightly to one side.

“Synthia asked me to make sure you were well taken care of. Do you have any special requests?”

“Mmm… yes,” said Ubik. “I want the host to call me Professor Q.” He turned to Figaro and PT. “People respect a man with qualifications. More likely to buy his crap.”

The robot blinked hard a couple of times. “I have notified Mother and Father of your request.”

“Mother and Father?” said Ubik.

“That is how we refer to M1F. They are our origin.” She smiled in a mechanical way. “You will be announced shortly. Please come with me.”

Ubik grinned and followed the robot towards the doorway with the red cross over it.

“Seventy billion people,” said Figaro. “He doesn’t even look nervous.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” said PT. “I don’t even know what the cube does and I’m already dreading it.”

The sign above the door turned green and the robot led Ubik through.

Figaro’s eyes returned to the screen.

“Now, I must warn you,” said M1F, “that this year there is a break with tradition. The first contestant on the Early Show is not Einlich von Pressburger.”

There were shocked gasps, followed by boos.

“Yes, yes, I know. I was surprised, also. Don’t worry, Einlich will be up soon, but just imagine how amazing this first person is to have replaced our beloved Einlich. What will he bring us? How amazing, how incredible, how absolutely preposterous? Let’s find out together. Keep those bidding thumbs ready!”

All around the dome, people raised their hands and wiggled their thumbs.

“That’s right. Let me see those thumbs.” The cube’s body flashed in all colours. “And help me welcome to the stage, the first contestant of the Early Show 1-9-4… Professor Q.”

The crowd roared.

Smoke filled the stage, making M1F look like the peak of some poorly-pixelated misty mountain.

And through the smoke, a small figure appeared.

Ubik had his arms raised, basking in the attention of the whole dome and most of the galaxy.

Looking at it rationally, this was the worst way of keeping a low profile. Even if no one knew his name, his face would be seen by billions. And the Central Authority. Maybe even by the Antecessors, if they had access to premium channels.

The smoke cleared and Ubik was revealed. With a different face. He was now a wizened old man with wrinkles and a receding hairline.

“When did he…” PT said with a confused look on his face.

“He can change his face?” said Weyla.

“It’s a mask,” muttered PT. “But I don’t know when… Smyke must have given it to him.”

Whatever the source of the mask, it was a good disguise. Even his clothing, which was the outfit Quincy had supplied, hung off him the way it would an older man.

“Welcome, Professor,” said M1F, their voice now soft and feminine. “Tell us a little about yourself.”

The crowd hushed to a judgmental lull.

Hello!” shouted Ubik. “It’s great to be here. I am from a small planet called Ligma.”

“Oh no,” said PT.

“I don’t seem to have any record of it in my data banks. Ligma?”

“Yes, that’s right. More of an asteroid, really.”

PT let out a breath.

“And what have you brought us.”

Ubik took out his cube and held it up in the palm of his hand.

The cameras zoomed in and the screens all around the stage showed it in close-up.

The crowd gasped as they recognised it.

“Oh my,” said female-voiced M1F. “It looks just like me. Maybe I should start the bidding.”

There were some laughs, some confused mumbling.

“And what does my little doppelganger do?”

“Everything you can,” said Ubik.

The level of confusion increased as people checked with each other to make sure they had heard correctly.

“Everything?” said M1F, their tone mildly mocking.

“Absolutely,” said Ubik.

The small cube in his hand began to flash with lights, just as the original had earlier.

Above them, the sky changed. Rain and snow fell.

The dome turned, rotating the whole audience, showing them the scenery outside from different angles.

The sea beyond the city rose up as a giant tidal wave lifted up like a mountain range, and then sank back down.

All the while, the little cube flashed and shone.

Everything returned to normal.

And then pandemonium broke loose as the crowd lost their minds.

“Wait, wait,” shouted Ubik. “There’s more.”

The crowd quieted down, unable to comprehend what more there could be.

Ubik faced M1F, his back to the audience and the cameras.

“Not only can my cube do everything you can do, only more efficiently and at a fraction of the mass, it can do the same on any planet with a core. With just a few adjustments, any of the planets in the Inner Quadrant are yours to control.”

The silence in the dome was deafening.

“He just put the entire Inner Quadrant up for sale,” said PT.

Figaro realised his mouth was hanging open and shut it.

“So, do I have any bids?” asked Ubik.

Book 3 – 58: Competitive Prices

Inner Quadrant.

Planet Quazi.

Muss Dome - Green Room.

 

Point-Two followed Smyke’s little helper with Ubik casually sauntering after them. They made their way through the other contestants, towards an open doorway with an electronic sign over it with a big red cross currently displayed.

Fig gave a curious look as they left, asking if there was something he should do, but Point-Two gave him a slight shake of the head in return. When it came to Ubik, what could any of them do?

The middle-aged stage manager who was leading them away was dressed differently to the ones they’d encountered before. No overalls and toolbelt, instead, he wore a silver spacesuit that wasn’t functional, just for the look. All the dome employees were dressed the same to make them easier to identify. Only, the others were robots.

“The Early Show will begin in an hour,” said their guide as he led them through a doorway into an empty corridor. “Wait until the old robot, wasisname, calls you and then you go through here to the main stage. Sign over the door will be green. That’s the signal.” There were stairs ahead of them.

“Wasisname?” said Ubik. “What kind of research did you do for this role?”

The man turned around, his face showing no reaction to being called out. “It’s only you, though, isn’t it? No need to put on a song and dance when it’s just the two of us.” He looked at Point-Two with a slight look of disdain. “Three of us.”

“You don’t play the role for the mark, you play it for the authenticity,” said Ubik. “You should know that, Smyke.”

The man’s face showed his surprise before settling into an assenting smile. “What gave me away?”

“The eyes,” said Ubik. “You wouldn’t let any of your team show their eyes that way.”

Point-Two was just as surprised. The man looked nothing like the Smyke they had met before. And the youthful eyes had made him think it was one of the young boys playing at being older, even though none of them had made such a blatant mistake before.

“Also,” added Ubik, “the Delgados.” He looked down at Smyke’s silver boots, which looked nothing like Delgados. “Can’t mistake that smell.”

Smiley grinned ruefully and rubbed his chin. “Seems like I underestimated you. I think I’ve been doing that a lot.”

He took something out of his pocket, a small device, and pressed down on it with his thumb.

There was a hum that tickled the inside of Point-Two’s ears.

The air around them changed. Not in a drastic way, just a rise in the air density, so it became a little harder to breathe.

“We’re in the bubble,” said Smyke. “You know what that means.”

Ubik nodded. “What’s said in the bubble, stays in the bubble.”

“That’s right. What about your friend? I know he’s not one of us. Can he be trusted?”

“Of course,” said Ubik. “If he breaks the pledge, I’ll take care of him myself.”

“I haven’t taken any pledge,” said Point-Two, not liking how he was being talked about like he wasn’t there.

“You’re in the bubble,” said Ubik. “By entering, you accept the conditions of entry.”

It sounded like a very dubious stipulation but it wasn’t as though Point-Two intended to leak information to anyone, so he kept his mouth shut.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” said Smyke. “Very impressive. You’ve got the whole Quazem family running around in a panic. They’re convinced you’re going to be putting up some amazing doodah for auction. That right, is it?”

“Could be,” said Ubik.

Smyke chuckled. “Nice, very nice. It’s a wonderful bluff. Real lovely piece of graft. I bow to your art.” Smyke lowered his head slightly, lifting an invisible hat off his head as he did so.

“I accept your bow,” said Ubik.

Point-Two watched them go through what seemed like some ancient ritual, but also like a duel with sarcasm and suspicion as the weapons.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to share what it is you plan to show up there.”

“That would not be appropriate,” said Ubik. “But I think you’ll get a kick out of it.”

“Ha, yes, I think so too.” Smyke’s look, even through the mask and contact lenses, showed a glint of admiration. “Truth is, I planned to use you and your people to create a diversion. Drop you in the thick of it so we would have an easier time of it on our way out the back door with the old robot.”

“Not planning to anymore?” asked Point-Two.

“No need. Looks like you’ve already put yourselves in the spotlight. The Quazems aren’t the only ones with their beady little eyes on you. And, to be honest, I think it would be best if we keep to our separate paths. You obviously have your ruse all set up and ready to go, and we have ours. I did think, at first, you might be trying to muscle your way into our game, but I can see now that you wouldn’t be interested in what we’ve got going on. You like the fine swindle, we only trade in smash and grab plays.”

“We should be done right after the Early Show,” said Ubik.

“Exactly,” said Smyke. “We won’t hit them until near the end of the Big Show. No need for the two of us to cross paths.”

This meeting steeped in consideration and mutual respect was carving up the auction so that the two sides wouldn’t get in each other’s way. Which was great news and also made Point-Two very suspicious.

He wouldn’t have trusted Ubik, if he was on the other side, and he considered Smyke to be just as trustworthy.

“You’re planning on taking the old robot?” said Point-Two. “At the end of the show, with everyone watching.”

“That’s right, son.” Smyke seemed unmoved by the enormity of the task. “The robot and everything that’s inside it.” He gave Ubik a meaningful look.

“You don’t have to worry,” said Ubik. “We aren’t interested in the old robot. It’s all yours. And everything inside it.”

Both of them seemed to know what was ‘inside it’.

“You mean the planet core?” said Point-Two.

“That’s not the only thing,” said Ubik. “They use M1F as a repository, of sorts. It’s where they keep all their valuables. And the valuables used as collateral by the bidders.”

Point-Two knew the bidders, the serious ones here for the big prize, had to deposit funds to prove their ability to pay up. He hadn’t known about the collateral.

“I knew you’d figure it out,” said Smyke. “But it’s an ugly mugging compared to the elegant subterfuge you’re planning. I don’t think you’d be interested in something so crude. Can we agree to stay out of each other’s hair?”

“We can.”

The two of them put out a hand each at the same time, and shook them without touching.

“Then I’ll just add this,” said Smyke. “We were aiming for an end of show big finish, but we might have to move the schedule up a little, so I would recommend you vacate the premises as soon as you’ve completed.”

“You’re expecting a bust?” asked Ubik.

“Not exactly. You’ve heard about the invading alien fleet?”

“Isn’t that just a rumour?” said Point-Two.

“No, not at all,” said Smyke. “There really is a fleet, at least a dozen ships. I’m not saying they’re actually crewed up with Antecessors, nothing so fantastical. From what I’m hearing, it’s that man, Ramon Ollo. You’ve heard of him, of course.”

“Of course,” said Ubik, giving away nothing. “Who hasn’t?”

“He’s quite the respectable fellow on the outside,” said Smyke, “at least these days, but the truth is, he’s a hardened adventurer of the old school. Even when I was just a little tyke, running around the streets of Mapover, getting into meaningless scrapes, I heard stories about the ruthless Ramon Ollo. He’s a great man, genius to be sure, but a black-hearted man. When he wants something, worlds perish if they get in his way.”

“What has that got to do with the timing of your exit?” asked Point-Two.

“It seems the fleet he created — who else could resurrect an entire fleet? — is headed in this direction.”

It took all of Point-Two’s concentration to hold a neutral expression in the face of this news. Ubik reacted as nonchalantly as ever.

“Why would they be headed here?” asked Point-Two, as calmly as he could.

“Can’t say for certain it’s this world they’re aiming for,” said Smyke, “but better to be safe than dead. Whatever he’s after, he’ll be passing in this direction, with who knows what on his tail. The Central Authority and all sorts, I’d guess. Best not to be around when they turn up, is all I’m saying.”

“That won’t be an issue,” said Ubik. “We should be long gone by then.”

“Same here,” said Smyke. “Don’t want to get caught up in that kind of mess.”

“Me neither,” said Ubik.

They shared a laugh. Point-Two didn’t think it was funny. Not at all.

“Then I guess this is where we part ways,” said Smyke.

“Hold on,” said Point-Two. “Aren’t you supposed to walk us through the show?”

It was all very well impersonating one of the dome employees to have a chat, but those employees had a job to do.

“This why you keep him around?” said Smyke. “Keep on top of all the boring stuff.”

Ubik nodded. “That’s right.”

It wasn’t right, and even if it was, someone had to make sure they didn’t fall at the first hurdle. Even if the hurdle was some sort of explosive device placed there by Ubik when no one was watching.

“It’s very simple. You go up when the old robot calls your name. You stand on the mark by the time the intro music stops, and then you make your spiel. You’ve got five minutes, same as everyone on the Early Show. Then you wait to see if anyone makes a bid. I’m sure they will.” He laughed again.

“It’s going to be fine,” said Ubik, directing his reassuring words at Point-Two.

“You’re on last, by the way,” said Smyke, looking down at his clipboard. “Last minute addition. You fancy guys like to cut things close, huh? I’ll be watching with interest. Might even make a bid myself!”

“I doubt you’ll be able to afford it,” said Ubik. More good-natured laughter followed.

They both seemed to be revelling in the fate of the poor rubes caught in their web of deception, and possibly, they were enjoying the thought of how they were going to outmanoeuvre each other.

“I’ll be going up here. You should go back to the green room and wait for your names to be called. Good luck.”

“And good luck to you.”

Point-Two was sure neither wished the other anything close to good luck.

Smyke pressed the button on his device and the air pressure eased. He went up the stairs. Point-Two and Ubik walked back down the corridor.

“You don’t believe he’ll leave us alone, do you?” said Point-Two.

“No. But he’ll probably be too busy to do any real harm.”

“Wait.” Point-Two stopped. “He said we have to wait for our name to be called.”

“Yes.”

“What name?”

“Oh, I gave Quincy a fake name to register us with. Obviously, we can’t use our real names. I’m Qubik Q Qubik. I thought it would go well with the Quazi/Quazem vibe.”

“That’s your way of remaining incognito?”

“I told you, I know how to be subtle.”

Point-Two felt like protesting, but what was the point?

“Everything ready?” asked Fig, when they returned to the group.

“Yes,” said Point-Two. “No problems. No new ones, anyway.”

They were seated in a corner of the green room, surrounded by eager-looking hopefuls.

The Seneca sisters looked uninterested and Chukka looked nervous. Bashir had joined the group while they’d been gone, and looked confused.

“I don’t like going on last,” said Ubik. “Crowd are going to be tired.” He stretched his neck and looked around.

There were dozens of people in every direction, most of the inventors coming with a team of technicians and hangers-on. Twenty of them were guaranteed a slot on the early show, and then there were the lottery winners.

“Ollo,” said a man wearing an oily apron over his clothing. He was pointing at Fig.

“Sorry?” said Fig.

“Your spacesuit, that’s an original Ollo, right?”

Fig looked down at his spacesuit, which was indeed an original Ollo.

“Er, yes.”

“I knew it.” The man snapped his fingers and jumped up and down on the spot. “I’ve always wanted one. Can’t buy them anywhere. Where did you get it? No, no, never mind that. How much you want for it?”

“It’s not for sale,” said Fig.

“What slot do you have?” cut in Ubik.

“What slot?” said the man. “Oh, I’m on fourth.”

Ubik shook his head. “No, not good enough.”

“It’s not for sale,” said Fig.

“I know,” said Ubik. “I just said fourth wasn’t good enough.”

“It’s not for sale whatever the position.”

“Don’t worry, I can get it back later,” said Ubik.

“No.”

“You don’t think I can get it back?”

“No, I think you can, if you want to. But not if you change your mind and stop caring, which is highly likely.” Fig spoke with a calmness that indicated his full understanding of the Ubik way of failing to live up to his promises.

“Hmm,” said Ubik. “Who’s got the first slot?”

“That’ll be Einlich over there,” said the man, pointing out a fat, slovenly man with crazy hair sticking up in all directions. “He’s always on first, it’s a tradition. People love him because his inventions are so ridiculous. It’s amazing how he manages to out-do himself every year.” He turned back to Fig. “How about a trade. I can let you have one of these self-replicating nanobots I’ve invented.” He opened his hand to reveal a black disc the size of a thumbnail. “Now there’s one, now there’s two.” He closed his hand and opened it again to show there were two in his hand. “Now there’s… Ow!” He closed his hands and something exploded in his fist, making him run off, yelping.

“Wait here a moment,” said Ubik.

“Not for sale,” said Fig as Ubik wandered over towards where the man Einlich was slouched on a bench, taking up enough room for three.

Ubik stood there, chatting for a while. Ubik pointed towards the group. The man seemed interested. Very interested. A silver-suited robot assistant came over at the man’s beckoning. Some sort of business was conducted between the three. Then, Ubik came back, smiling.

“We’ll be on first.”

“What did you offer him?” said Fig, concern etched into his face.

“Not your suit, don’t worry.”

Point-Two looked over and caught the man looking at him. He had a bad feeling. “I’m not doing it. Whatever you promised him.”

“Hey,” said Ubik. “How do you know you won’t enjoy it until you try it?”

“I’m definitely not doing it,” said Point-Two.

The screens around the room, showing the empty stage above them, went black. Then they came back on. Blaring music and various logos appeared while an announcer welcomed everyone to the start of the Trade Fayre Auction.

The Early Show was starting. The intro went on for a long time. Then the stage reappeared on-screen and the curtain of light obscuring the stage from the audience fell away.

There were thousands of people on raked seating, and floating boxes hung above them for the VIPs. The noise rose considerably, both on the screen and in the room.

Lights flashed and something rose out of the middle of the stage. It was a large cube, about the size of a house.

It looked familiar. It looked exactly like the cube in Ubik’s pocket.