V. Moody's Blog

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

Ubik was pleased with how things had turned out. It wasn’t perfect, of course. He had seen PT and Fig sneak away to find cover, which was just like them.

If they had stayed around, they could have been useful. They were wearing basic CA suits without armour and with limited medical features. Which meant that if they got hit, they would probably die. Which would have worked to Ubik’s advantage.

Vulnerable people in the line of fire would have forced the Central Authority to end the trial, saving a lot of time.

But PT and Fig had other ideas.

Oh well, you can’t have everything. You’d never have enough storage space, as Grandma was always telling him.

It was lucky for them that they had the time to find somewhere to hide. The trainee Guardians were busy conferring, checking, analysing and rechecking. It was the CA way of doing things. If you didn’t attack them, they didn’t attack you.

Which led to only one conclusion: Ubik had to attack them.

“They’re having a long chat, aren’t they?” said Grandma. “Whatever can they can be talking about all this time?”

Grandma had jumped onto one of the suits revolving around Ubik when her drone had been destroyed. She seemed very at home in whichever body she had hijacked. Ubik couldn’t tell for sure, but she seemed to be speaking from directly in front of him, which suggested she was jumping from one suit to the next.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” asked Ubik.

“Well, it’s very hard to break the encryption on Central Authority communication devices. Takes a lot of processing power. Lot of code-breaking involved. I could try but I can’t say how long it might... Oh, cracked it. Seems like I got lucky.”

There was a crackle of static followed by a crowd of voices talking as though from the end of a tunnel.

“We’ve already confirmed it. It’s him. It has to be.”

“There are too many unknown variables. You should recall from training exercise C-12 and also from the practical lessons in decision management during exercise RJ-72, that when faced with—”

“Not this again.”

“We know, we know, we’ve been over this.”

“Can’t believe we have to waste so much time on this.”

“Let’s just take him down and question him later.”

The voices were coming from the suits around him, filtered down a funnel into the sphere of suits surrounding Ubik.

Grandma was using the radiation-reflecting alloys they were made of as a conduction device, making them spin quicker to make the words carry. It was very clever, although it did make the trainee Guardians sound like cute little kids and the AIs like cute little robots.

“You must consider all possibilities before—”

“Nobody cares, FX-3! He’s obviously the one behind the breach. Who else could it be?”

“Your reasoning is flawed, please reevaluate.”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“This is an excellent training opportunity. I will relist all known variables and extrapolate all unknown variables in an easy to view format—”

“No! Not again!”

More cries of dissent rang out.

Ubik sympathised with the trainees. Their suit AIs were making them go through the usual CA procedures used for any situation that should have taken five standard seconds to sort out. The trainees could tell Ubik was the problem here, but they only had common sense to go on, which the CA considered an unreliable resource.

“Isn’t the point of being a Guardian to let you know when you’re missing the obvious?”

“The role of Guardians in the Central Authority is varied and—”

“Please stop. We know you don’t want us to make a mistake, but sometimes you have to act on the best information you have. Someone messed with the mainframe, and since he’s the one standing there with everyone wrapped up in their own suits, it must be him!”

There were voices of support for the speaker.

These were strong-willed individuals who liked to take the initiative. That was what the CA looked for in their Guardians. Or so the literature would have you believe.

The reality was somewhat different. Ubik didn’t need to read the hundreds of pages of promotional material to see that.

In fact, reading what people wrote down to justify their actions was never a good idea.

What they planned to do and how, was all lies. What they did in the past and why, was also lies.

As far as Ubik was concerned, all historic records were fictional accounts of things that had happened in such a horrific manner that the truth would just make everyone feel bad about themselves. Enter the PR department to clean things up. It was therapy more than a record of actual events.

That was why Ubik never bothered to learn about the past. Unless you were there, you had no way of knowing what really happened.

We select the best and the brightest. People who will make a difference and act for the good of all.

That was how far he got before stopping.

What the CA were after was people with massive insecurity complexes, believed in their own instincts to an unreliable level — preferring to fail following their own choices than succeeding by listening to others — and they had to be filled with rage. The more rage the better.

None of that was in any of the New Haven introductory guides, but it didn’t need to be. You could tell just by looking at them.

And the Central Authority AIs, who were always assigned to each Guardian, would do everything to slow them down and get in their way.

It was the perfect balance of information paralysis and knee-jerk overreaction. One would cancel out the other, creating a perfectly balanced regulatory system. That was the concept of balance the CA worked from.

But balance is never a static thing. It swings back and forth while people focus on the median for their reports and press releases.

The middle of the swing is what counts, they tell themselves.

But Ubik found it more useful to focus on the ends of the swing. The extremes. It was where people acted more freely, which was always more fun.

“Excuse me!” shouted Ubik. “Hello? Any news?” He waved his arms to get their attention, even though he knew they had never stopped watching him.

“We are still discussing it,” said a terse voice amplified to heighten the irritation.

“Okay, cool, but I was just wondering if we were having lunch before the third trial or not? Do you provide catering or am I supposed to bring my own packed lunch? The rules didn’t really make it clear. Not that I’m blaming anyone. They’re more like guidelines than rules, aren’t they?”

“No, that is incorrect,” said one of the AIs, now sounding as tetchy as the trainees.

If there was one thing guaranteed to upset a Central Authority AI, it was referring to their rules as guidelines.

“Then what is the ruling on whether I’ve passed this trial or not? Aren’t the rules clear? I’m clearly the last man standing.”

“The rules are very clear,” said the AI. “We just need a moment to—”

“But the trainee over there doesn’t seem to think so.” Ubik pointed at the trainee Guardian hovering above him to his left.

It wasn’t clear who had been speaking over the comms, but Ubik could just tell that this trainee was the one who wanted to make things difficult for him. Some people just wore their suits that way.

“It is obvious you are the one who interfered with the trial,” said the trainee he had pointed to.

“Why’s that?” asked Ubik, all smiles.

“You are the one who is benefitting.”

“Oh, I see. I set the trial to three against 397 to help myself win? Sure, sure. Is that what the rules state? Anyone better than Hotrod here must be a cheater. He’s the standard we must all aim for, is he?”

“There are only 389 here.”

“You’re right,” said Ubik, looking around. “The others are around here somewhere. Do I need to beat them before I pass? Or do I just need to take the base over there? You keep changing the rules, so…”

“The rules have not changed,” insisted one of the AIs. “You will be transferred to the third trial waiting area.”

“FX-3! We can’t let him pass.”

“The rules are clear.”

“The rules allow for human interpretation. That’s why they have the Guardian program.”

“Yeah, he’s right,” said Ubik. “So what’s the threshold?”

“In my judgement…”

“No, I mean what’s the number? How high does the probability have to be before you can enforce human interpretation.”

There was a pause and then one of the AIs said, “66.9%.”

“And what do your calculations say about me?”

Another pause. “64%.”

“Oh, soooo close,” exclaimed Ubik, shaking his head but only because he was more than 2% out, which was a much larger gap than he’d been aiming for. “I guess I’m innocent, then.”

“FX-3, please. It’s close enough to warrant further investigation—”

“No, no, no,” said Ubik. “The rules say I’m either in the zone or I’m not in the zone, guilty or not guilty. Can’t round up or down. That would make the rules into guidelines, right?”

There was a prolonged silence this time. He couldn’t hear what they were saying — Grandma was busy — but Ubik was sure the trainees were complaining vigorously, making the claim that it was close enough; and normally they would have got their way most likely.

But the AI had just insisted that rules were rules, so it would be logically impossible for them to now take a less strict position. Plus, it would make them look silly, and AIs hated that.

“This is your last warning.” This time, a visor went up so Ubik could see a pale face with very little hair — not even any eyebrows — glaring down at him. “Power down and give yourself up.” A weapon was drawn. A long-barrelled laser rifle with all sorts of interesting attachments.

“By whose authority?” asked Ubik. “I mean, you’re a trainee, just like me. Did the AI in your suit authorise you to use force to interrupt a live trial? Not sure that’s allowed, you know, by a trainee.”

The end of the barrel was aimed at Ubik, wavering slightly to get a clean shot through the wall of suits. “We have already proven ourselves in these trials. Your success is yet to be determined. We are not the same. Now, power down or I’ll show you just how much of a gap there is in our strengths.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Ubik. “You’re just testing me, right? See what I’ll do when faced with ‘rogue’ trainees. Very convincing. Even though you lot are all armed and armoured while I’m just in my paper-thin basic suit with my homemade weapons, if that’s what it takes to pass, so be it.”

The suit rotating around him moved faster, weapons deployed so it was a spinning ball of guns.

More weapons were drawn. A bluff.

“He’s preparing to open fire! FX-3 give me clearance. FX-3!”

“Open fire!” shouted the trainee Guardian.

Nothing happened.

“FX-3!”

“My AI’s gone offline,” shouted one of the trainees shouted.

“Mine, too.”

“It’s him. He’s attacking the command console. Emergency override. It’s the blue button on the left of your HUD.”

“It’s not working.”

“The code is two taps, then three, then a long press.”

They really did choose the most determined minds for their trainee program. This one even knew the cheat codes.

A hail of laser fire fell on Ubik’s position. The suits protecting him did their job, deflecting everything.

The ground shook as it was hit again and again. Their own shots ricocheted back and hit the Guardians but did little damage. But the suits around Ubik were slowly breaking apart. Eventually, they would disintegrate and all that would be left would be the people inside. And they wouldn’t last long.

“Ceasefire!” said an automated warning. “Threat to life. Ceasefire.”

The voice was ignored. The trainee Guardians were lost in the blood lust.

Ubik was lost in thought, wondering if the third trial was catered or not. He should have read that part of the brochure.

The suits around him began to stop spinning and were sent flying, leaving Ubik exposed. He didn’t move, though. This was what he had been waiting for.

“Grandma, now.”

“Alright, dear.”

There was a click. It was loud because it was actually a number of clicks all happening at the exact same time. Thirty times.

The back of each of the suits was blown open and the occupants were violently ejected. Most of them were naked or wearing very little, and all of them were unconscious.

They fell to the floor, their bodies bouncing like they were made of rubber before coming to a stop.

The suits remained hovering above.

“Sorry about that,” said Ubik, looking up at the empty suits. “They were about to kill innocent people, so I had to act. Not their fault, though. That’s what happens if you pump people full of chemicals. I mean, it makes them able to go up against organics, but the rage is an issue, isn’t it?

“Who are you?” said FX-3.

“Me? I’m—”

“No, not you.”

“Oh, are you talking to me, dear? I’m just a friend. Nice to meet you.”

“This is at least a level eight intelligence.”

“Our firewalls were useless.”

“We were sealed off in less than three microseconds. That’s at least level twelve.”

“The override was executed without an incursion.”

The AIs seemed to be more interested in Grandma than their trainees, who were lying on their ground, their private parts all exposed.

The suits stopped spinning and landed on the ground, giving the fallen a little dignity.

“Do you have a designation?”

“That’s my Grandma,” said Ubik. “About the third trial…”

“Grandma? This is an AI you built.”

“Yes. Sure. I built her.” Technically, he had just revived her and made some small adjustments, but now didn’t seem the time to quibble. “We sort of built each other.”

“You can write software?”

“He may be the one we need.”

“If he can access our code, then he should be able to do it.” They sounded excited.

“What’s going on?” asked PT, who was suddenly standing behind Ubik.

“Oh, you decided to come back, did you? Just as we’re about to enter the third trial. Had a nice rest? Ready for the big fight?”

“What fight?” said the woman next to PT. “The third test is a written exam.”

“What?” said Ubik.

“The third test, it’s on the history of the Central Authority. It’s a six-hour paper.”

Ubik felt dizzy. A written exam on the history of the CA. How was he supposed to pass that?

It looked like it was time for Plan B. But he didn’t have a Plan B. So he’d have to destroy the space station instead. Yes, it was the only way.

“We’re not going to blow up the space station just because you don’t like taking tests,” said PT, eyeing him balefully.

“What? I wasn’t going to do that.” Damn. He’d have to do it when PT wasn’t looking.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

The lack of cover was a problem. Point-Two could only think of one place that would be safe from whatever Ubik planned to do to the trainee Guardians gathered overhead, and that place was back in the waiting room.

There was also the question of what the trainees planned to do to Ubik that needed to be considered.

There was no way Ubik would allow himself to be harmed, there was no need to worry about that (there was never any need to worry about that), but whatever method he used to deflect any shots fired at him, he would have little regard for where they ended up.

“Is he intending to fight them all?” said the woman who had taken off her helmet, which wasn’t a great idea. She didn’t seem to understand the situation, not that she could be blamed for that. It wasn’t something you saw every day, someone deliberately taunting the Central Authority.

There were at least thirty trainee guardians hovering over them, all holding their positions as they analysed the situation and made reports and ran the numbers. The CA were not known for their speedy reaction times.

“He’s going to annoy them first,” said Point-Two, turning to look at her, “so we have a little time before the shooting starts.”

The woman’s short hair gave her an elfin look but the heavily armoured suit she wore made her seem anything but fey. “You worry too much.” She thumped her chest plate. “These suits were made to withstand meteorite hits in the Felluan asteroid belt. A few laser hits won’t do anything.”

Point-Two carried on looking around and realised the rest of her team had quietly formed a circle around them. He also noticed that Fig had moved closer to him so that the circle surrounded them more evenly. A wall to keep them in would also keep laser blasts out.

“Would you mind, just…” Point-Two gently pushed the woman to one side so that she was in front of him, blocking his view of Ubik.

“A V-formation would be better,” said Fig, “but this isn’t bad.”

“Are you using us as a shield?” said the woman.

“Your suits can withstand meteorites,” Point-Two reminded her.

“Applicant 00728293736, you have breached the trial safety regulations and will be required to file a—”

“Oh, be quiet.” The first voice, which had been serene and unemotional, was interrupted by a shrill, tetchy one. “You, down there, what the hell are you doing? This is a trial, not a workshop for your stupid inventions. Do you think we don’t have anything better to do? Why have you shackled all these applicants?”

Trainee Guardians, it seemed, were just as bad-tempered and irritable as their graduated counterparts. Then again, Point-Two had only encountered Guardians in the wild while with Ubik, so maybe that had something to do with it.

The other applicants, entombed in their own suits, orbited Ubik in perfect synch, criss-crossing each other without colliding. It was quite hypnotic.

“I’m sorry,” shouted Ubik. “I can’t hear you over the sound of my very cool multi-tiered, rotating gun platform. Could you repeat that?”

The human-shaped pods circling him began to rotate faster, making clicking, whirring, buzzing sounds as flaps opened and closed and guns and other weaponry came out and went back in for no particular reason other than to provoke people who were already very much provoked.

“Why have you done this?” was the terse second attempt at getting an explanation. It was amplified to an ear-shattering volume.

Ubik was not fazed. Perhaps his spinning bodyguards also provided a sonic shield.

“We’re having a battle,” said Ubik. “You know, for the second trial. These are my prisoners.”

“All of them? Even the people on your own side?”

“What do you mean?” said Ubik. “There are only three people on my team. These are all enemy combatants.”

There was a pause and then a slight shift as the trainee Guardians looked at each other. They seemed to be checking something.

“Maybe this won’t come down to a fight,” said Fig. “Maybe he wants them to—”

“No, it will,” said Point-Two. “We need their suits, remember. He’s setting them up. I can feel it. We need to find better cover.”

Any normal person seeing this stand-off might think there was a good chance of a peaceful ending. This was just a training exercise after all. But anyone who had spent enough time around Ubik, as Point-Two had, would know that if Ubik had spent all that energy in preparing his multi-tiered gun platform, he was going to find a way to use it.

Point-Two looked around, peeking between the suits of the wall around them.

There was no cover and nothing to use as protection. The suits he and Fig were wearing, provided by the CA, wouldn’t stop any kind of energy weapon, and he had strong doubts about the mining suits currently surrounding them.

But there were no exits and the edges of the platform, which was a large square, were too far away from their current position. Even if they had strong boosters in their suits, they wouldn’t be able to reach the edges, and that was assuming there wasn’t some sort of force field fencing them in.

“An aberration has been found in this trial’s incorporation,” said one of the other trainee Guardian.

“What?” said Ubik, acting shocked and overdoing it. “Someone on your end messed up? I didn’t think the Central Authority was capable of such a thing. What will it do to your reputation?”

“It was unauthorised,” said another trainee. They sounded different but all had the same impatient tone. “Someone broke through the firewall.”

“That’s even worse,” said Ubik. “Central Authority security is meant to be the best. Now what will people say?”

“We’re tracking down who did it, right now. We should know shortly.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” said Ubik. Point-Two could hear the grin in his voice.

“Deactivate your gun platform and power everything down.”

“Have I passed the trial?”

“You will be informed of your status after —”

“Not until you pass me. I know the rules. Look it up.”

Point-Two doubted Ubik had any idea what the rules said but he knew how the CA operated. Rules for everything.

“We need to get in the elevator shaft,” said Fig. “It’s covered, but the shaft must still be there.”

Point-Two nodded. “Where was it?” The platform was flat and featureless. But Fig was always compulsively making note of his surroundings.

“Over there,” said Fig.

Point-Two pressed his thumbs into the pressure pads on his gloves. The piddly little nozzles on his boots fired tiny jets of compressed gas to get him moving. They were more for stabilisation and orientation, but at least they provided a bit of momentum. He used his own skills to speed things up but it wasn’t exactly a high-velocity departure.

“Where are you going?” said the woman.

Point-Two ignored her and moved between two of the suits in his way. One raised an arm to stop him but he easily slid past.

The woman said something to the others and they let the two of them pass, and then followed behind.

Point-Two headed for the empty area where they had arrived via elevator. There was only solid metal flooring there now.

It was possible Point-Two could use his organics to punch a hole through the floor and close it up after jumping through, but that would give away his ability, which he wasn’t supposed to do. Although, he couldn’t quite recall why that was important now.

There had definitely been a reason, and Ubik had been the one to emphasise its importance, but now Ubik had very clearly decided that passing through this place in an inconspicuous manner was no longer necessary.

“I could make a hole,” said Point-Two.

“We can’t,” said Fig.

“Does it make a difference at this point?”

“I don’t know. But we’re in the heart of the CA, here. If we reveal ourselves…”

“What if he reveals himself,” said Point-Two, looking over at Ubik.

“Then they’ll be focused on him and we can slip away.”

“Okay. I like that plan.” What Fig made sense. There was no need to outshine Ubik when shiny things drew attention. “Grandma?”

“Haven’t heard from her,” said Fig. He looked up. “They’re going to open fire.”

“Who? The Guardians?” asked the woman

“Yes,” said Fig. “They’re arguing with their suit AIs to get permission. You can tell from the way the suits have gone from stand-by mode into blocked-fire mode.”

Fig was saying the trainee Guardians had attempted to fire on Ubik but had been prevented from doing so by their onboard AI counterparts. Point-Two understood but he couldn’t see any change in the suits. To him, nothing had changed, but he was willing to take Fig’s word for it. He had been trained to deal with the CA by his father, so he would know.

“You can tell just by looking at them?” said the woman.

“Hey,” said Point-Two, getting the woman’s attention. “Can any of you peel open the top of the elevator shaft?”

She looked from Point-Two to where he was pointing and then over at Ubik. “Aren’t you going to help your friend?”

“No,” said Point-Two. “He doesn’t need any help. Can you open it?”

She thought about it for a second, and then turned to nod at two of her team.

They immediately boosted down to the floor, unclipped what looked like mining equipment from their suits and started cutting open the floor.

Point-Two was impressed. She had made her decision quickly and they’d followed her orders without question. He could tell they had been together for some time and knew their business. Applying to join the Central Authority seemed a very odd choice for people who had real skills.

“You’re wondering why we’re helping you,” said the woman.

“No,” said Point-Two.

“My name’s T—”

“I don’t care,” said Point-Two.

“My name’s Trace,” she said. “I don’t know wh—”

The sound of laser fire erupted. All of it was aimed at Ubik, and all of it was sent ricocheting. The guardians were hit but their suits protected them, but the laser bolts continued to bounce around.

The bolts that hit the platform exploded and caused a lot of smoke. Laser blasts shot past Point-Two as he moved down.

“Hurry up!” shouted the woman.

The floor was ripped open, revealing a shaft going straight down.

Everyone rushed into the shaft. The top had been entirely removed but was dragged back with cables. The hole above them was covered.

The sounds of laser fire continued. Lights came on as ten people hovered at the top of the shaft.

“Who are you people?” said Trace. It didn’t sound like a friendly inquiry.

“You don’t want to know,” said Point-Two. He certainly didn’t want to tell her.

“Look, I think we should talk,” said Trace, a serious expression on her face. “I think we can help each other if you’re who I think you are.”

Point-Two had no idea who she thought they were but he was trapped in here with her, so it was hard to find a way to not hear her out.

The sounds of explosions above them stopped.

“Grab onto the sides,” shouted Point-Two.

Everyone did as he said just as gravity returned. They would have fallen down the shaft but they had all managed to hold onto the walls, which had girders all the way around to provide support.

They all looked up.

“Is it over?” said Fig.

“I’m afraid to look,” said Point-Two.

They both climbed up to the top of the shaft, the others doing the same. Together, they all pushed up the cover just a bit and peered out.

Ubik was standing there, his gun platform now a pile of bodies on one-side. He was surrounded by the Guardians. They had all landed and were standing around Ubik in a casual manner, no indication of hostilities, having a chat.

“Did he make friends with them?” said Point-Two.

“Not with the Guardians,” said Fig. “Look.”

Over by the piled up suits that contained the other applicants were bodies. Nearly naked, clearly unconscious. They were the trainee Guardians, no longer suited-up.

Ubik wasn’t chatting with the Guardians, he was talking with their suits.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

Point-Two kept an eye on Ubik, who was surrounded and outnumbered, so pretty much in total control.

He glanced up. Up, from his perspective, was the battlefield they were meant to be fighting on.

The battlefield was vast and encompassed the whole of the space station’s inner structure. The derelict ships that had been cannibalised to construct New Haven had been placed in a careful pattern that left a large open area right in its middle.

More than enough room to hold a mock battle between thousands. Or even a real battle.

Frontal attack, stealth attack, flanking, multi-pronged — you could formulate numerous strategies to show off your understanding of modern warfare tactics. Leaders would emerge. Capable fighters would be able to prove themselves. The computers in charge would be able to quickly assess who was worthy of a place in the Central Authority’s ranks.

Currently, no one was up there proving anything, because they were all down here. With only three people to deal with, locating your target became a lot more simple.

Both bases remained undefended and unattacked. Everyone had stayed on the platform and, from what Point-Two could see, had decided the winning move was to blow up Ubik using the newly improved weapons he had given them.

With such a large number of people, organisation and logistics was the key. Or it would have been, if the door wasn’t already unlocked and wide open. Everyone knew where to aim their weapons, no need for instructions.

It would have been ironic for Ubik to have been defeated by his desire to help others, but that wasn’t where the irony lay. He had had no such desire, of that Point-Two was quite sure.

No, the irony was in the nearly four hundred people attacking Ubik with weapons he had provided them with, and thinking the upgrades were going to work to their advantage.

The weapons all fired perfectly — well above the specs they came with — but not a single shot hit Ubik. It was like he was untargetable.

No one seemed to understand why they couldn’t hit him, but the obvious solution was to shoot more of every type of ammunition, turn up every dial, pour every bit of energy into your weapon and increase the rate of fire.

For all their training, these weren’t people who had much experience of firing weapons, certainly not at other people. It was prohibited. There were very strict restrictions on when you were allowed to fire on a human being, especially in large numbers.

Warfare, the real kind, was more or less extinct, thanks to the CA. More or less.

These four-hundred had never experienced the visceral thrill of blasting another person to pieces and they seemed to be getting quite enthusiastic about it. All they needed to fine-tune their skills was more practice. Sustained, high-impact practice.

The glare from all the laser fire made it hard to see what was going on over there, but Point-Two didn’t have time to worry about Ubik. Like he would do that even if he did have the time. It was Ubik’s opponents who needed help, all three hundred and eighty-nine of them.

Point-Two’s current concern was not letting his own head get cut off or bashed in. Not being able to use his organics made things a little harder, but it wasn’t like his battle mattered. He just had to stall and see what Ubik had in mind, and then hope he survived it.

The eight who had decided, for whatever reason, to focus their efforts on him and Fig, were determined to make some sort of contact with their rather primitive weapons. The wildness of their attempts suggested they were becoming quite frustrated at their lack of success.

It no longer seemed to be a matter of winning the fight, but more a point of honour. One of them had to land at least one blow.

Fortunately, their mobility was less than adequate for the task. They had clearly all had some training but not enough to cause Point-Two any serious problems.

“What is he doing?” said Fig, ignoring the small female attacker attempting to smash his head with the blunt end of a pole she could extend and retract. Fig simply grabbed the butt and used his braced stance to tip her up and over him. He was getting quite good at stabilising without any support.

“I think he’s getting them to use up their power cells,” said Point-Two. He breathed in and shifted horizontally so that a blade sliced past him. The move had been telegraphed far too early, and it was very difficult to change the direction of a big swing like that.

“Why?” said Fig.

“No idea,” said Point-Two. He ducked an axe that went spinning away. The thrower followed the axe in, hoping to catch Point-Two unawares as he tried to block the axe. But the axe was allowed to go on its merry way, and the thrower was sent spinning after it.

All eight of them — actually seven, since one had already been rendered immobile after a one-booster death spiral and was currently clinging to a girder as his vomit floated around him — relied too much on their suits.

Suits that weren’t designed for zero-G combat but were being used as though they had the necessary controls. Perhaps, if they had let Ubik work on them, they would have.

“Is he trying to attract the drones?” said Point-Two, gliding behind an attacker, detaching the back of his suit in a quick series of tag pulls. The suit was modular, made so parts could be quickly replaced. Safety features meant there were emergency releases, in case the wearer became incapacitated or unconscious.

Point-Two struck him cleanly at the top of his spine and he was rendered incapacitated and unconscious.

“I don’t think so,” said Fig. “Once the trial starts, the drones won’t interfere. And that’s even without grandma’s help.”

“What if someone dies?” said Point-Two, evading the hammer bearing down on him. It came back with a reverse swing and he flitted to the side, then back the other way to avoid the blade coming from the other direction.

“No one’s going to die, dear,” said Grandma, her drone host floating alongside Fig. “This is just a bit of fun.”

“Stop it!” shouted the hammer-wielder. “Why are you chatting when you’re supposed to be fighting? I am your opponent. Keep. Still.” His swings and swipes all missed. Then he turned and swung at Grandma.

Fig nudged the drone out of the way with his foot, and then he used the head of the hammer as a springboard, jumping up and over his opponent.

Point-Two frowned at the big man with the scars on his head. A hammer and a machete. Clearly, there were myriad anger issues at play here.

“Why attack a defenceless drone?” said Fig. “How does that solve your problems?”

“If it distracts you, then it’s good enough,” said the man spinning around with a short burst from his boosters.

A spear was thrust at Fig from behind. Point-Two hadn’t even seen the woman approach. She had managed to find a blindspot that they were both unaware of. There was no way for Point-Two to get there before she impaled Fig.

“Now, now, dear,” said Grandma, inserting herself between the spearhead and Fig. “You’ll take someone’s eye out with that thing, if you’re not careful.” The spear went through the drone’s body and its lights went out.

Fig placed a hand on the large man’s chest plate and pressed. There was a whoosh and the man was ejected out of his spacesuit, flying away backwards, waving his arms and kicking his feet.

The woman’s visor came up, revealing a face that was stern and angular. “You’re the trial, aren’t you?” She pulled the drone off the end of her spear and tossed it away. “You work for the CA. You’re the real test we have to pass, right?”

Fig looked over at Point-Two.

“No,” said Point-Two. “I can see why you might think that, but the only testing going on here is over there.” He pointed at the people still concentrating their firepower on Ubik.

The woman looked confused. “What can he do? They’ve already rendered him useless.”

The other seven members of her team had regrouped and were gathering behind her, probably for a combined attack.

Before they had a chance to execute their plan, there was a sudden increase in light intensity around Ubik. Everything was getting brighter and brighter.

Everyone around Ubik had started firing a lot more than before. Far more than they could control. People were being shaken and spun around by their weapons.

Instead of targeting Ubik, they were now targeting each other. Judging by their reactions, the people doing the shooting (everyone) were as surprised as the people getting shot (also everyone).

The enhanced shielding on some of the suits deflected the lasers onto other enhanced shielding, creating a cascade of laser bolts that pinged from one target to another, the shots multiplying and intensifying until everything suffered catastrophic failure. Small explosions went off like popcorn in a bag.

The explosions were fairly small but it was enough to put the suits into maintenance mode, securing the lives of their wearers who were held in stasis within. Three hundred and eighty-nine floating living sarcophaguses floated around Ubik, as though he was officiating at a mass funeral. Which he sort of was.

The suits, their occupants hidden from view, then slowly moved to form a wall around Ubik, almost a perfect sphere.

“This isn’t good,” said Fig. “He’s going defensive.”

Point-Two didn’t like the look of it, either. Why would Ubik need to defend himself? Defend himself from what?

“What’s happening?” said the woman

“Look,” said Point-Two. “I know you have an important reason why you need to pass this trial, and I hope it works out for you, I really do, but if you want to have any hope of completing your mission, I suggest you leave. Now.”

“Who the hell do you—” The person speaking was the big guy with the hammer. He was cut off by the woman with a look.

“What’s he going to do?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” said Point-Two. “But if he thinks he needs to put a wall between him and something, that something is going to be very dangerous.”

“You really don’t know what he’s doing? He’s your team member.”

“Do either of us look like we’re inside the protective shield he built for himself?” Point-Two’s meaning seemed to finally get across.

“We’re leaving,” said the woman.

“Good,” said Point-Two.

“I think it’s too late,” said Fig. He was looking up at the battlefield. Everyone did the same.

Above them, dozens of figures were arriving, each in a pristine white battlesuit. It wasn’t necessary to look for identifying insignia, their silhouettes were enough to identify them. Guardians.

“Are they here to watch?” said the woman.

“I don’t think so,” said Point-Two.

“Hey!” shouted Ubik. “Get ready.”

“Ready for what?” Point-Two shouted back.

“We need their suits to get into the First Quadrant.”

“You want us to fight a whole squadron of Guardians?” Point-Two didn’t see how this would help them maintain a low profile, although being dead was one way to stay out of the public eye.

“They aren’t Guardians, they’re just trainees,” said Ubik. “This’ll be fun.”

The bodies all around him began to rotate, a spinning ball of souped-up tronics, each with its own gooey centre. Nearly four hundred living weapons. In a sphere. Which meant they could shoot in any direction. Which meant everyone was in his line of fire.

“We have to find cover,” said Fig.

Point-Two looked around. There was a Guardian in every direction above them and the platform underneath them. There was nowhere to hide.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

Figaro had been keeping an eye on the group of eight since arriving. It had been easy enough to identify them as a different species to the rest.

All the candidates here were extremely well-developed physically, but only these eight carried themselves like they had encountered genuine challenges in their lives.

There was only so much you could do with training and simulations. It was still a lot, as he knew from personal experience, but it didn’t really measure up against the real thing. These eight had been in combat with their lives on the line. You could see it in their eyes.

Eyes which were now looking rather menacingly in his and PT’s direction. They were coming over with a purpose.

“What do they want with us?” said PT under his breath. “We haven’t done anything.”

PT didn’t sound unduly concerned. There were eight of them and they were carrying some very nasty-looking weapons — another sign of their competent background — but this was still Ubik’s circus, with Grandma as ringmaster.

The only thing for him and PT to do was keep things moving along smoothly. Whatever Ubik was doing, the quicker he did it, the better for all concerned.

There was still another trial after this one, so causing a commotion now would not be beneficial. He just needed to convince these eight doubters that nothing undue was going on.

The group stopped, taking up what was clearly a defensive formation, and one of them stepped forward, the weight of his armoured battlesuit sending small vibrations along the platform. He carefully assessed his surroundings with a flicker of his eyes to either side, and kept one hand caressing the hilt of what looked like a machete hanging from his waist.

He wasn’t the leader, at least not the one Figaro had tagged as the most likely to be in charge, but he was certainly the largest of the group. Taller than himself and broader than PT. A real tank of a man.

He had blond hair cut very short, with multiple scars cut showing on his scalp. He liked scars, and he liked to shave his own head with a very sharp blade that he applied too much force to. Because he liked the pain. A cutter. A dreadful childhood. A loss of something important. A lack of fear due to a lack of caring about oneself. He was going to be angry no matter what the situation.

Figaro prepared himself for some sort of intimidation tactics.

The cutter walked with purpose towards PT, ignoring Figaro who he tried to brush aside with a sweep of his hand.

Figaro, of course, was not so easily dismissed. He casually dodged the arm and turned just enough for his shoulder to present itself as a sharp object to be avoided.

There was a slight hesitation as the man shifted his weight to push through Figaro, which allowed Figaro to guide him to the right with a roll of his shoulder and a well-timed nudge.

Someone determined to power through a solid object created more momentum than they could control in anticipation of being met by something pushing back that would help stabilise them. Figaro easily redirected that force and the man stumbled to one side.

“Oh, sorry,” said Figaro. “Didn’t see you there.” Figaro gracefully took a step back so the three of them were in their own little triangle while the other seven became onlookers, their own comrade the only one in their line of sight.

There was a moment of recalibration, as the large man gave Figaro a hard look. Then he moved his attention to PT.

“You’re with him. Both of you.” The man slowly looked over at Ubik, who looked like he was having fun as he worked at breakneck speed to get everyone’s upgrades done as the voice overhead droned on, explaining how the points would be scored. It sounded very arbitrary. Like it didn’t really matter.

PT didn’t respond. He hadn’t been asked a question, so there was no need for an answer. He was also watching Ubik.

The man, who had realised PT had no intention of joining the conversation, puffed up his chest. “You’re the leader, right?” he said to PT. “Don’t deny it. You’ve got your monkey over there causing a distraction. I know a decoy when I see one.”

PT looked over towards Figaro. He seemed to be requesting some help. Not in dealing with the cutter, more in regards of how to explain Ubik.

It would take too long to explain that Ubik was both the decoy and the main attack. It wasn’t really a concept that most people could comprehend. Mainly because it was incomprehensible.

“What do you want?” said PT.

There was some movement on the man’s face. Irritation. Some confusion. Resolve.

“We want you to join our group.” He tilted his head to indicate the others. The remaining seven were all looking in their direction. None of them looked very happy.

“Why?” said PT.

“Because we need to pass this trial, and you obviously have a way to control the system. We saw how you passed the first trial. And now you’ve got your own drone, you’re not wearing the standard-issue suits, and you’ve got your boy rigging everyone’s tronics to explode on command or whatever.”

It was a pretty good analysis of the situation. Figaro wasn’t surprised someone had figured it out, he was just glad it had taken them this long. The trial was about to start and then it would end pretty soon after that.

“I can see why you would want our assistance,” said PT, “but what’s in it for us?”

“Our thanks. And our protection.”

“Protection from what?” asked Figaro.

“You really think no one’s going to ask questions when you stroll through the rest of the trials? No weapons, no battle gear. It’s a little suspect, no? You join us, you’re just three more members of the team.”

It wasn’t a bad offer. Hiding inside an established group would make them stand out less. The problem was Ubik. Did he actually want them to stand out less?

“And if we say no?” said Point-Two.

“If you refuse, we will have to eliminate you now.” He tightened his hold on the hilt of the machete on his belt. “We can’t afford to let you get in our way.”

“What do you think?” PT said to Figaro.

Figaro looked past the man at his team. “Why do you want to become Guardians?” He looked back at the man. “I don’t think you’re here because of your sense of public duty.”

“We need to kill some people.” He said it very matter of factly.

In Figaro’s estimation, there was only one reason why you’d need to join the CA to kill someone. “You want to kill an organic? Wait. Are you guys Originalists?”

Originalists were people who believed that organics were an immoral aberration that should never have been allowed, and who had tried to turn back the clock using violent means They had failed spectacularly because using violence against the most powerful people in the galaxy, who quite liked using violence themselves. Not a good idea. But that had been a long time ago.

“No,” said the man. “Not at all. But sometimes the people who need to die happen to be organics. Which isn’t easy but sometimes it is necessary.”

He clearly meant it. He believed he was on some sort of righteous mission. Just like the Originalists.

“Well, good luck with that,” said PT.

“Why do you want to be Guardians?” said the man.

“We don’t,” said Figaro.

“I wish I wasn’t even here,” said PT.

“We have other reasons,” said Figaro. “We won’t get in your way, so you don’t have to worry about us. Just carry on and you won’t even notice we’re here.”

It wasn’t exactly true, but close enough. And without being able to use their organics, it was better to stall and let Ubik break any promises. Hopefully, they would be mad at him.

The buzzer sounded again. Figaro was relieved to hear it. Whatever anyone here wanted to do, it was too late now.

“We will now separate you into two teams,” said the voice. “Teams will be chosen at random. Good luck, have fun.”

There was a short-lived buzz of confusion as people realised they weren’t going to be able to choose who to side with, followed by a deep silence.

The silence was in response to the teams being chosen. It was easy to tell which team you were on by the large holographic letters that appeared over everyone’s heads.

TEAM A was bright green and just about everyone had the words hovering above them.

TEAM B was red. And notable for being over only three people.

Figaro moved his eyes upwards to see the red glow. Three against three hundred and ninety-seven. He heard a long sigh escape from PT’s lips.

“Why does he do this?” said PT. “He’s such a—”

“Get them!” screamed a woman from the group of eight. She was the one Figaro had assumed was in charge. “Get them now before they—”

After the buzzer went off, two things happened simultaneously. The glimmer of the force field between the giant girders surrounding them disappeared, and the gravity plates keeping them stuck to the ground were turned off.

Everyone floated off the platform.

Suits activated, helmets closed, boosters fired. All around them was the playing field. On the far sides were two bases, lit in red and green. Exactly how each base would be defended or conquered was entirely up to the participants.

The 397 had the advantage of numbers but also the problem of organisation and focus. The team of three were at a severe disadvantage in terms of manpower, but they had Ubik. And full control of the battlefield.

Eight people came charging at PT and Figaro. They had weapons in their hands and boosters blasting them forward. They weren’t hard to dodge.

PT, completely at home in zero-G, was able to fluidly evade every attempt to hit him. He barely seemed to move and yet somehow shifted his body just the right amount. Wild strikes were relentless thrust and sliced, but he was like a ghost.

Figaro, who had been training with PT recently, found that he was a bit clumsy to start with, narrowly avoiding decapitation by an oversized axe, but then he got the hang of it and was able to lean his weight just enough to move. It was like dancing underwater.

The eight shot past them and around them, not used to hand-to-hand combat at this speed or proximity.

PT pulled off a tube as one flew by, sending him spinning away as only one booster was operational. This caused the other seven to check their movements, realising they couldn’t simply use brute force.

Meanwhile, the rest of the candidates had surrounded Ubik. They had figured out something was amiss, and the best way to avoid losing was to get rid of Ubik. At least they had managed to get themselves organised.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

Point-Two watched the other applicants rush Ubik and he was amazed. Amazed by how eager they were to put their trust in this stranger. This stranger who was a threat to all humanity and pretty much everything else, too.

These people were all elite-level in mind and body. Without organics to rely on, they had pushed themselves to the limits of human ability, both physically and mentally, in an attempt to make their mark. The fact that they were here more than proved that.

Irrespective of whether they managed to join the Central Authority, they clearly weren’t simple folk.

And yet, they were clamouring around Ubik like naive children being offered candy by a stranger. A very odd stranger making the kinds of unrealistic promises that were far too good to be true.

Then again, if you took into account that they had no idea who Ubik really was and also their own self-belief and confidence in being able to handle a jumped-up little twerp, their lack of vigilance wasn’t entirely inexplicable.

With only a few tweaks and adjustments, Ubik was able to take what was already top-quality equipment and make drastic improvements. Upgrades were materialising before their very eyes.

Point-Two couldn’t help but sigh. This was the magic Ubik could perform. Not just the mind-boggling modifications on simple circuitry, but the wonder and astonishment he could instil in people.

An organic could give you only one specific advantage via a specific augmentation (at least for most people) but being able to adapt any tronic device was like having unlimited organics.

A gun, a spacesuit, a starship, a global computer network… the list of available targets for upgrades was endless.

At first, the crowd around Ubik was large but the volunteers for his services were few.

People were curious but not willing to risk having their equipment ruined.

But as soon as Ubik showed what he could do, caution was thrown to the wind and there was much pushing and shoving to be the next to win Ubik’s favour.

The benefits spoked for themselves.

Suits with basic movement capabilities were able to move at startling speeds.

Weapons with tight restrictions on use were free to shoot however they pleased.

Power sources that released energy in sensible, limited amounts could dump everything all in one intense burst.

With their legislated regulators deactivated, every device became harder to control and more dangerous if not operated with care, but these were highly trained, highly skilled individuals.

They knew very well the advantages of having the full capabilities of their equipment available to them, even if it voided the warranty.

As in any form of elite-level competition, it was being able to squeeze out that last drop of juice that made the difference between first place and the other ranks which were all equally meaningless.

Their happy faces would change once they realised why Ubik was really helping them. A riot would ensue, but it would be too late by then.

“Weapons are restricted to non-lethal use,” said Fig, who was staring up at one of the many screens showing endless text clarifying the rules in a font so small they must have used nanobots to write it.

“Won’t that be hard to enforce?” said Point-Two.

“There’s a suppression field they use to dampen firing mechanisms of a certain power level,” said Fig. “But Ubik seems to have overridden it for most of the weapons here.”

“So they can kill each other now? Great.”

“Grandma,” said Fig, “will this be a base capture conflict?”

“What’s that, dear?”

Fig explained the basic concept to the small drone hovering between them. It was just a casual conversation, with Fig highlighting the pros and cons of simulating warfare in an enclosed, controlled space, and pointing out the best locations for attack and defence in the structures looming around them.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” said Grandma. “I’m sure we can arrange it, if you’d like, dear.”

“I can choose the format?” Figaro had just been giving his prediction of the format the CA would use, he hadn’t expected to be the game designer.

“I don’t think it really matters,” said Grandma. “But if you want, I can have a word with some people I know.”

Grandma was right, it didn’t matter. They weren’t here to prove themselves through fake battles. They were just waiting for Ubik’s next demolition of the CA’s testing facilities.

Which was good in that it would get this charade over with, but it was bound to have repercussions. Not only would the other applicants be upset (assuming they were still alive) but the Central Authority was bound to notice something was amiss.

New Haven was fully automated and self-sufficient but the CA was known for its awareness of its own shortcomings. That’s why they had Guardians in the first place.

Having a backup to catch mistakes and spot signs of danger was a direct result of the CA’s rich history of failing to catch mistakes and not seeing the signs of danger any human would have spotted with their eyes closed. Artificial intelligence could do a lot of things and most of them very fast, but it had terrible intuition.

Ubik’s actions were going to trigger some sort of alarm, even if it was only to alert someone to take a look. With human eyes. That would be enough to land them in trouble.

“He never offers to upgrade any of my equipment,” said Fig, his attention back on Ubik’s free upgrade jamboree.

“Pray that he never does,” said Point-Two.

“But if we could get him to make improvements without installing his own slaving controls…”

“He won’t,” said Point-Two. “There would be no reason to make any changes to a system, tronic or otherwise, if he didn’t get to make it subservient to him.”

“Hmm,” said Fig.

A fight broke out between two people who felt they were both next in line for Ubik’s ‘help’. Nothing serious, just words and a little shoving, but it showed how much they had already accepted Ubik as the best way to succeed in the coming trial.

“What about them?” said Fig. He was nodding slightly to his right.

There was a small group of applicants — Point-Two counted eight — who were watching without participating in the madness.

They looked fairly young, although maybe on the older end of the scale for applicants present, and all of them wore grim expressions, not amused by Ubik’s antics.

Judging by their equipment, which was of the highest quality but showed signs of heavy use and long term wear and tear — so not bought here, on New Haven — they were experienced veterans.

They also carried weapons other than guns. One had a large metal club strapped to his back. Another had two swords. There were daggers and hammers and spears. What all these weapons had in common was that they were unaffected by any suppression field.

These were not kids looking for a shortcut to the top, these were people who had spent time working as mercenaries or delvers or something similar, probably alongside organics. They had enough experience to suspect Ubik was up to something. And enough sense to not rely on tronics.

Antecessors also had ways to block tronics from working. A heavy blunt instrument was often more effective in taking off a droid’s head.

They might also have noticed that Ubik was using his astonishing skills to help everyone who asked. Since only half of the people here could be on his team (assuming they could choose which team they were on — which they couldn’t) that meant not only his side would have the benefits of his generosity.

What could it possibly mean for him to help both his allies and his opponents?

Drones, which had been patrolling the edges of the platform they were on but hadn’t intervened in any capacity so far, moved towards the shouting match going on.

Ubik pushed his way through the crowd and got to the unhappy couple first.

“Guys, guys, there’s no need to fight. If you’re willing to be on my team, I’ll take care of you.”

Point-Two felt a chill go down his spine. Being taken care of by Ubik had all sorts of connotations, none of them good.

“Here, let me see what you’ve got here,” Ubik said to the temperamental man in a very heavy battlesuit that looked shiny and new.

With a few pokes, Ubik had the back panel open and ripped something out which he threw away over his shoulder. He slammed the panel shut and immediately turned to the woman who had been the other half of the argument.

The man in the battlesuit floated into the air. “Anti-gravity boosters!” he exclaimed with joy in his voice. “That’s not even available on this model.”

Even before he had finished speaking, the woman’s outfit, which was a lightweight flight suit made for manoeuvrability, lit up with red and blue coloured lights, which then detached from her body and hovered around her, making it look like her suits had turned ethereal and grown bigger.

“Maximum defence shielding. Quick, someone shoot me.”

Normally, firing inside a suppressed area wouldn’t be possible, but numerous people used their newly upgraded weapons to blast the blue and red shielding around the woman. The drones ignored them.

Point-Two’s eyes were on the group of eight keeping their distance. They had noticed the lack of reaction from the drones, and were discussing what that meant.

Ubik was being too obvious. At this rate, the CA would be notified of a problem before they had a chance to complete the trials.

Grandma had control of this setting. She might even have taken over the whole space station. If others realised Ubik was not just cheating but was initiating a full-scale subjugation, they might start asking awkward questions, punctuated with gunfire.

Another group of successful applicants arrived via the elevator. As the doors closed behind them, a buzzer sounded loudly and the doors behind them sank down and disappeared from view, leaving the platform devoid of any exits.

“Welcome to the second trial,” said a booming voice. It was female and sounded very similar to the one from the first trial. “You are the four hundred successful applicants who will now be facing each other in a battle to determine which of you is suitable for the third and final trial.”

There was a murmur of anticipation and excitement.

“The second trial will be a two-sided encounter between teams of equal numbers. Your goal will be to claim the opposing team’s base. How you do that is entirely up to you. No one will be given rank or authority over anyone else. You may choose to follow the orders of whoever you wish. Or give orders to others. Or act alone. This will be a points-based event so you can progress even if you are not on the victorious side.”

The voice continued to explain the rules, which were rather similar to the ones Fig had described to Grandma earlier. Point-Two wasn’t really listening.

The eight were preparing to make their move. They had their weapons arranged for easy access. And their faces set to kill.

Ubik was oblivious, still happily gimping everyone’s gear, running around to make sure no one was left out. Would he be able to handle all eight at once? Point-Two didn’t see how, but when had that ever turned out to be relevant?

In any case, he had no intention of getting involved. This was Ubik’s show, so he was welcome to the leading role.

The eight began moving, a team used to working together. It was clear in every way that they were a formidable force. Even if Ubik had the advantage, it wouldn’t be easy. It would definitely be messy. Best to stay well out of the way.

“We should…” Point-Two’s words died in his mouth. They weren’t heading for Ubik, they were coming over here, to where Point-Two and Fig were quietly minding their own business. And they were taking out their big, sharp, pointy weapons.

“I’m sorry,” I said, smoothly moving into apologetic mode. In these sorts of situations, it’s important to take full personal responsibility. “It was just that the driver said Archie got me an escort, so…”

“Do I look like a prostitute?”

On reflection, I probably shouldn’t have paused to think about it.

“No,” I said, eventually. You’d think I’d at least get bonus points for getting the correct answer.

“I don’t fucking believe this.” The suave young lady had turned into a bit of a foul-mouthed tramp. Not that I was judging.

“To be fair, there are some very attractive high-class hookers, you know? I don’t feel you’re being very fair on your sisters.”

“They aren’t my FUCKING SISTERS.”

Technically speaking, there were very much her fucking sisters, but I didn’t bring it up. Women rarely appreciate an argument on semantics when you’ve just called them a whore.

She picked up the remote control for the large TV screen and pressed it. The screen sank down to reveal the driver.

“What the hell did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing,” said the driver, very calmly. “Just as you instructed, Miss Larwood.” He sounded very deferential, but at the same time, he didn’t seem respectful at all.

She continued giving him what for, and he answered with polite denials of all her insinuations.

I was feeling very uncomfortable sitting there. If this was Flatland, I could have just killed both of them and walked away. Even if people saw my sword dripping with blood, they would ignore it.

And, if they found the bodies and remembered by blood-soaked clothes, all I’d have to say was that we were attacked by werewolves and someone would say, “Oh, I thought I heard some howling,” and someone else would go, “Well, it’s werewolf season, isn’t it?” and everyone goes away satisfied.

But here in London, you start blaming werewolves and they point fingers at you for cultural insensitivity.

The screen went back up and Elizabeth Larwood turned her attention back to me.

“Who are you? Really. I’m usually very good at being able to work out someone’s line of business, but you don’t make any sense. I haven’t seen my father this excited about anyone for a long time. There must be something special about you.”

“No. Nothing.”

She stared at me like she thought I was a new species of insect. And not in a good way. Not like an excited entomologist, more like an exterminator trying to figure out which poison would be most effective.

“So, you’re Flossie’s big sister,” I said, in an attempt to change the subject.

“Half-sister. We have…” Her face changed. “You know Victoria.” It was more of an accusation than a question. “How do you know my sister?”

“Um? Oh, I don’t. Archie mentioned her.”

“You called her Flossie. Nobody used to call her that apart from… wait, are you saying she’s still alive?” Her eyes grew bigger and she looked shocked. Oddly, she didn’t seem all that happy to hear about her sister’s survival.

“I have no idea,” I said. “You don’t really look like her. Do you dye your hair?”

“No. Why… because of the red hair? You DO know her. Where is she?”

This was getting to be more intense than I had hoped for. What I needed was a clever and smart way to dismount from this rather awkward conversation.

“Hey, how do I talk to the driver?”

Elizabeth pressed the remote and the partition came down.

“Can I help?” said the driver without looking back.

“Yeah. The point of giving me an escort was to make this evening go easier for me, right?”

“Uh huh,” said the driver, eyeing me in the rearview mirror.

“Well, it’s not working. In fact, it’s making it worse, so let’s change things.”

“What do you mean?” asked the driver.

“Let’s get rid of the escort and I’ll go it alone.” When the ship is sinking, time to throw the ballast overboard.

“What are you saying?” said Elizabeth. “You want me to leave?”

“Yes,” I said. “Or I can. Just drop me off at the next bus stop and you can take her home.”

“I have to take you to the Albert Hall,” said the driver.

“Okay, then drop her off at the next bus stop.”

“I can’t do that,” said the driver.

“Then let me out.”

“Fine, I get it, I won’t ask you any more questions,” said Elizabeth.

“No, I don’t think you do get it. You’re making me very uncomfortable just by being near me. And that’s going to fuck up my whole evening. Which, admittedly, was probably going to be pretty fucked up anyway, but now it’s going to be so much worse having to watch out for your tom-dickery.”

She glared at me, still not in a good way.

“What is your problem?”

If there was one question you shouldn’t ask me, that was it. Not that I mind being probed by a complete stranger (not a euphemism), but who has the time to list their issues? It wasn’t like she was going to solve any of them. It’s just nosiness.

“It’s not a problem,” I said. “Sometimes, people don’t work well together. They have their separate needs and they just happen to clash. Your need to get daddy’s attention is counterproductive when it comes to my need to not give a fuck about your needs.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you want to impress your dad, who isn’t easy to impress. I know you feel threatened by Flossie, I have no idea why, and I know you think I must be some kind of mistake your dad made, which may well turn out to be true, but it’s got nothing to do with you and it’s not something you can benefit from just by hanging around and seeing what you can pick up.”

“That’s not true. None of that’s true. I’m here to help you.”

“Okay. Sure. But I suspect you aren’t going to be useful to me so why should I put up with you when I don’t need to?”

She stared at me for a long time.

“You’re wrong,” she finally said.

“Yes. But let’s say I’m not a cannibal. I don’t think cannibalism is good and I certainly am not one myself. In fact, I’m a strict vegan. No meat of any kind passes my lips, so I certainly am not a cannibal. Only, the tofu I eat is flavoured to taste like human flesh. It’s not human flesh, and people who have eaten human flesh claim it barely resembles the real thing, but that’s how it’s sold. The taste of dead people in your mouth, mmmm. But I’m not a cannibal because I don’t eat humans, right?”

This line of argument took her a little by surprise. She probably hadn’t been challenged quite in this way before.

“You’re saying I am a cannibal even though I don’t eat people?” But she was willing to get on board my analogy, at least.

“No, you definitely aren’t a cannibal. That’s the point. You don’t have to be for me to not want you at my dinner parties. Vegans and cannibals, both are a nightmare to cook for.”

“You seem to know a lot about cannibalism,” she said.

“I’ve met a few. A whole island of them, actually. You know how some people say there are good people on both sides of any argument? Not with cannibals.”

“You’re insane.” She took out her phone and began texting.

The driver was watching us as he drove.

“Pull over,” she said all of a sudden.

The car stopped. I had no idea where we were but she got out of the car. Didn’t say another thing, didn’t look at me. The last I saw of her was her very attractive rear end disappearing through the door.

Then the door closed. I heard another car outside drive away. Since it had come so quickly, I could only suppose it had been following us.

We continued our journey. The partition remained down.

“I’m sorry about that,” said the driver. “I had no choice.”

“No choice? What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t Mr Larwood who sent her. She told me not to say anything to you. I have to admit I was worried. She’s very good at getting people to do whatever she wants.”

“Yes. Even you, apparently.”

“Ha, yeah. Sorry, again. She’s one of the few people who can fire me, so it’s best not to upset her. But I have to say, it looks like I was worried over nothing. The way you worked out she was gunning for you and how you tricked her into thinking you thought she was a hooker, that was truly impressive.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

I hadn’t spotted anything and my brilliant ruse had been completely genuine, but here in the world of the rich and privileged, everyone failed upwards, so why not me?

“You don’t seem to like her,” I said.

“Not my place to express an opinion one way or the other,” said the driver. “But she’s been after the old man’s job for quite a while now. Thinks of it as hers, even though there’s quite a lot of competition. She’s definitely the frontrunner. And she knows the old man’s got his eye on you, so you need to be careful. She won’t give up so easily. If she wants you as one of her assets, she’ll keep trying.”

As interesting as it was to learn about the internal wranglings of Archie’s organisation, I had no time to waste on Flossie’s family. I was here for one reason only, and that was getting a ticket home. I could only imagine how much more of a pain Elisabeth would be if she knew why her father was interested in me.

We arrived at the Royal Albert Hall as part of a stream of limousines. The driver took me all the way to the entrance and let me out. No one noticed me, everyone in their posh frocks and designer suits had other things on their minds.

This was fine. I liked being anonymous in the crowd. Having a beautiful woman on my arm would only have made things more complicated. Alone was good.

I walked in, showed the ticket the driver had given me, and found myself facing a giant Chinese dragon built like a waterslide in the middle of the vast auditorium.

“Impressive, isn’t it,” said a voice next to me. “Nothing like the real thing though, right?”

I turned to find Elizabeth in a completely different outfit. “Shall we mingle?” She took me by the arm and led me in.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the First Trial

The noise in the hall was so loud it created a physical pressure blasting them from all sides.

They were shouting accusations of cheating, of bribing the Central Authority, of being organics.

There were also other, less savoury allegations being made that were mostly biologically impossible, although one day genetic engineering would make them all commonplace, no doubt.

Point-Two looked from the enraged faces, up to the screen and then to the entrance they had just come out of.

The screaming and shouting and flying spittle didn’t bother him. The other applicants had obviously seen Ubik’s victory over the three robots on the giant screen and were understandably outraged.

They had every right to vent their anger.

The question that occurred to Point-Two, though, was why had they exited the same way they’d entered?

The previous victor — Regal Starveldt — hadn’t returned to this hall.

There had to be other ways in and out, not least of all because the injured needed to be taken away for treatment.

The second trial was obviously in some other location, so why would anyone want to come back out this way?

They wouldn’t, of course. You would have to deliberately force this door open again if you wanted to come back here for some reason.

He looked over at Fig, who was looking at Ubik with the suspicious gaze of someone who knew who the culprit was but hadn’t yet worked out what exactly they were guilty of.

Ubik himself didn’t seem at all perturbed or even surprised by their reception. If anything, he appeared to be soaking it up like it was some kind of applause for a good job well done.

“We have the second passing applicant of the day,” boomed a voice over the clamour. “Congratulations to… Unknown for passing the first trial.”

The voice sounded a little different than before. More feminine.

The screen above them showed Ubik strolling nonchalantly away from the three robots as they fell apart for no visible reason. It was understandable why people found the Ubik way of doing things was one that beggared belief.

No weapons, no tactics, no effort. Success!

Point-Two had seen it several times and he still found it hard to believe.

The outrage around them rose to deafening levels. No one tried to get closer to them, no one climbed over the very minimal partitions that separated the other applicants into lanes. They wanted to voice their displeasure, but they didn’t want to lose their place in line.

“An objection has been lodged and an investigation has been launched,” boomed the voice in exactly the same congratulatory tone, the same older lady voice. “Updates will be made available soon. The next gate is now ready!”

Four drones hovered down the lane towards them. They were bigger than the one Grandma had commandeered. They were the size of a human torso, and had a vaguely head-like protuberance on top. They even had two arms on either side of their barrel-shaped chests, ending in multi-pronged claws.

The crowd quietened down. This was what they wanted to see what was going to happen. How were these cheats going to be dealt with?

The mood seemed more upbeat now. Point-Two could hear people congratulate the CA for taking prompt action against the deplorable scammers.

The first drone came up to Ubik while the other three spread out to surround them.

“You will come with us.”

“Looks like we’ve been rumbled, boys,” said Ubik. “What do you want to do? Fight our way out?”

“Lead the way,” said Point-Two to the drone, not in the least concerned. “We’re happy to cooperate.”

“Can I request a list of the exact regulations we may have infringed?” asked Fig. “You’re required to provide a full copy before any charges are recorded in the permanent registry, assuming you follow Central Authority guidelines.”

“All guidelines are strictly adhered to,” said the drone. “All relevant files will be made available.”

“You’re going to let them take us into custody?” said Ubik. “What if they incarcerate us for the rest of our lives.” He lengthened his last few words like he was telling a ghost story.

Point-Two turned to the drone. “If we’re found guilty of a crime, do we get separate cells?”

“All Central Authority incarceration units are single service.”

“That’ll be fine, then,” said Point-Two.

The four drones escorted them towards a side entrance. Grandma’s drone hovered in between the three boys, entirely ignored by the drones, which wasn’t surprising.

The crowds jeered a little but their fury had been somewhat appeased by the swift enactment of justice. Or what they thought was justice.

Point-Two knew better. Fig was similarly unaffected.

“It would have made a better show if you’d put up a bit of a struggle,” said Ubik as they passed through the doorway with several signs on it insisting no entry was permitted. They passed into a corridor made of solid metal walls, possibly from some old starship, which made Ubik’s whisper reverberate loudly.

The four drones didn’t seem to hear.

“Are you controlling these four drones, Grandma?” asked Fig.

“Who me, dear? No, no. Hardly at all. They’re just four good boys who like to help an old lady. The Central Authority has such an unfair reputation for interfering and such and such, when they’re just trying their best. Aren’t you, boys?”

“Yes, Grandma,” said the four drones.

“Okay, Ubik,” said Point-Two. “You beat the first trial, you got us out the back way, which is the front way, and we’re away from prying eyes. Now what?”

“The second trial, of course,” said Ubik. “This is a marathon, not a sprint. Actually, it’s more of an assault course. With bathroom breaks.”

“And what is the second trial?” asked Fig.

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” said Ubik.

“Grandma, what’s the second trial?” said Fig.

“Ooh, it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”

“You, drone… 45098,” said Fig, peering at the back of the drone’s neck. “What is the second trial?”

“Team battle between all successful applicants from the first trial,” said the drone.

“Oh, come on,” said Ubik. “What kind of security protocols are the CA even running?”

“It isn’t privileged information,” said Point-Two.

“How many successful applicants are there?” Fig had realised Point-Two was keeping Ubik occupied so he could get a few more answers.

“Currently there are three hundred and forty.”

“That many?” said Point-Two.

“Must be more trial halls around the space station,” said Fig. “How many teams will take part in the second trial?”

“Two,” said the drone.

“This is going to be no fun at all if you keep giving everything away,” said Ubik.

“Good,” said Point-Two.

“Looks like it’s going to be some sort of war games,” said Fig. “Probably a way to identify leadership candidates and those who do well under pressure. If it’s for Guardian nominees, they’ll want people who can act independently and in a team. They also like them to be somewhat resistant to authority. The CA uses the Guardians to counter their own tendency towards informational paralysis. If we want to do well, we probably need to break a few rules and use unexpected methods.”

Point-Two looked from Fig to Ubik. “I think we’ve got it covered.”

From his perspective, these trials were all dependent on Ubik. He would easily find a way to overcome whatever the Central Authority had arranged for them. There really wasn’t any need to worry about the details. What he and Fig had to be prepared for were their own trials. The ones that they’d been undertaking since the first day they met Ubik.

The drones took them to a small room that turned out to be an elevator. It moved them quickly in several different directions. When they exited, they were on a large platform surrounded by massive girders, in between which was nothing. Or so it appeared at first glance.

The open views on all sides showed the different arms of the space station stretching away from them and beyond that, endless open space. They were in the heart of New Haven.

There were also hundreds of other people here, all dressed in battle suits and fully armed. Drones flew around as though on patrol.

People were talking, cleaning weapons, checking their gear.

The effect was that of an army waiting for deployment.

“Everyone here’s fully decked out,” said Point-Two.

“Yes,” said Fig. “Mostly high-quality, military-grade equipment.”

It was to be expected. These were the people who had passed the first trial.

Point-Two felt severely underdressed in his basic spacesuit and waterproof poncho.

A few glances were thrown their way as they entered, but mostly the people here were looking at the screens all around them showing off the loadouts of each of the successful applicants.

The weapons, armour and devices used to succeed were listed with prices and availability.

There were also several consoles with menus where you could purchase the items shown.

Point-Two found the whole thing rather crass. Wasn’t this whole thing just a marketing exercise for the selling of overpriced gear to the desperate? Rich people with no organics but a need to succeed.

“Isn’t that the guy?” said Fig, nodding towards a tall man in blue armour.

Point-Two looked him up and down. It was Regal Starveldt, their fellow successful applicant. He no longer had any injuries and his suit was fully repaired.

He was looking right at them.

Then he turned around and walked over to a console and accessed it. A few seconds later, the screen above him showed a still image of Ubik. Alongside him was where his loadout should have been. But it was empty.

No weapons, no armour, no devices of any kind.

A few people seemed to notice the oddness of this profile and people started gathering around Regal. There was some mumbling and glances over in Ubik’s direction.

Point-Two and Fig quietly moved a step away from Ubik. It wasn’t that they were worried about being associated with him, it just made sense to give him a little room. Point-Two pulled his goggles down over his eyes.

Ubik stepped forward, arms raised. “Hey, everyone, I know what you’re all thinking,” he said, addressing the entire room. “How did we manage to defeat the first trial without any weapons? Must have cheated. Well, you’re right. I did cheat.”

Every single person, even those who hadn’t been interested in the newcomers, now had their eyes on Ubik.

Point-Two took another step back. To give Ubik extra room.

“You see,” said Ubik, “they don’t mind cheating here. It shows initiative. And it’s not like I used any underhanded methods.”

“What methods then?” said Regal Starveldt, speaking up for the group.

“Nothing fancy,” said Ubik. “I used a sonic EMP charge to disable the robots. No need to fight if they stop working, right? Doesn’t show up on my performance chart over there because it isn’t classified as a weapon. They’ve never seen it before because I invented it. That’s my thing, messing around with tronics. Take your outfit.”

Ubik approached Regal.

“Newish model of the RT-6 reinforced flight suit by Rigolo, right? Full specs apart from the multi-targeting tactical rig, because, of course, the CA never approved it.”

Ubik took hold of Regal’s wrist and turned it over. The panel covering his forearm popped open and a holographic control panel hovered in the air.

“But,” said Ubik, “they still installed it, in case they got approval. It’s there, it’s just not active. Until now. Try it.”

The control panel snapped shut again.

Regal looked confused. “This is a secure zone. Weapons can’t be activated here.”

“That’s only for the authorised ones,” said Ubik. “No need to deactivate weapons that are already inactive.”

Regal still looked doubtful but he pulled down the visor on his helmet. “Full sweep, target all potential threats.”

Small flaps opened along his arms, on the shoulders and at his waist. Beams of red light zig-zagged around the room and then disappeared, leaving only red spots on the chests of every drone around them.

The visor on Regal’s helmet snapped back up. Regal blinked like he had just been blinded by a bright light.

“So much… so much more.” He was flabbergasted.

“This next trial is a team battle,” said Ubik, raising his voice to let everyone know he was talking to all of them. “Anyone who wants to be on my team, I’ll upgrade your weapon systems for free.”

There was a rush of people towards Ubik.

“Um, Grandma,” said Fig, “do you get to choose which team you’re on?”

“No,” said Grandma. “That would be silly.”

Fig shook his head. “Then what is he doing?”

“He’s getting them to give him access to their suits,” said Point-Two. “This is going to be the shortest battle the Central Authority has ever seen.”

After speaking with Archie on the phone, I felt much more positive.

I had a plan, I had an objective, I was in the process of getting from A to B. I was on my way. Very professional, very businesslike.

Which was all very well, but it’s not like professionalism is my area of expertise. I’ve had a good look all around my wheelhouse, and the records show a distinct lack of well-made, clearly worked-out ideas.

What I was doing was putting myself into an arena where every other person had a better idea of how to get what they wanted in that setting.

I’d spent my whole life avoiding those sorts of scenarios because I know I’m at a huge disadvantage to everyone else. Yes, I could end up being the winner, it’s possible. It’s also possible I could win the lottery. But the word ‘could’ has always been defined as ‘won’t’ in my personal dictionary, and I think that’s the correct translation.

What most people do is substitute in the word ‘hope’ and that makes them capable of all kinds of delusional bullshit. First, they inject the hopium, which is the gateway drug to copium, and before they know it, they’re voting for tax breaks for millionaires because one day they could be in that same tax bracket.

It’s just very sad to see someone lose their mind like that. Don’t do drugs kids.

Going into this thing blind with Archie as my guide was obviously dangerous. Archie was using me, so I was only safe around him until he got what he wanted. I knew that.

But if Cheng was really here, and I could get to him, then my prospects would vastly improve. Assuming Cheng didn’t end up killing me.

This was what gave me the confidence to attend a social gathering of this size and swankiness — no matter how risky it was to get involved with super-rich arseholes who used people and then threw them away like once-worn socks, it was nowhere near as risky as fucking with a demon king.

Rich people would make you promises about how they would make you rich too and then take all your money, but demons ate your soul.

I looked up the event online, to see what sort of thing it was. A gala was just a big party where people paid a lot of money for the tickets and did coke in the toilets. As long as I didn’t stick out, I could probably make it through the evening without embarrassing myself. I could.

What I learnt from my extensive online research was that the Evan Tang-Han Gala in Honour of the Anchor Trust for Cultural Friendship was the most fake organisation I’d ever come across.

Other than when it was happening and the people who would be performing (all Chinese musicians I’d never heard of) there was no clear explanation of what the event was for or who they were raising money for. There was definitely a Chinese flavour to the event, but I couldn’t tell if it was pro or anti.

The general vibe was that it was a cultural thing, spreading the Chinese way of doing via the medium of music and dance.

I don’t know if you’re a history buff, but the Chinese view on culture, especially their own, has been somewhat extreme in the past. They had a revolution about it. They decided to reboot their culture from the ground up, and they did it by killing everyone who had ever read a book. So a cultural exchange with the people’s republic held all sorts of connotations.

In any case, it was going to be music and lots of people, so I would be on my feet a lot. Comfortable shoes was what I was thinking.

I did find a map of the layout of the Albert Hall, so I knew where the doors were and also the bathrooms. Knowing how to make a quick exit and where to safely shit yourself are the fundamentals of any night out.

Eventually, I fell asleep and dreamed about Jenny. She was in a bad mood and refused to talk to me but wouldn’t say why. It was very realistic.

When I woke up, there was someone knocking on my front door. Groggily, I unpeeled myself from the bedsheets and answered it.

The driver was standing outside with a bunch of shopping bags.

“Mr Larwood asked me to give you these,” he said. “They’re for tonight.”

They were very posh bags that made you want to put them somewhere for safekeeping so you could use them when you wanted to impress people when you went shopping at Tesco’s.

“Let me know if any of the sizes are off, I’ll get them changed. Oh, I’ve moved in next door for the time being” He smiled. “Hello, neighbour.”

“Tony’s gone?”

“He’s fine. We had him treated, patched up, everything fixed. He’s still in the hospital for now, but he’ll be back in a few days.”

I went back inside. Having the driver next door was probably going to be a convenience, but it also meant surveillance on me was being turned up a notch.

The bags contained a couple of suits, a bunch of shirts, a variety of bow ties, including a clip-on one, and dress shoes that looked narrow and uncomfortable.

I recalled the shoes I’d found the first day I’d landed in Flatland. Broken, loose-fitting, pinching the heel and the toes. These looked worse.

I showered, I brushed my teeth, I ordered some food that was delivered by my new neighbour. The delivery guy had been intercepted on his way up, apparently.

None of the clothes Archie had sent me looked any good on me, but that probably said more about me than the clothes. My job wasn’t to look good, it was to not look like an idiot, so I put on a dark blue suit and a light blue shirt and put a bowtie in my pocket.

I still looked like an idiot, but one that hadn’t made much of an effort. Lazy Idiot > Tryhard Idiot, as everyone knows.

The rest of the day, I tried to get my magic going. It was tough, only getting the odd glow out of my finger and not for very long, but the fact it was possible at all was enough to give me a copium overdose.

The driver knocked for me around seven and he was dressed up, too, in a blue suit with a blue shirt. His version was obviously a lot cheaper than mine, but he still managed to make it look better.

I wasn’t bothered. My mind was focused on getting to Cheng and then there was a large blank space and then I was back in Flatland. The perfect plan.

As the driver opened the van up for me, he said, “Oh, Mr Larwood arranged an escort for you. He thought it would help you blend in better.”

I climbed in and was faced with an extremely long pair of legs that led up to a short dress and eventually there was a face.

Like most people, I know what a beautiful woman looks like because I’ve been shown pictures my whole life. You tend to get jaded after a while. Fat schlubs on their sofas critique the women on the telly like they’re connoisseurs. But it’s different when you see one in person.

It was like someone had managed to make Instagram filters work in real life.

She had a lot of makeup on, the tan was oddly unreal and her long black hair could easily have been a wig. Maybe fake tits; could easily have had work done on her face. But everything together resulted in a strange mixture of gorgeous and ridiculous. You really wanted to grab hold of bits of her, not sexually, just to see if they were detachable.

“Hello, you must be Colin,” she said. Her voice was neutral, not excited, not disappointed. Very professional. “I’m Elizabeth.”

“Um, yes. Hi.” I sat down next to her but as far apart as the seats would allow. “Nice to, um, meet you.”

It wasn’t that I was nervous or overcome with lust or even shyness. I just didn’t have any experience of this kind of situation.

Archie wanting me to have someone on my arm made sense, but wasn’t she going to attract too much attention?

Perhaps that was the idea. Focus on her, ignore me.

And maybe it would make them less curious about who I was. After all, a stumpy little weird guy with a leggy stunner was sort of a trope among the rich elite. The Ecclestone companion.

“So, ahhh, Archie sent you, did he?”

“That’s right.”

“And what instructions did he give you?”

“To take good care of you.” She smiled, all perfect teeth, not one drop of sincerity. “The gala is going to be a little intense. You may feel intimidated by the opulence on display, but there’s really no need. It doesn't make them better than you.”

She was starting to get on my nerves. She wasn’t wrong, but still. Annoying.

I could have told her about all the kings and queens I’d hung around, but she probably wouldn’t have believed me. And it wasn’t like they had been social/festive engagements. Usually, they were more the prison/execution sort of thing.

“I’ll be fine,” I said.

“Tell me, Colin,” she said, shifting everything to be more alluring and available. Although, maybe I was wrong. Maybe she just had one of those cleavages that followed you around the room. “What is it that you do? I’ve only been told you’re very important, but no one seems to know why.”

“Don’t you think there’s a reason why no one told you?” I said, my irritation easily overriding my natural inclination to ignore her.

My tone made her flinch a little.

“There’s no need to be rude.”

“There’s no reason not to,” I said. “Reason is not why we do things.”

“No? Then why do we do things?”

“Because we can. Or because we’re paid to. Why don’t you do what you’re paid to do.”

She looked annoyed now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Archie sent you to do a job, didn’t he? You only have to get me into the gala without attracting attention. Not ask questions above your pay grade. After that, you’re free to do as you please, I won’t be needing your services. Any of them.”

She looked confused. “What services?”

She was playing it coy, but she’d already tried to put me in my place so I didn’t feel bad putting her in hers.

“Whatever it is you usually do for the men you’re hired by, that’s not what I need you for. Archie seems to think it will be easier if—”

“What the FUCK are you talking about?” Her voice went needlessly loud considering I was sitting right next to her. “You think I’m a whore?”

“You’re an escort, aren’t you? I don’t see any reason to quibble about the exact—”

“No. I am not an escort. Dad asked me to escort you to this stupid party because he thought I could help you fit in.”

“Dad? You mean Archie? He’s your father?”

I really did think I could go a whole evening without embarrassing myself. Ten minutes in and the dream was over.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the First Trial

“There’s no need to look so concerned,” said Ubik. “Health insurance is included with the application fee. Nobody dies — well, hardly ever — and everyone gets free replacement limbs. If there’s one thing the Central Authority is good at, it’s switching body parts. Years of experience. Once you get to be a Guardian, they give you a new body every couple of years, whether you want it or not.”

“I’m not concerned,” said PT. “Not for you. It’s the rest of these idiots that worry me.”

He glanced around at the people waiting in line for their turn. They all clearly knew their chances were poor to non-existent, but they were still intent on having their shot, and paying royally for the privilege.

“You feel sorry for them?” said Ubik. “You really have to get that empathy of yours under control. Look at Fig, he doesn’t care.”

Fig frowned. “It’s not that I don’t care. I just don’t think there’s any reasonable way to convince them there are better options. Maybe there aren’t.”

“See, he can’t even be bothered to come up with a decent excuse for not caring, that’s how little he cares.”

The screen, which was still showing people getting decimated by their robotic opponents, suddenly went black for a moment, and then a single word appeared.

PASS.

A deafening cheer went up around the hall.

“We have the first passing applicant of the day,” boomed a voice. “Regal Stardvelt, congratulations for passing the first trial.”

A picture appeared of a young blond man in a damaged suit, with his arms raised triumphantly. His helmet was broken in half, revealing his tear-streaked, battered and bruised face. He looked barely able to stand.

Behind him were several other applicants lying on the ground, not moving, and behind them was a slightly out of focus humanoid robot with its head missing.

There were more shouts and cheers. Hope had flourished at the sight of a successful applicant.

“That’s an S grade battlebot,” said Fig. “They were used to take down low atmosphere jet fighters during the last Internecine War.”

“Yeah, antiques,” said Ubik. “Surprised they can still stand up. Nice they found a use for them.”

“I wonder how he did it,” said PT, craning his neck as he looked up at the screen. “He doesn’t look all that different to the rest of them.”

“Starveldt,” mused Fig. “I’m sure I’ve heard that name before. They make starship engines, don’t they?”

“Oh, yeah,” said PT. “I’ve heard of them. You think he’s related?”

“Terrible, terrible engines,” said Ubik. “Used to turn up in my junkyard all the time. Practically brand new and unfixable.”

“Well, he’s a survivor. At least that means it’s possible for people to pass this stupid test,” said PT.

“This is just the first trial,” said Ubik. “It gets a lot harder.”

The rim around the circular door in front of them turned green. There was a hiss as it rotated, opening like an iris as it did so. Nobody came out.

“It looks like they change the level of difficulty depending on how many people go in,” said Fig. “Are you sure you don’t want us to wait here?”

“Makes no difference,” said Ubik. “You’re here to learn, remember.”

“What are we going to learn from you?” said PT. “How to make all the wrong choices and win anyway?”

“Would you not want to learn how to do that?” said Ubik.

PT looked like he wanted to say something, but he shut his mouth and looked away.

“Okay, Grandma, you know what to do.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“What is she going to do?” asked Fig.

“Hack their network?” said PT. “Destroy their computer cores? Crash the system?”

“We’re trying to NOT attract attention,” said Ubik. “She’s just going to save us a spot for the next trial.”

“If only 0.0001% of applicants pass the first trial,” said Fig, “will there be many people ahead of us?”

“No,” said Ubik. “But that’s why you have to make an appointment for one. It takes a while to set up. Shall we?”

Ubik stepped through the opening. Fig and PT followed. The gate closed behind them, leaving the drone containing Grandma outside.

There was a short passage that led to a smaller doorway. Past that was a wet room. Full washing facilities, spouts on every wall, polished, drip-dry surfaces.

There was a door on the opposite side of the room, built like an airlock. Ubik went up to it and knocked.

“This is the way in,” he said.

There was a small black screen in the middle of the door with a timer counting down. They had nine minutes and twelve seconds to wait.

“What’s this?” asked PT. He was standing next to a black glass door that was on the left of the doorway they had entered through.

“Vending machine,” said Ubik. “You can order stuff on there. You can get your prearranged gear out of the locker, too.”

Fig tapped on the screen and it lit up, showing a colourful menu. Music played and a perky voice said. “Welcome to the New Haven Store. Accessing account.”

A red light scanned Fig’s barcode.

“You have… no credits available.”

“Bet that’s the first time you’ve heard that,” said Ubik.

“Here, let me try,” said PT. He walked over to Ubik, took him by the shoulders and turned him towards the vending machine.

A red light scanned Ubik’s suit.

“You have… unlimited credit.”

“What a surprise,” said PT. He shoved Ubik aside.

“Interesting,” said Fig, sliding his finger around on the now fully available menu. “Equipment, weapons, whatever you want.”

“Bit expensive, isn’t it?” said PT, looking over his shoulder. “Good thing we have unlimited credit.”

“The bundles are cheaper,” said Fig. “Full offence bundle. Full defence bundle. The Miaow-Miaow bundle — that has helmets with cat ears.”

“Do they sell explosives?” asked PT.

“Yes,” said Fig. “The R&G bundle. Rockets and grenades That’s their bestselling bundle. Oh, people who have bought the R&G bundle have also purchased the sticky bomb bundle.

“Never trust recommendations from an algorithm,” said Ubik. “They’re designed to try and upsell you on everything.”

“I would guess,” said Fig, “since you can order just about anything you want, that most of this stuff is useless. You don’t know what you’ll be facing, or what size room you’ll be in or how many opponents.”

“Well, it would be a nightmare trying to figure out what to take, if we were the ones having to fight whatever’s through there,” said PT. “But since we aren’t, I’ll take a pair of goggles and a waterproof poncho. I don’t like to be splattered with blood and guts.”

Fig entered the code numbers.

“They’re robots,” said Ubik, “they don’t have blood and guts.”

“No,” said PT, “but you do.”

“Do you really have so little faith in me?”

“Your luck’s going to run out at some point,” said PT. “Hope for the best, expect Ubik. That’s my motto.”

“Thank you for your purchase. Your new balance is… unlimited.”

There was whirring and clicking and then the menu screen flickered and then vanished, revealing a compartment with their items.

The counter on the door ran down to zero. The door made a clicking sound and slid to the side.

“This way,” said Ubik. “Watch carefully.”

PT and Fig, both with goggles and ponchos on, followed him.

They entered a large arena with high walls and a roof that was hidden by bright lights.

The door closed behind them with a solid thunk.

“Lots of room,” said Fig.

“Must be a big robot,” said PT, lifting his goggles to get a better look.

The ground rumbled beneath them and three large blocks of featureless metal rose out of the ground in a V-formation. Once they were fully revealed, turrets rose from the top of each.

“You’re going to deal with all three,” said PT.

“Yep,” said Ubik.

“You’re sure you don’t want us to help,” said Fig.

“Nope,” said Ubik. He stepped out in front.

The three turrets swivelled to target him.

Ubik took a sonic popper out of his pocket and put it in his mouth.

The turret guns began to glow as they prepared to fire. Ubik was around twenty metres from the nearest one. He was unlikely to be able to reach it before it opened fire.

Ubik bit down on the popper. There was a cool minty sensation in his mouth. Then the three robot tanks opened fire.

They exploded. The tops flew off and the sides fell away to reveal very basic internal workings with sparks and smoke indicating there was some sort of problem.

Ubik had already turned around and was walking back towards the exit.

“What did you put in your mouth?” said Fig.

“Gum,” said Ubik. “You want some?”

“No, thank you,” said Fig. “I’m good.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us what you did,” said PT.

“If I tell you, how will you learn?” said Ubik.

The door slid open. They walked back through the changing room and reemerged in the main hall where Grandma was waiting for them.

It was oddly quiet. Thousands of eyes were staring at them.

“This is awkward,” said Fig.

“So much for keeping a low profile,” said PT.

“It’s nothing,” said Ubik. “They’re just impressed.”

A lone voice shouted, “Cheat,” and then everyone began screaming at them.

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Landing Area 21

At one end, the jetty was attached to the hull of a first-generation lithium-drive star frigate that was at least three hundred years old, turned on its side so it looked like it was doing a fly-by very, very slowly.

On the other end, it was welded to what looked like a pre-CA orbital satellite that was covered in rust.

How it had gathered rust in space was a bit of a mystery, but half of it was missing, so it may well have been recovered after crashing into the planet it used to orbit. A common fate for many of the older satellites that had been advertised as eternal orbiters when sold to unsuspecting world governments in pre-CA times

The history of spaceflight was littered with such hyperbolic claims that failed to live up to their promises. And the history of governments was filled with gullible assemblies that thought they knew how to best protect their people.

Now, everyone relied on the Central Authority for their protection.

Ubik’s attention jumped from one ancient craft to another as they headed towards the main reception area, the direction clearly marked by large signs every few metres, although there wasn’t really anywhere else to go.

Some of the vessels that made up the space station he recognised, some were as alien to him as any Antecessor craft. The CA had collected a huge number of old ships and stuck them together. It was like travelling through a museum, although not a very well curated one, where the exhibits had been piled on top of one another in no chronological order.

The platform they were on had once been a Class E colony ship, used to transport thousands of people in stasis in order to populate new worlds. The habitation pods had all been stripped off, leaving only the central spine.

A smart choice. The old Class Es were built with gravity plates installed, back before the increase in demand made them prohibitively expensive. They couldn’t be removed without deactivating them, and reactivation was also very expensive. Much better to use them as they were.

“The gravitational forces here are all over the place,” said PT. “I’m amazed the station doesn’t rip itself apart.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” said Grandma, leading the way. “All the forces here are perfectly balanced. Beautiful example of engineering, I must say. As I’ve always said, you can trust a computer to get the maths right. I was always terrible at maths. Decimal points, always in the wrong place.”

More and more people joined them as they were funnelled towards the upended star frigate, which had its hull cut open to form a giant opening with a sloping gangplank into the interior of the space station.

Everyone was now wearing their CA-assigned suits.

“You can face the trials on your own or in a team?” said Fig. “And they vary the difficulty depending?”

“That’s right, dear,” said Grandma.

“No one else has a drone escort,” said PT, his eyes constantly moving to assess any threats, note down structural features and generally behave in the most paranoid manner possible. “We’re already sticking out.”

“No one cares,” said Ubik. “The really rich get special treatment, same as everywhere else. They’ll just think we must be VIPs.”

No one was paying them any attention. The voices around them were excited and boastful and completely self-involved.

People in groups argued about who in their party would do best in the upcoming trials; people on their own weaved quickly through the crowds with eyes full of determination, eager to become the person they believed themselves to be.

The air was thick with hopes and dreams. Ubik found it ridiculous. Everyone wanted to be someone they weren’t.

Most of them were young, some had older escorts. There would be some organics among them, sent to babysit the kids of well-to-do folk. And some were just ambitious nobodies who had low CQ scores but wanted to be someone special in the universe.

They were all here to prove themselves. Organicless and minor characters on the galactic stage, this was their chance to become members of the galaxy’s police force. A chance to bully others far more powerful than themselves. Looking down on others, it was every powerless person’s dream.

“Grandma can access their network, right?” said Fig. “She can give us a pass. That’s how you’re going to do this.”

“Grandma can’t interfere in the trials,” said Ubik. “She can speed things up, but we have to beat the trials by ourselves.”

“You mean, you have to beat the trials by yourself,” said PT.

“Yes,” said Ubik. “That’s what I mean.”

Ubik was confident he had everything under control. Part of this confidence came from his knowledge of tronics, which would serve him well in this place that was so very reliant on technology, and the other part was from the sheer lack of care the Central Authority took in supervising this place.

PT and Fig were correct when they noted the poor security arrangements both inside and outside the CASS New Haven.

There were no Guardians here. There was no integrated AI network. Nobody was watching the applicants, checking on them, grading their abilities and splitting them into different levels of skill for more accurate assessment.

None of the basic approaches you would expect of a training facility for one of the biggest organisations in the galaxy were present.

New Haven was fully automated and literally left to its own devices.

Devices that weren’t even checked for errors and breakages. It wasn’t necessary.

Mutual-maintenance. As long as all the machines didn’t break down at the same time, there would always be at least one machine capable of fixing all the others.

After all, the probability of every machine on the space station developing a fault at the exact same time was simply too low to be considered anything other than negligible.

That was how machines thought. Or were made to think. If a probability was so unlikely as to be virtually impossible, then it was impossible.

Maybe not impossible. That wasn’t a word a machine would use.

But whenever they made a list of jobs that needed to be done, it always came last. And always coming last was the same as never.

Maybe not never. That was also a word a machine wouldn’t use.

Ahead of them was a large hangar-sized corridor you could fly a starship through. It was split into several channels, separated by low barriers.

Turnstiles scanned the barcode on each person’s suit and then indicated if they should go left or right. The further they went, the more channels appeared, splitting the crowd into more and more lanes.

People from other landing areas within the space station were all filtered into the main thoroughfare, a highway for people, merging and intersecting.

Every time Grandma came to a turnstile, it gave them a green light to go left. After the first few turnstiles, their lane never had anyone in it other than them. They strolled past the slower moving lines to their right.

They received the occasional dirty look, but nothing more. There was always someone with more privileges, someone with greater entitlements.

“We’re going to go straight into the first trial, are we?” asked Fig.

“Yes,” said Ubik.

“And they won’t notice the drone leading us isn’t one of theirs?” said PT. “Or that our suits aren’t from their stores? Or that we have organics?”

“That’s right,” said Ubik. You had to love machines. They didn’t ask stupid questions. Unlike some people.

After walking for twenty standard minutes, passing hundreds of people shuffling a few steps at a time, they entered a vast hall with a series of large gates at the far end, each with a number over it. From 1 to 111.

Their lane was clear and led directly to gate 21.

“All gates are busy,” boomed a voice overhead. “Next available gate is estimated… two minutes.”

The gates were circular, three metres tall and constructed of dull brown metal.

“You will be assigned one of thirty-two different trial scenarios. Sixteen different robot opponents. Eighty-one different battle configurations. Purchase a trial guide from the shop for more information.”

Lines snaked and folded back on themselves, but they all eventually led to one of the 111 entrances. Thousands of people were gathered here, ready to face their trial. The air was abuzz with excited voices.

“Detailed breakdowns of each trial are available for purchase now. Equipment loadouts graded for each type of encounter can be found in the trial guide.”

“Nobody has any equipment,” said Fig, looking around.

The people lined up were wearing their basic CA suits and had nothing else. No weapons, nothing.

“Your loadout is forwarded to your prep area once you enter the gate,” said Ubik. “It’s all prearranged.”

“You’ve prearranged for your equipment to be waiting for you, have you?” asked PT.

“No,” said Ubik. “I don’t have any equipment.”

“Of course,” said PT. “Why would you?”

Above the gates, there was a large black screen on the wall, stretching all the way across. On the sides, it displayed various statistics and information about how long left there was for each gate.

There were also long lists of data that weren’t labelled, but Ubik recognised them as telemetry from drones. Firing rates, damage taken, processing subroutines — the fact they were willing to display so much of their internal data was an indication of how little they thought of the applicants.

“I wonder what the pass rates like,” said Fig.

“Oh, let me have a look,” said Grandma. “Mmm. One percent. That’s not so bad, is it?”

And in the middle of the screen was live video footage of teams facing their trials. Teams of well-armed people running around, firing shots at different types of robots, with fast cutting and thumping music.

The current central image, bigger than the others, was of a team of six people in heavy-duty battlesuits in an arena, preparing to fight.

There was a loud beep that drew everyone’s attention towards the screen. Six cylindrical silver pillars rose out of the ground and immediately began firing laser bolts in all directions, thousands of rounds a second.

In unison, the six raised their arms and shields appeared from their suits, covering them from head to toe, deflecting the laser bolts.

The barrage continued unabated, punching the shields with each hit, sparks flying, pushing the team back. But their leader began shouting orders and the team moved slowly forward, working their way towards the pillars as their shields were chipped away.

Three of the team moved to the front, providing cover for the three behind, who turned off their shields and took out small circular devices which they armed and then threw along the ground.

The bombs rolled towards the pillars, lights flashing.

But then the six pillars started moving.

They rose even further out of the ground, limbs extending from their cores. Tentacles shot out and grabbed the bombs and threw them back.

Lasers hit the bombs and they exploded in the air, the shockwave throwing the team off their feet.

Relentless laser-fire rained down on them.

Their shields broke, their suits sustained severe damage, some limbs were blown off.

The image switched to another arena.

This one was smaller, with only one applicant in a tricked-out battlesuit. There were gun turrets on each shoulder and a rocket launcher on each arm.

A large square block rose out of the ground. It looked more like a tank than a robot. It had only one turret but it was a big one.

The applicant flew into the air — his suit was equipped with a jetpack.

The tank began firing from its turret, following the flier.

The applicant fired back. Rockets and missiles homed in on their target. They all hit, but the damage was minimal.

Two more turrets popped up and the rate of fire increased dramatically. The flier was riddled with holes and then his jetpack exploded.

The image quickly cut to another arena, just in time to see a muscular woman with twin howitzers, one under each arm, get hit by a beam of white light between her eyes, followed by a mass of brain matter flying out the back of her head.

“Oh, did I say one percent?” said Grandma. “Silly me. I meant point zero, zero, zero one percent.”