mooderino

October 2020 Update

Hello. So obviously I’ve been a bit AWOL recently, for which I feel I owe people a bit of an explanation. This is the quick version (hopefully).

So, as some of you know, I live with my sister and her family. The main reason for this was because my mum lived here too and I looked after her. She had dementia and needed constant supervision. She also had cancer although it didn’t really have much of an effect. She was supposed to have died two years ago tops but she’d never been very good at keeping to a schedule.

Anyway, this allowed me to write quite a lot since she was often zonked out on drugs and we had carers come in to deal with the more difficult issues (involving fluids and so forth).

So then covid hit and my sister’s three kids were at home ‘cos school was closed and my sister and her husband, who are both doctors, were not at home, so I was suddenly very busy and also mentally drained (kids aren’t fun, please don’t have any).

Then my mother got worse, which meant even more stuff to do, and as is probably obvious by my use of the past tense, she died (from the cancer). This was end of May. 

Now you’d think this would free up a lot of time, which it did, but for some reason I found it very hard to concentrate on writing. This wasn’t a grief, sadness, depression sort of reaction — dementia usually means the person you knew disappeared a long time ago — but more of a blank feeling from not having all the stuff I needed to do on a daily basis there anymore.

As a writer, I rely a lot on just getting in the zone and riffing, and I just wasn’t able to do that. I do feel better now but I find it hard to remember where I was with my writing, character names, plot lines, just no recollection of anything. And when I try to read over old stuff I glaze over and constantly lose my place. Found it very hard to get back into the swing of things.

I’ve lost a lot of Patreon subs over the last couple of months (which is completely understandable) but a lot of you have kept faith with me (for which I’m very grateful). It will take a while to build things back up, assuming I can get my shit together, but here we go.

My plan going forward is to post DD three times a week (first one went up yesterday). I want to bring back HTADDB and TGS (next week I think), and I want to write a few short stories to give my brain something else to think about. 

The usual problem of having too much on my mind isn’t an issue at the moment. Quite the opposite — completely empty-headed currently. However, it may take a week or two to get back up to speed. There also may be more mistakes than usual so feel free to call them out.

Oddly, while I haven’t been able to write my old stories, I have managed to think up a bunch of new ideas in quite a lot of detail. Around 120 of them. Don’t know where they all came from, but will try to knock a few out over the next few weeks as short stories. 

In conclusion, sorry for bailing so hard. Thank you for putting up with it. Will try to bring the fire over the next few months and then maybe 2021 will be a nice time (it could happen).

Find me on Discord if you have questions. 

Cheers,

Mood

DD: Temp change to schedule

I think I'm going to have to change the DD schedule to twice a week, Wed and Fri. I'm finding I don't have the time atm with everyone at home and requiring looking after (my sisters kids mainly).

This will only be temporary (assuming the world won't end) but it's a bit too hectic round my place to get the chapters out on time.

I am getting stuff written but my writing time has always been a bit limited and the constant interruptions make it hard to get into a flow, which makes hitting deadlines really hard for me.

So no chapter today. Next one on Wednesday. Apologies for all the delays and messing about.

Cheers,

Mood

Unavoidable 24hr delay

Deeper Darker: Next chapter will be up tomorrow. Something something coronavirus. Not because of new POE league. Definitely not that.

March 2020 Update

Most of you will know I have decided to reboot Book 10 as I wasn't very happy with how it was going. Colin back on Earth just got a bit meandering and messy (for all sorts of irl reasons) and rather than rush to whatever ending I could come up with and then fix it in rewrites for the eBook version (which is what I was initially thinking) I'm going to start again with Colin's arrival home. This is the end of the whole series, so I want it to be as good as possible.

Now that I’ve had a chance to look over what I’ve written so far for HTADDB, I’m feeling a lot better about the story. There are some decent parts that I can still use, mostly the earlier sections.

The reboot will start posting this Thursday on Patreon and on other sites the following week. And then weekly on Thursdays from then on. One chapter a week.

(Old chapters will be removed from my site although I will leave them up on Patreon for anyone who wants to go back and have a look).

I will be using the best of what I’ve written already so some of it will be familiar, but it will diverge more and more as it continues. Entirely new sections will also be added. I’m hoping to keep it more concise and focused on a clear story/ending.

Once it’s up and running I plan to bring back The Good Student. That will also require a reboot, I think, although I’ll have a better idea of what needs doing once I give it a closer look. My aim is to bring it back at the end of this month.

If I can get all three stories up and running with a manageable schedule by April, then I think I will be in good shape going forward. I want to complete these stories in the manner I planned from the start, but time management seems to have been my greatest weakness. A slower release schedule and a rough 'first draft' to work with should make that easier.

Thanks for putting up with all these delays, it’s been quite an education in trying to be a content provider with no idea what I was doing. Live and learn.

Cheers,

Mood

February 2020 Update

I’ve had a week off writing HTADDB and I slowly feel like my brain is decompressing back to its original shape. Here’s my plan going forward.

I looked over what I’d written for Book 10 and frankly it isn’t good. The general direction is fine but the execution is all over the place. The narrative isn’t very compelling and the plot isn’t very clear. And it’s not as funny as it should be.

I knew I wasn’t doing great but I had hoped to tie up all the loose ends and then rewrite it once I had the whole thing down for eBook publication, but that isn’t really the best way to end the story online and not really how I want this journey to end.

So, having thought it over, the only real alternative is this: reboot Book 10 and start from the first chapter with a clearer idea of where it’s going and give it a more focused story.

Not sure how that will go across but it feels like the right thing to do. I don’t want the last book to be the worst one.

My plan then is:

1. Restart from Tuesday March 2nd (I need time to work it out fully so I don’t end up the same as last time).

2. Keep it to 30-40 chapters with a clear storyline (around 100k words, good size for a book).

3. Post one chapter a week so I don’t burn out (slightly longer chapters but more focused).

There will be some stuff I keep (and Colin is still going to comment on the political situation once he comes home, because he would) but there will be a lot that goes. I don’t know how people will feel about a reboot just as the story was reaching the end, but hopefully most will give it a chance. I’m pretty sure I can give the story the ending it deserves.

As ever, feel free to let me know your thoughts in comments.

January 2020 Update: Happy New Year

Back from break, starting up Patreon chapters this week.

The start of a new decade (for however long it lasts) and I’m emerging from my winter hibernation to get things rolling in Mooderino world, a world of song and dance and rivers of chocolate… oh, wait, that’s Willy Wonka’s factory. Well, it’ll be similar, just with fewer sweets and more Oompa Loompas. A lot more. Thousands. With spears.

I’ll be restarting Deeper Darker from tomorrow (6th January) here on Patreon. Will continue on other sites after two weeks.

I spent some of my break planning out the rest of the arc for this book, so there should be no (few (only some (hardly any)) problems. Now that we’re into the dungeon crawling part of the story, things should start ramping up. Hold onto your Delgados.

HTADDB will resume here from Tuesday 7th January. I think there will be ten or so more chapter to the end. I’ve planned it out but individual chapters may get longer as they have a habit of doing when I try to outline things ahead of time.

Haven’t decided when to restart The Good Student, I want to get the other two up and running first. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of weeks though.

Thanks very much to everyone who’s stuck with me over the break. I’ll see if I can repay the favour by churning out a few good chapters every now and again. Might even stick to the schedule this year.

Of course, if WW3 breaks out, I’ll be signing up for the army. Not ours, obviously, don’t want to be on the losing side. Anyone know the fastest way to learn Mandarin?

November 2019 Update

Okay, here we go, updating like a professional. Consistency is my middle name from here on out.

Missed last month’s update because I was swamped, plus not much to say. This month, though, seems to be back on track. Haven’t missed any chapter posts for any of my stories, which makes a nice change. The current schedule seems to be holding.

I didn't live up to the standards I set for myself. I failed in my purpose. And for that, I'm sorry, and I accept accountability — oh, wait, that’s not me, that’s Blizzard’s bullshit apology.

Fortunately, I have Diablo 4, I mean, DEEPER DARKER, which is going well. The story is getting a good response (now that the people complaining about the Seneca Corps have backed off) and Ubik is a firm fan favourite. Expect him to die soon (just kidding… or am I?). The dungeon crawling element is even about to make an appearance, probably. Soon™.

Quality has suffered a little on my other two stories as I’ve struggled to keep up, but my approach at the moment is to treat them as first drafts which I will rewrite for ebook publication.

It’s a bit easier to polish than to be perfect first time, especially when I’m so pressed for time. I’ll be doing the same for the older stuff I haven’t published yet. Expect the ebook versions for HTADDB and TGS to be quite a lot different from the online stuff (by which I mean better and less all over the shop).

Once I get HTADDB and TGS finished, I should be able to find more time to do some new stuff, and also some HTADDB side stories.

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me through the ups and downs. I expect I’ll screw up again at some point. Hopefully not before Christmas, when I’ll be taking a big fat break and then 2020, which will be a great year, I’m sure. Can’t imagine anything crazy happening with elections or world unrest. Should be fine, right?

HTADDB 10 update

So I planned to restart HTADDB on Patreon today but I don't feel I'm quite ready. Actually, I'm nowhere near ready. I brought back Biadet and I can't even remember when we last saw her and what she was up to, so I need to go back and check up on that.

I also don't want to feel like I'm rushing like I usually do, so I'm going to take it a little slower with HTADDB while I sort out the other two stories.

Which is all to say that I'm pushing the return of HTADDB back by two weeks. Will return here on Patreon on 8th October, and from there a clear run to the end. I don't want the ending of the story to be a let down so I'm planning it out and hopefully it will be worth the wait.

Cheers,

Mood

September 2019 Update

Here to give you the details of when each of my stories restart.

This month’s update is slightly late as I wanted to see how I felt after my break before committing to any dates. Been off for a couple of weeks and I’m just about recovered. It’s been nice not to wake up in a panic about all the things I need to get done, but all good things must end. Ah, mental health, we hardly knew ye...

Completing the first arc of Deeper Darker felt like a pretty big accomplishment and I feel confident about where to take it next. Mainly because it was where I planned to take it in the first arc but I got a bit sidetracked while I established the characters and settings.

The whole first book ended up being a bit of an extended prologue for the story, hopefully that will help build a strong foundation for what’s to come. Book 2 will be more focused on action and adventure, theoretically.

Anyway, I will be starting Book 2 on Patreon from this Monday (9th September), usual three times a week. Updates will be back on my site and RR two weeks after that.

HTADDB I’ve decided to extend the break so I don’t end up starting everything at once, so I will bring that back on Monday 21st September o Patreon and a week later on my site and RR.

The Good Student will come back next Sunday (15th September). This staggered approach should help ease me back into the swing of things.

I’m also planning to take a week off every ten weeks so I get a bit more of a regular breather.

So that’s the plan. Any questions, hit me up on Discord.

August 2019 Update

Hello and welcome to the midsummer update. I am melt. Still writing, though.

Currently, I am plugging away at my three stories. Got a bit stuck on The Good Student for a couple of weeks (apologies), but seem to be back on track now.

HTADDB is moving along smoothly towards the climax. I also got contacted by a Korean translation group to post a Korean version of Colin’s adventures on a Korean site. They seem to like it over there (I might even make some money out of it), big fans of Colin, everyone hates Claire. So it’s true, people are the same all around the world.

You can check it out here: https://novel.munpia.com/159574

Bitter Book 6, the final volume, is now available for pre-order on Amazon and other sites. Will be released on 9th August: https://books2read.com/bitter6

I now have to finish off HTADDB 8 for publishing and Book 2 of The Good Student.

I also wanted to do paperback versions of all of these books, but finding the time is the hard part. I’m hoping once I get HTADDB finished, I’ll have the time and energy to do that. It’s actually not that hard to do, it’s just fiddly and time consuming.

And that brings us to Deeper Darker, which is approaching Ch. 100. The idea is to end the first book at that point, which has turned out to be a very long prologue as I set up the main narrative of the story (yes, we’ve only just begun…).

I’ll probably take a couple weeks off before starting the second book. Who knows, there might even be some dungeon crawling in that one.

The response to Deeper Darker has been mostly very positive and readers are discussing the possible directions things could go in, which is very gratifying for a writer. I hope to keep surprising people with where it’s all going.

Any questions, hit me up on Discord (LINK).

Thanks for the continued support.

July 2019 Update

Heatwave and lazy days. Some small changes to my schedule.

Almost forgot to post this month’s update! Shows how swamped I’m getting.

I’ve been (just about) keeping pace with my current schedule, but I’m finding it hard to get anything else done. I feel like I need to make some adjustments if want to finish the editing and eBook releases waiting on my desktop.

I’m going to move Deeper Darker to later in the day. At the moment I’m posting it at midday my time (GMT+1). I’m going to try posting it at the same time as I post all my other stories (9PM my time). That will give me a lot more space to get it done, and hopefully make it feel a bit more polished. I can get it out no matter what if I rush it, but it’s not going to be as good as it could be.

DD will work towards some sort of Book 1 climax around Ch. 100, which I will then put out as an eBook (another book to edit!).

Of course, things will ease off a bit once HTADDB finishes and Book 2 of The Good Student ends (there will probably be a Book 3).

It would be nice if I could be on top of things by then, so whatever I decide to do next slots in seamlessly. We shall see — still got a few months before that.

My main effort over the next month will be to get the eBook stuff done and sorted. We who are about to die salute you. Well, maybe not die, just suffer horribly.

Thanks for all the support, by the way. Makes the suffering a little less horrible to know people still dig my work.

As always, you can let me know your thoughts on Discord: LINK.

Cheers.

June 2019 Update

Hello and welcome to the monthly update where I let you know what I've been up to lately.

All three stories are up and running, now I just have to keep them going!

Deeper Darker has become quite popular and mostly well-received, with Ubik emerging as the fan-favourite. As with all of my stories, I’ve been getting some flack from people who don’t like various elements (in particular the all-female Seneca Corps) which is fine and what I expected, but it can still be a bit tiresome when people get worked up about things that haven’t even been developed fully yet.

The same is even more true for How to Avoid Death on a Daily Basis. I’m not sure what people expected of Colin once he returned to planet Earth but ignoring the current political climate wasn’t ever going to be an option. This has led to some particularly virulent comments over on Royal Road where the readers are young and full of dumb, but thanks to the blocking feature they’ve implemented, they’re easy to silence.

To be clear, HTADDB is not going to devolve into a series of polemics about right wing politics, but it will continue to mock buffoons as it always has, and there are some pretty big ones around at the moment.

These are very strange times and Colin is hardly going to show tact when it comes to taking the piss out of the people doing horrible shit and also the people supporting the people doing the horrible shit. In many ways, it’s the perfect environment for Colin.

Ah well, at least The Good Student is controversy free, more or less. The hate for Dizzy is still strong, of course, but that’s quite mild in comparison and more along the lines of people expressing their personal preferences, which is how it should be.

It does show that people are invested and engaged with the stories, which can only be a good thing, right?

Anyway, back to work. I'm actually trying to get things written before the day of posting. Crazy idea, but it might just work.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 53

53. System Breach

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just let us—”

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

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

There was no response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“Hmm,” said Captain Hickory, nodding thoughtfully.

“What am I supposed to tell his mother?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We don’t,” said Hickory. “We wait.”

Galeli found the answer unsatisfactory.

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

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

A light on the console started flashing.

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

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

A message appeared on the screen:

Valued Customer,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May 2019 Update

Deeper Darker has passed the fifty chapter mark and is doing very well! I know, I’m as surprised as you are.

People were a bit sceptical about whether I could make a three MC story work, but I think it’s worked out okay so far.

Ubik seems to be the fan favourite at the moment, we’ll see how that goes as the story unfolds. I still feel like I’m in the very start of the story with the character intros out of the way but the real plot yet to start. I see this as a very long term project with many arcs to it, so early days. I think most of you will be surprised when you see where it’s going (hopefully in a good way).

DD has done wonders for my Patreon so very many thanks to all those who are supporting me through there. I gained a lot of new patrons at the $3 tier (which is the DD extra chapters tier). Not enough to live off yet, but getting there. I hope to add some extra rewards and find ways to offer more content for patrons soon.

Not everyone is here for DD, though, and I’m doing my best to keep The Good Student going. It’s been difficult maintaining both. I think TGS is struggling a bit at the moment to keep the right pacing. It’s moving a bit too slowly, so I’m going to try to speed it up so there’s more of a story for Nic rather than just his personal development. I do have a goal for him, but I’m finding it hard to get him to where he needs to get to within each chapter.

And, of course, HTADDB 10 starts next week. Should be interesting to see how I manage with that thrown into the mix. Still, I feel upbeat about it. It helps that DD has been accepted so warmly, it’s amazing what a little positive reinforcement will do for a weary soul.

Thanks very much all around, for reading, for subbing on Patreon, for voting on TWF, for upvoting on Reddit, for liking on Twitter — all of it really helps. I’ll try not to mess it up (I promise nothing).

Any comments or suggestions, hit my up on Discord or leave a comment here. Cheers.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 52

52. Isolated

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Origin - Sim-U

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you wearing those suits?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, what kind of—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we go?” asked Figaro.

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

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

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

“I volunteer the kid,” said Gipper.

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

“Battlefield promotion,” said Gipper.

“That makes no sense,” said Bev.

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

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

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

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

“What did he say?” said Gipper.

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

“Lead the way,” said Hickory.

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

“This is where you died?” asked Figaro.

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

“It worked for him,” said Bev.

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

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

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

“This is new,” said Hickory.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think we should leave,” said Gipper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no response. The portal opened.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 51

51. Enough Rope

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lights flashed around the drone’s head in response.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think ten is fully grown?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This Terrific guy, you know him?”

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

“But you know who he is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ubik laughed. “That was quick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” said Point-Two.

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

“You didn’t tell Ubik?”

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

“What choice?”

“Whether you want to go with him.”

The Good Student Book 2: Ch. 22

The Librarian led the way back to the stairs. She raised the lantern high, as if to show Nic what he had in store — a lot of steps — and drew herself up as well, becoming Periwinkle. His clothes filled out at the same time, taking on the more masculine shape of a rugged man who used his brawn to accomplish tasks. Looks could be deceiving and in Nic’s recent experience almost always were.

“Does your device have a way to take us back up?” he asked.

“No,” said Periwinkle, the voice deeper. “It doesn’t work like that. I can affect what you see and hear but not the effect gravity has on you.”

“You couldn’t grow wings and use them to fly us out?”

Periwinkle smiled in a way that transformed the lower part of his face into the Librarian’s. Now that he knew it was her, it was easy to see beyond the mask.

“If I grew wings large enough to enable flight, they would be too big to fit in this stairwell.”

Nic hadn’t expected the answer to be quite so pragmatic. It did confirm that she could have done it in the open, though. The device on her wrist was something he’d like to know more about.

He raised his head and looked past her at the steps illuminated by the lantern. His body sagged with exhaustion just from thinking about how far up they had to go.

“There’s no easier way to the top?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not,” said the Librarian, the lantern swinging gently in her hand. “You’ve been getting stronger, haven’t you? This will be good exercise for you.”

From anyone else, he would have taken it as an attempt to mock the modicum of progress he’d made in getting himself physically fit, but the Librarian was being serious. Climbing stairs was a good way to get stronger. They began the ascent.

His head felt oddly empty. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t carrying a passenger. He could tell the difference. He felt alone.

“How do you think I did?” he asked from behind Periwinkle.

There was a long pause before Periwinkle spoke, using the Librarian’s voice. “Do you recall the story of the five merchant princes?”

“The one from your book of myths and fairy tales?” said Nic.

“The book by Wink Munroe,” the Librarian corrected him.

“Yes, I remember it. Are you saying this is a similar situation?”

The story was a simple allegory, about a merchant in competition with four others, and how they formed a pact to manage the market between them to their personal benefit. With the five of them fixing prices and preventing anyone else from competing, it was a fairly easy task to keep the money flowing and to give customers no other option but to accept their terms.

They became wealthy and lived the lives of minor royalty, princes among their kind.

But the first prince, the one whose idea it had been to form their association, convinced three others to join in him pushing out the fourth. One share of four was better than one share of five.

Greed and an eye for a good deal drove them to reduce their membership, and then to turn on another and another, until only two were left, the first prince and one other.

And of course, they turned against each other also, until only one was left. But it wasn’t the first prince who claimed the crown for himself, because being the architect of a dream did not entitle you to claim it.

“I am saying,” said the Librarian, “that the reason people agree to join forces with people they don’t trust, who they know can leave them with nothing, is that they believe they have a chance to be the victor and not the victim. And they do. If only one person in five can win, then only one will win, but which one?”

“The one who wants it most?” said Nic.

“Possibly. But I can tell you who will not win — the one who wants it least. If you leave your advantage lying around, someone will pick it up and use it against you.”

“When you wrote those stories,” said Nic, “under the Wink Monroe name, was it meant as a warning to others? Because I was never really sure what you were trying to say.”

“I wasn’t trying to say anything. I was jotting down things I’d seen on this world and many others. Do you know, there’s a world where the different peoples don’t engage in war or any kind of violence? Instead, when they have a dispute, over property, over land, they race their wahari — tall dog-like animals with long legs and no necks. They train them to run very fast, almost quicker than the eye can see, and the winner is given their prize without fuss.”

“They give the dog the prize?” said Nic.

Periwinkle snorted. “The winner’s owner is given the prize, as I‘m sure you understood, Nicolav. The champion wahari is roasted and eaten at the celebratory feast.”

“That seems a little unfair,” said Nic.

“When so much relies on the outcome of a race, there is great temptation to cheat,” said the Librarian. “Many drugs can be used to enhance a wahari’s speed, but they’re all very toxic to their owners.” Periwinkle looked over her shoulder at Nic. The smile was made with Periwinkle’s mouth and the Librarian’s teeth.

Nic didn’t fancy being invited to any celebratory feasts.

“The creature gave me access to this knowledge and no indication of what to do with it.”

“Yes,” said Periwinkle. “I believe that is for you to decide.” He was still talking like the Librarian, which was disconcerting. “The fate of your people is in your hands.”

It sounded ridiculous when put like that. It was not a task he was qualified for. Nobody was, when he really thought about it.

“I find it hard to believe either of them would genuinely want me to decide anything. Wouldn’t they rather be the ones to make those sorts of decisions?”

“Sometimes only one person gets to make the choice and more than one wants to. In those cases, it can be easier to let a third, neutral party make the choice.”

“See whose call the wahari responds to?” said Nic. Was that what was happening here?

“It means they need you and are willing to give you enough freedom so that its loss can be put to use. If you are strong enough to resist the High-Father’s influence, you can forge your own path.”

“What about the creature’s influence? Surely it wants me to do things in a certain way.”

“Indeed, I would not be surprised. Or it might leave it to you, now that the choice has been made. You can’t predict a player’s moves if the player doesn’t control the pieces.”

It was sounding more and more like a game. Was that all it was? Unimaginably powerful entities so bored with eternity they used whole worlds as their fields of play? He was the ball, about to be kicked repeatedly in an effort to move him in an intended direction.

“So it’s important my role is given to someone as naive and unsophisticated as possible so their moves land on an empty board? It doesn’t even matter if I’m aware of what they’re doing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Periwinkle, his breath a little short, “but we are merely speculating while we climb these interminable stairs.” The voice was deep again and the tone and posture Periwinkle’s.

They reached the second landing and paused, more for Nic’s benefit, although the Librarian was putting on an act of also breathing hard. She seemed to enjoy playing her role. Nic had been doing his best to keep up with the Librarian’s pace, trying to think of it as an exercise. Now that they’d stopped, he felt like he might not be able to start moving again.

Periwinkle raised the lantern as though it would show their destination. It only showed more stairs.

“I was surprised you didn’t ask about your father,” said Periwinkle, still looking in the direction of the stairs.

“You know…” Nic was still breathing hard and found it hard to speak at the same time. “You know about him?”

“Just that he was in the military and died under mysterious circumstances. I am sure it has weighed on your mind. You are his son, after all. The creature could have shown you how he died.”

“Yes,” said Nic. He stood up straight and inhaled, reclaiming his ability to breathe. “It’s something I considered. I spent a lot of time trying to find out and got nowhere. I think it’s something the government wants to keep secret which, knowing our government, probably doesn’t bode well. I… I’m afraid to see it.”

It was the simplest way to put it. When the task was to dig up information that might lead to more places to dig, his goal was to get nearer the truth and that was fine. But the creature wasn’t making clues available, he was able to show exactly what happened. He was able to put Nic in the place where it happened, watching as it happened. The thought had made Nic’s curiosity falter.

“I see. Not because it would be too gruesome,” said Periwinkle. “Because of what it might reveal about him.”

“Because I think of him as my mother remembers him. I don’t know if I want to exchange that for who he really was.”

“Maybe he was who your mother thinks he was. She knew him best, don’t you think?”

Nic bowed his head. He felt embarrassed. Was he underestimating his mother? Undervaluing his father? Was it easier to assume a member of the Ranvarian army would have been charged with unpleasant duties and possibly been good at them? Enjoyed them, even. What difference would it make to his mother’s memory? It was only his own view of the man that would change.

“Maybe ‘afraid’ wasn’t the right word,” he said. “I don’t want to lose him. Selfish might be the correct word.”

“No, Nic,” said Periwinkle, looking at him. “That isn’t the right word.” He smiled and turned to carry on climbing.

“You aren’t one of them,” said Nic as he hurried to not be left in the darkness. “Are you like the creature? Did the High-Father build you, too?”

Periwinkle laughed in the Librarian’s voice. “No. Not quite. But I too am from another world, taken as a memento. The ship, that came from the creature’s world, dead and rudderless, the High-Father gave me the ability to fly it. The plans for the creature’s construction were hidden within the ship. I found them, gave them to the High-Father.”

“Did you know what it was?”

“I only knew it was something powerful and unlikely to succumb to the High-Father’s wishes.”

Nic walked on in silence. Perhaps the game had more players than he realised. He wasn’t sure what that meant, other than more people trying to kick the ball.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, Simole was waiting for them, looking bored. Nic looked past her — the others were still asleep, just as he’d left them.

“You made it back in one piece, then,” said Simole.

“You weren’t expecting me to survive?” said Nic.

“Oh, I knew you’d be back,” said Simole. “How else would you face your true opponent?” She glanced over her shoulder towards where Dizzy was lying on the floor. “Did you bring me back anything? It’s customary to return from a trip bearing gifts.” She gave him an expectant look.

“No, sorry,” said Nic. “There wasn’t a gift shop.”

“Shame. It wasn’t very exciting waiting for you. I ended up doing a bit of reading.” She looked over her other shoulder where a large book was glowing on top of a case.

“You took a book out of its case,” said Periwinkle, his voice filling Nic with concern. It took a lot to shock the Librarian.

“Is that bad?” Simole asked. “I won’t catch some kind of demonic infection, will I?” She didn’t sound concerned at all.

Periwinkle didn’t respond, he just looked around in consternation at all the other books out of their cases.

“I think,” said Nic, “they were in the cases to keep them from falling apart. They’re very old.”

“Age does that for a purpose,” said Simole. “Hanging around too long doesn’t do anyone any good.” She gave Periwinkle a look that suggested she wasn’t just talking in the abstract.

“Was there anything interesting in any of them?” asked Nic, eager to avoid a direct confrontation between the two.

“Bits and pieces. It’s in that fancy language where nothing is said in two words when it can be said in twenty. Not much of a plot, either. Makes your fingers tingle when you turn the pages, though. How about you? Pick up anything interesting down there? High-Father give you some pointers?” She was using the expectant look again.

“Um, sort of. I’m not sure, really. I got to see a map.”

“Ooh, a map? Fascinating.”

“It was, actually,” said Nic. “It let me see where everyone is. Troops and dragons and everything.”

“You can point where they are right now, can you?”

“Yes.” She caught on quickly.

“So, you’re a signpost.”

“No, I wouldn’t say that… but kind of.” He had been thinking of ways to use the ability that had been bestowed on him. It certainly had potential if used under the right circumstances. But Simole, as ever, had cut through to the core of what he was — a signpost to direct others.

“Cheer up,” said Simole, grinning. “Everyone’s pleased to see a signpost. The more lost people are, the more welcome it is. If only you were a bit taller, then people could spot you a bit easier.”

“Thanks,” said Nic, not entirely sure if she was being massively cruel or moderately kind. “I suppose we should wake everyone up. What do we tell them?”

“They won’t need to be told anything,” said Periwinkle. “But we had better put these books back where they belong.”

“Go ahead,” said Simole. “I’ve finished with them anyway.”

Nic sensed a momentary intention in the Librarian to say something, to put Simole in her place. Nic would have advised against it, his signpost would very definitely point in the opposite direction. But his advice wasn’t needed, or indeed asked for. The Librarian, Periwinkle, took out some gloves and proceeded to put the books back in their cases, holding them at arm’s length as though they might bite him.

“I don’t think you should have touched them with your bare hands,” Nic said to Simole. “They might have done something to you.”

Simole shook her head. “I’ll be fine. You just worry about what you’re going to do next. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be fine. The important thing is to try your best. And if you fail and everything falls apart because you weren’t up to the job, I’ll be happy to mop after you.”

It was hard to not be a little irked by her arrogant tone and her complete dismissal of his role. It was like she was letting him have a go as a favour, before she took over and showed him how it was really done. The fact she was fully justified in her attitude didn’t really help.

Simole’s face broke into a laugh. “There’s no need to look like that, I’m just teasing you. You’re so easy, I don’t know why I even bother. Look, I know they’ll be prepared for me, but they won’t be prepared for you. That’s your secret weapon.”

“My lack of knowing what I’m doing”

“Exactly. And also having me on your side. They think I’m going to help you.”

“You’re not?”

“Not in the way they think. To be honest, I don’t really care about any of their squabbles. Demons and dragons and mages — they’re more like toddlers in a nursery fighting over the toys. They can all blow each other up in giant fireballs if they want. People dying isn’t really so terrible, happens all the time. It would be bad if you remembered it afterwards, but you don’t. Death is very reasonable that way. They expect me to come at them directly, like I’ve been trained to do, but that’s going to be your job.”

This was the first time he’d been told what his job was, and he felt like he’d rather still be in the dark. “And what will your job be?”

“Watching your back. There’s only one way people win these things. They cheat. Winners always act like they believe in the rules and then never follow them themselves. My father included. It’s how you win, you convince everyone else to handicap themselves. I know all their tricks, because I’m one of them. Plus, I read all these books. They contain the history of the Royal College and how they formed a pact with the High-Father. Quite interesting, once you get past the waffling.”

“You said they were boring and hard to read,” said Nic, feeling he’d been had.

“They are. But I’m used to that, thanks to you.” She grinned again and slapped him on the back. “Thanks for pointing me in the right direction.”

“It’s done,” said Periwinkle, taking off his gloves. “We can wake them now.”

Nic wanted to stop him and read the books himself. If they really contained the history of the Royal College, there might be something he could use. The history books he was used to tended to be of questionable value since it wasn’t only your own students who learned how you had succeeded. It allowed your enemies to learn your methods, too. The books about Ranvar’s conquests made a great deal of the power of mages and Arcanum, to a surprisingly candid degree. But they made very little mention of dragons, other than in a ceremonial way, flying over victory parades and attending coronations.

Nic suspected the dragons, vessels for the transfer of demons to humans, were much more integral to battle and their involvement had been downplayed so as to not alert future enemies to their threat.

If the books in this room contained a more accurate history, they might reveal such truths and allow Nic to see the other options available. There was a war coming, of that he was sure, and the dragons would not be taking part this time.

“I’ll ask you to not speak of what happened here to the others,” Periwinkle said to Simole.

“I’ll ask you to remember I gave you this chance,” said Simole, her tone cold but somehow friendly at the same time. “I don’t know how you are indentured to them, but if you are the type of slave who has become fond of its master, you’ll get no sympathy from me. If you end up betraying us, I will deal with you personally.”

Periwinkle didn’t exactly look flustered, but somewhat unsettled by the threat, maybe. In the end, perhaps Simole was going to be the person who sorted everything out and he was kidding himself into thinking his role mattered. She was allowing him the opportunity to make something of himself, but if there was no need, why bother?

The others woke with a start. They got to their feet, straightened up and looked around, a little dazed. Nic was sure they would want to know what had happened, why they were slouched over the cases or lying on the floor. But after a few seconds of blinking, they carried on examining the books in their cases, even Dizzy.

After a few more minutes, Periwinkle announced it was time for them to leave, and everyone complied without fuss.

Dizzy stopped Nic from following. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?” said Nic.

“You’re acting strange.” While she might not be able to recall what had happened to her, he could, and she could see it in him, or some vestige of it.

“It’s this place,” said Nic. “It’s not what it seems. The High-Father put a creature here. I spoke to it, in my head. It gave me a new way to look at things.”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered his answer. He had decided to give her a version of the truth; he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with an actual lie to her face. He needed to work on that.

“You’re helping him, aren’t you?” Dizzy said to Simole, barely a question.

Simole smiled. “Jealous?”

“No,” said Dizzy. “Disappointed. You’re far too soft on him. He needs to be ready to do this on his own, not have you waiting to catch him when he falls.” She turned and followed the others out.

Dizzy didn’t speak to him again on the way home. She sat opposite him and stared at him the whole way. Nic didn’t actually mind. He found it quite pleasant, actually.

They returned to the school without any problems, the swift carriage getting them home before it was dark. Mr Periwinkle made a short speech about what they had seen and how it showed them what the Royal College was all about. He didn’t mention any specifics and no one asked for any. Everyone seemed to have a memory of having seen the thing that demonstrated what he was talking about, whatever that was.

Nic returned to the cottage with Brill and then went to dinner with the others. Their conversation was the same as ever, making jokes and teasing one another. Nic didn’t feel any different, his newly acquired power not apparent to him.

It was only when he was alone in his room — truly alone, for once — that he was able to sink into the depths of his own mind and see the world from the perspective of a bird. He was seeing it at night, large swathes of it hidden in darkness, twinkling lights in single and in groups, showing him where people were congregated.

The land beneath him appeared just at is had in the Librarium. A tiny, perfect replica he could examine at his leisure, from any vantage point he wished. He was tempted to spy on Dizzy, but it would be inappropriate to do so, especially this late. To catch her undressed or in a bath… it wasn’t that such things didn’t appeal to him, it was more the thought of how it would make her feel if she knew. He didn’t want to disappoint her on purpose.

He scanned the whole world, not looking for anything in particular, finding it hard to stop watching the world simply existing. How was he supposed to make use of this? What did the creature expect him to do?

He went far afield, beyond the nations bordering Ranvar, finding strange landscapes, deserts and mountains he didn’t recognise and oceans that seemed endless. The further he went, the less important the troubles of a few small countries seemed. Would it really matter so much if the High-Father took control of this small corner of a vast world?

It was a lot to take in, a lot to study. It was also very absorbing and he could have carried on all night. He drew back to his starting point, hovering over the school.

“Show me all Secret Service agents,” he said. Tiny pinpoints of light appeared beneath him. Every agent, their locations revealed. He could see two of the lights approaching the window of his room, he could even see what colour they were.

Nic rose from his bed and got changed. By the time they appeared inside his room, he was in his gym clothes, ready.

“You look like you were expecting us,” said White.

“I’m trying to be more proactive. Set myself some goals.”

“What goals do you have?” asked Black.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“Well,” said Nic. “I’d like to be able to climb eighteen flights of stairs, forty-two steps in each flight, without losing my breath.”

“That is oddly specific,” said White. “But achievable.”

If Nic had yet to decide on the larger goals in his life, he could at least decide on the smaller one.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 50

50. Take Out

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 49

49. Team Elite

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Figaro was used to wearing the finest clothing. His outfits back home didn’t always allow him to breathe but they held everything together so well you hardly felt you needed to. Posture was rigorously maintained through excellent tailoring.

The FVG greys, by contrast, were loose and informal — your posture was your own business. Every part of him felt like it was on the move as he walked beside Princep Galeli. Cheap, functional, generic — and yet, somehow, the moment he put on the disposable fatigues, he felt like it brought everything into sharp relief. He had a job to do and objectives to complete. There was a reassuring familiarity to being part of a team.

“Until we get a handle on what exactly you found on the Origin,” said the Princep, brisk in speech and gait, “we’re doing our best to keep this discovery from leaking out, so I’m going to have to ask you to not share what we discuss here today with anyone, including your father. I realise his knowledge would be of great help in understanding this new phenomenon, but I would like a chance to make our own assessment first.”

“Of course,” said Figaro, lengthening his stride to keep up with the invigorated princep. “I consider it guild business, I will follow your instructions.” It wasn’t for him to decide how others conducted their affairs. “I’m not sure how you’ll stop it getting out, though. If it really is a new sigil, people won’t be able to keep their mouths shut for very long, I would guess.”

“True enough,” said the princep. “I see it as a small window we have until word gets out. My only intention is to make the most of the opportunity while we have sole possession of it. I envision a few days at the most.”

“What about the four who left?” said Figaro. “Don’t they pose a risk?”

“Not at all,” said the Princep. “It’s standard procedure to scrub anyone who leaves the program early. Nothing insidious, I assure you, it’s in the contract, on the front page, not the fine print. They won’t recall anything about the time they spent here. We have other secrets we wish to keep to ourselves, too.”

Figaro wasn’t particularly surprised but he still felt a bit uneasy at the idea of memory removal. It wasn’t a painful procedure, and only the recent past would have been scrubbed, but still, a person was their memories.

The four ex-trainees had exited the training program of their own free will, knowing the consequences. It wasn’t for him to judge their choice. As the princep had intimated, if they weren’t up to the task, better they declare it early and not waste anyone’s time, including their own.

But it had been the sight of Figaro, his features warped beyond recognition, that had scared them off.

Not everyone did well with being thrown in the deep end. That didn’t mean they couldn’t learn to swim.

Figaro was coming to realise that there was more to being a leader than showing how much more capable you were than everyone else. The people you led had to be able to follow you; they had to feel the orders you gave the were viable and also possible for them personally to accomplish. A leader needed to inspire confidence, not revulsion.

Princep Galeli stopped just before they reached the simulation room, its modern doors standing in odd contrast to the stone hallway.

“A word before we go in. Captain Hickory has reviewed the footage of you from the simulation,” said the princep, “so he is aware of what you managed to achieve in there. Unfortunately, he has not been able to replicate it. Not from want of trying, I assure you.”

“He didn’t come across the sigil?”

“No,” said the princep, “nor the hidden area you uncovered. His team made a thorough analysis of your approach, attempted an exact reenactment. They all died. Repeatedly.”

That wasn’t good news. It would probably mean he would be grilled for an explanation of their failure, as though their shortcomings were his fault. The psychology of negative group dynamics had been one of his least favourite lessons. There were too many variables, changing as they collided with each other, creating a billiard effect. Balls bouncing off each other into other balls, into other balls and so on. He hoped Captain Hickory was an autocratic lead figure. Bullies helped reduce the number of balls allowed on the table. A man who encouraged his subordinates to speak their minds and defend their ideas would make the room a nightmare to read.

A more worrying thought occurred to him.

“The recording you have of me,” said Figaro. “It’ll have to be, um, modified. I can’t be identifiable.”

“Yes, yes, all taken care of. We’ve removed any identifying features. No one will know who is in the suit.”

That probably wasn’t entirely true. Any high CQ organic with the appropriate augmentation would be able to identify him from his outline alone, even in a spacesuit. If they had met him before or met him in the future, they would immediately know it was him they had seen in the sim-U playback. It was a fairly small risk, though.

The princep’s reassurances were about as much as Figaro could hope for. The recording had probably already been sent out to various. The best thing for Figaro to do if he wanted to remain unidentifiable was not to attempt to limit his exposure through the playback recording — which would be virtually impossible — it was to put on a bit of weight and change the way he walked.

“I want you to take care what you say to Captain Hickory,” said the princep. “He doesn’t know your background and quite frankly I doubt he cares, but he may inadvertently ask you about your training or skill set that could reveal more than you think. He’s a shrewd man and very little gets past him.”

“I’ll be careful,” said Figaro, not really taking the warning very seriously. The Origin was as much a mystery to him as anyone, he envisioned most of his answers being in shrug form. Nothing he had done inside the sim-U had been planned, he had just tried a different approach for the novelty value. He had hoped his ability to stay alive, even when facing the Antecessors alone, would have impressed the rest of his group. It hadn’t quite worked out that way.

The princep walked through the doors as they slid open. Inside the room were four people. It was immediately obvious which of them was in charge.

“This is Captain Hickory. This is Trainee Matton. Fig Matton.”

“Yes,” said Hickory, as though he already knew everything there was to know about Figaro.

Captain Hickory was a tall muscular man, physically imposing in appearance and happy to use it to his advantage, was Figaro’s initial impression. He looked like he considered every door in his way an offence on some builder’s part.

Figaro could tell Hickory was an organic. But even without his organic activated, he had an awareness of his surroundings that went beyond good training and a high level of perception. To Figaro, Hickory seemed like he wasn’t just aware of his immediate surroundings — the room and its occupants — it was like he was factoring in everyone in the building, like he could see through walls.

“Hello,” said Figaro. He glanced around the room but received no reciprocation.

The other three — two men, and a woman who looked vaguely similar to the captain, at least in skin tone — were slouched in chairs. They seemed to be exhausted.

“Enough of the pleasantries,” said Hickory, who was standing with his legs apart as though braced to hold up the ceiling if it needed some help. “I watched the recording. What the hell did you do in there?”

Figaro was at a bit of a loss for something to say. “I, er… I did what you saw. Which part did you find confusing.”

“Ha!” barked a man with his jacket covering his face to keep out the bright lighting.

“We went in there,” said Hickory, ignoring the heckle, “the four of us. Nothing like what happened to you happened to us.”

“Four of you went in? Did you try sending only—”

“Of course we did,” Hickory cut in. “I went in alone and repeated everything you did. Exactly. I offered myself as a willing prisoner, and they shot me to pieces. It was not a pleasant experience.”

There was some sniggering. This time it wasn’t the barker, it was the woman. She was in one of the sim-U chairs, pushed away from the machine, leaning back with her head tilted, eyes closed.

“I don’t know what you did wrong,” said Figaro. “Maybe if I watch the recording of you, I might be able—”

“I did nothing wrong,” snapped Hickory. “You did something not on the recording. Not visible. What was it?”

Figaro wasn’t just being interrogated, which would have been bad enough, he was being accused of something. He had no idea what.

“I did nothing you couldn’t see on the sim-U playback,” said Figaro. “You have access to every angle.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hickory was starting to shift the blame for his repeated failures onto Figaro. It was small-minded and petty of him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate having it pointed out.

“I promise you,” said Figaro, “I did nothing else. I wasn’t expecting the ship to react like that, either.”

“But you knew the droids wouldn’t kill you,” said Hickory. “How?”

“I didn’t know,” said Figaro. “It’s more of a hypothesis I came up with when running other simulations. Sometimes droids fail to recognise humans as a threat. It’s mostly the smaller ones. I think they were designed to manage waste, not act as defenders, although they can do both. It’s just a theory. My father thinks it’s nonsense. I guess I was sort of right?”

Hickory was scowling. He hadn’t interrupted, which Figaro had taken as a good sign — a willingness to listen suggested he wasn’t completely unreasonable — but the intensity of his gaze was unsettling.

“Who the hell is your father?”

Figaro looked over at the princep. Had he revealed too much?

“He works with simulation machines,” said Figaro. “That’s how I’ve had access to them before. I’ve run quite a few maps, some of them dozens of times.”

“Well how about that,” said the man with the jacket over his face, sitting up so the jacket slid off, revealing wild-eyed face crowned with unruly black hair, “we’ve got an expert delver in our midst. Time to take notes, boys and girls.”

Figaro hadn’t meant to sound quite so pompous in his declaration. He took the mockery with good grace. His own fault for not being more tactful.

“Why don’t we take him in with us?” continued the man, leering like he was suggesting something tasty to eat, so tasty he could already taste it. “See how a veteran runner calls the play.”

“Shut up, Gipper,” said Hickory.

“Bet you die before he does,” said the girl, also upright and paying full attention now.

“I’ll take that bet,” said Gipper. “Usual terms.”

The two of them nodded at each other.

The third member of the team, a slightly portly, bald man, sat with his hand on his knees, looking at Figaro intently. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” said Figaro.

“Hmm. It’ll come to me in a moment.”

“All of you, shut up,” said Hickory. “We’re going in. You’re coming with us.”

“Now, hold on,” said Princep Galeli. “He’s still recovering from the sim-U sickness. If he gets another dose this soon after—”

“It’s fine,” said Figaro. “I’d like to try again. It’s only the initial opening of the hidden area that I need to activate. I don’t think I should be affected if I exit after that.”

“You’re sure?” said the princep.

Figaro was willing to take a small risk to see this team in action. He was used to very disciplined squads acting in concert, their abilities drilled and fine-tuned to a high degree. He very much doubted that was how this group operated.

“Princep, if I could have a word.” A man had entered, his posture suggesting urgent news. He had strange hands, red and blue.

“Not now, Bern. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“This matter can’t wait, I’m afraid. We’ve had a breach in security.”

“What?” Princep Galeli’s attention was fully on the new arrival now.

“We’ve caught the perpetrators.” Bern seemed to puff up a little at being able to report his success. “Two trainees. They were attempting to send a signal to a local restaurant.” There was a pause that could only be meant to imply something ominous. “JonJo’s Surf and Turf.”

The princep blanched. Figaro could tell the destination of the signal had greatly disturbed him. Either it wasn’t a very good restaurant, or it wasn’t a restaurant at all.

DEEPER DARKER CH. 48

48. Refreshed

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Medical Bay.

Figaro woke knowing he was okay. The moment his eyes opened, he was aware of his body being back to normal. He didn’t have to touch himself or look in a mirror, which was convenient since he could do neither.

He was in a bed in the medical bay, naked with a thin sheet over him up to his chest. The machine next to him silently kept his vital signs under observation, keeping its findings to itself. He had no need to inquire about his condition.

He had recovered from the sim-U sickness and could go back to his room with no concerns. His room wasn’t where he wanted to go, though. He wanted to visit his group in their dorm, to see how they viewed him now. He had seen how perturbed some of them had been at his appearance when he emerged from the sim-U — Fayzil, in particular, had looked shell-shocked — but he could use that to his advantage. His recovery would reassure them. Able to take the hits and keep going.

Fayzil’s conversion would be paramount. Pilit Song, Wolfram Hait, Gibber Hodle, they would all follow his lead. After that, the whole group would be his. He just needed to let them see him whole again, unbowed by the experience. Only he couldn’t, because his hands were chained to the bed rails on either side.

It was mildly annoying but there was probably a good reason for him being manacled. His struggle to get the right amount of suppressant into his veins might have been interpreted as a fit of some kind. Of more immediate concern was the absence of his bracelet that should have been on his right wrist. Without it, a lot more people might end up needing medical attention.

He lifted his head off the pillow and looked around for someone to call over. The room was fairly small and his bed was the only one in it. He doubted very much that all the beds were in private rooms here. He had been isolated. For his own good? To keep his condition a secret? To stop him from wandering off?

They weren’t entirely wrong to be worried. What he had seen in the sim-U had been astonishing, to say the least. His first thought was to contact his father and tell him what he’d discovered on board the Origin. As an expert in the field, Ramon Ollo would be able to comprehend faster than anyone what the new sigil meant, both in terms of Antecessor technology and the effect its existence would have on their own civilisation. Interested parties would quickly begin to mobilise their most elite teams. At the moment, lying in a hospital bed, Figaro couldn’t even begin to fathom what their goal might be, but he had no doubt they would all rush into action.

The Origin wasn’t even a ship anymore. It was nothing but a historic reference, a point to start from. No one thought it had more to tell them. The map had already been disseminated far and wide, it wouldn’t be that hard to get hold of a copy, but then what? Research? Years of quiet study?

No, that wasn’t how these things went. Organic fever was what Figaro expected. A wild and unrelenting rush to extract every last trace of meaning from the discovery before anyone else could, and then to apply it in the field through trial and error, making whatever sacrifices needed. There would be no price considered too extravagant, and not just in financial terms. It had happened before, and it hadn’t been pretty. The potential rewards made it inevitable.

There were Antecessor sites that had not been unlocked. Sites like the one owned by his family. Tethari, an inert rock sitting at the edge of a wormhole, had yet to give up its greatest treasures. There were many more sites in a similar position — impenetrable. The thought that this new sigil might provide a key that was previously unavailable was bound to occur to people. The opportunity for a breakthrough would make the new sigil the focus of a lot of attention. The folding space that had crashed the sim-U would also be thoroughly investigated.

It wouldn’t be of much interest to him, though, if he didn’t get his bracelet back.

“Hello?” he called out. “Anyone there?”

“Would you like assistance?” said the machine next to him.

“Yes, please,” said Figaro. His own upbringing had not included many drones or servile machines. It was considered character-building to learn how to do things for oneself. He didn’t disagree with that school of thought, but it made him feel a little out of place outside of his home. Every machine he encountered wanted to talk to him and he found it a little disconcerting.

The machine didn’t respond. Its lights flashed and lines zigzagged across a screen. Figaro waited.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Dr Libstein walked in. He stood next to the machine and examined the screen with his one good eye.

“Ah, good, you seem to have recovered. You’re feeling fine?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Figaro. “Could someone unlock these cuffs?”

“Of course, of course. You were quite a handful, you know? We didn’t want you to injure yourself, or any of us.”

“I’m sorry,” said Figaro. “It was unintentional. The jector was applied incorrectly, I had no choice.”

“Yes, yes, a regretful mistake. These things happen, nobody’s perfect. I hope you won’t hold it against us.”

“Not at all. Now, if you don’t mind.” Figaro raised his wrists as far as they’d go and rattled his chains.

“Ask and it shall be done, but first, let me check on a few things. We don’t want to make any more slip-ups.”

Figaro was getting the impression the doctor was on a bit of a power trip. He wanted Figaro to know he was in charge, that he was in control. A way to reassert his position after his mishap?

“Doctor, please,” said Figaro. It was hard to not sound exasperated. “I need you to release me and I need my personal effects. I had a bracelet on my wrist, a silver one. It’s a medical bracelet and it contains a regulator. It’s important you put it back, immediately.”

“Oh, I see. I had no idea, it’s not in your medical records. What’s it for? Princep Galeli has been very tight-lipped about you, Trainee Matton. Is there something I should know?”

His initial judgement about the doctor, Figaro realised, had been wrong. He wasn’t on a power trip, he was just nosy. The doctor was a gossip fishing for any juicy tidbits.

“It’s a personal matter,” said Figaro.

“You can count on my discretion. I am a doctor.”

“You aren’t my doctor, doctor. Would you mind calling the Princep for me? I think he can clear this up.”

“Certainly, in a moment.”

“Now, doctor.”

“Trainee Matton, as my patient, it’s important you accept I have your best interests at heart. I can’t give you the necessary treatment without an accurate understanding of your condition.”

“I don’t require treatment, doctor. I require my bracelet. I—” Figaro paused and turned to look at the machine. It had a serial number etched on one side. “Machine Sigma Three Nine Six, summon Princep Galeli urgently.”

The machine made no response other than to blink a few of its lights. Had it heard him? Would it comply? Figaro was trained to use any manner of combat tech, but the etiquette of communicating with domestic drones and bots was lost on him. He would need to fix that.

“Belay that order,” said Dr Libstein.

Perhaps Figaro’s first impression had not been so wrong. The doctor was an old gossip and on a power trip.

“Order override,” said the machine.

“Good,” said the doctor.

“Princep Galeli has been notified,” added the machine.

“Wait, which order did you override?”

“Libstein belay three-twelve rejected. Order override, standing directive, authority Galeli.”

“You see?” said the doctor, his one dismayed eye open as wide as possible. “How can a trainee’s command override the chief medical officer’s? Something very fishy is going on here.”

“Libstein,” said Pricep Galeli as he barged in surprisingly soon after being contacted. “What are you doing? I told you to call me as soon as he woke.”

“He just woke up now,” said the doctor, which was more or less true.

“Princep, could you let me out of these, please.”

“Of course, right away.” He pushed past the doctor and tapped the cuffs around Figaro’s wrists, leaning across him to get the further one. The cuffs snapped open.

“And I need my bracelet,” said Figaro.

“Drone Sigma, bring Trainee Matton’s effects here.”

The machine blinked and flashed.

“It’s a medical bracelet,” said Dr Libstein. “Don’t you think I should be informed about medical matters? I am the chief medical officer, after all.”

“We don’t have a chief medical officer,” said the princep. “Stop awarding yourself titles that don’t exist.

The door slid open and a small drone floated in carrying a bag twice its size. The princep took it and started taking out the contents. He placed grey fatigues on the bed.

“Here.” He handed over the bracelet.

Figaro slid his hand through it and immediately felt better. He didn’t need to use it, but having it on his arm freed his mind from the ball of dread caused by its absence. He wouldn’t have liked to have been the cause of everyone’s death, not even the doctor’s.

“Now, if you’re feeling up to it, trainee, I would like you to talk to Captain Hickory. He’s our—”

“Wait,” said the doctor, the horror in his voice hard to miss. “Hickory? When’s he getting here?”

“He’s been here since last night, running the sim-U. I left him outside while I checked on the patient.”

“Outside?” said the doctor, looking startled and backing away from the door. “Here? Now? You know I can’t see him. You know what he’ll do to me.” The doctor desperately looked around for an exit. There was only the one door.

He turned to the window. “Libstein, override, open window.” He tried to push the window open but it didn’t budge. “Libstein, override, override.”

The window popped open with a sigh, like letting out a long-held breath. Libstein pushed it further open and climbed out. He immediately dropped out of view.

“Will he be okay?” asked Figaro.

“Yes, don’t worry about him. You can’t break titanium legs. Get dressed and I’ll take you to meet Hickory in the simulation room.”

“He isn’t outside?” said Figaro.

“No, I just thought the doctor could use some fresh air. Being cooped up in here drives him a little feverish. Now, come along. They’ve been running your map all night. They have questions.” He lowered the guard rails with a snap and Figaro rolled off the bed to get changed.

“What about the rest of Group B?” asked Figaro as he climbed into his fresh greys. “Will they be going into the simulation again?” He didn’t want them to go without him. He wanted to take them back in personally, leading the way this time.

“Ah, yes, there’s been a few changes since your accident. A couple of your fellow trainees dropped out of the program. Faced with the stark reality of the risk from the simulation, they began to truly appreciate what it means to confront the legacy left to us by the Antecessors.”

“Who left?” asked Figaro.

“Ong, Song, Hait and Hodle,” said the Princep. “A shame, but better now than later. They’ve been sent back to their teams for reassignment. Nothing to be unduly concerned about. It happens.”

Figaro felt a stab of disappointment. It was like losing men in the field, men who had fallen while under your command. There was no point in being a leader if there was no one left to lead.

The Good Student Book 2: Ch. 21

Nic had no idea what to expect. He had been imbued with some great power, apparently. For all he knew, its first effect would be to kill him.

The warmth rose through his body. It wasn’t painful or even particularly hot. Heartburn after eating spicy food provided more of a painful reaction. It was unnatural how it moved inside him, though. As if something was working its way around his organs. It was an unsettling sensation.

“What did you do?” said Nic, looking down at his chest like he might see a glow from whatever was inside him.

“I have given you everything you need to do what you must,” said the creature. It was a concise but not very illuminating answer.

“Could you be a little more specific?” asked Nic. “Will it hurt? Will it kill me? How does it work? What does it do? You don’t have to answer them in order.” He didn’t really expect to be answered at all, but there was always a first time.

“Everything will become apparent in a moment,” said the creature, “but no, it won’t kill you. There is a small possibility it will leave you unable to use your higher brain functions, but you will continue to live, as long as someone keeps feeding you.”

Nic regretted asking for specifics. “How small a possibility?” The warmth was up to the top of his chest, condensing into a ball about the size of a fruit pit, presumably in preparation for traversing up his throat.

“It’s hard to say. I’ve never attempted this with one of your kind. Humans are a resilient species, in general, so you have every chance of surviving with your mental faculties intact, for the most part. Don’t be concerned if you lose control of your bowels.”

Nic’s face began to heat up, only partly because of whatever had been put inside him.

Obtaining power rarely transpired without some kind of difficulty. The process was smoothed over when inherited directly from a parent, but even that required someone to give birth. Whatever was happening to him, it hadn’t caused him to suffer anything more than a slight discomfort. So far.

From what he had learned about mages, their transformation was far more gruelling. But the fact they suffered suggested to Nic that he would also. Possibly to an even greater extent. A painless shortcut would be welcome, but it would be foolish to put his hopes into such an outcome. He was just in the build-up phase and any second now his brain would explode and his body would burst into flames.

He had no actual evidence for his concerns, but he had always been good at making an educated guess.

Nic looked around for reassurance, possibly assistance if he needed to be doused in water. He was still surrounded by twinkling stars, although they all seemed far away again. The Librarian was most likely still here, but he couldn’t see her.

His brain was the target, although why it hadn’t just started there, he didn’t know. It had travelled from just above his stomach, through his chest, and was now rising from the back of his throat into the top of his skull. There wasn’t anywhere else it could be headed.

What would happen once it got there? What kind of power was it? If there were no drawbacks he very much doubted it would be given to him.

He felt like talking, asking questions, making guesses to be confirmed or denied, but it was only the nervousness he felt, not a desire for answers. Whatever was going to happen to him, there was no avoiding it now. He had to accept the decision had already been made, without him. Would he have refused if given a choice? He probably would have asked a lot of questions first, which would only cause delay and provide him with no real understanding of what to expect.

The truth was, he would have said yes, so he had no cause for complaint.

The heat began to expand as it entered his mind. Winnum Roke was no longer there, the demon had left some time ago, it was just his own thoughts that were slowly being brought to the boil.

He waited, teeth slightly gritted, eyes partially closed in preparation for the worst. The warmth dissipated, slightly heating his ears. The inside of his skull felt stuffy, like it had been filled with cotton wool, only not something quite that dense. Spiderwebs might describe it better. The threads tingled, as if someone was plucking at them. It made it hard to think clearly.

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were clouds. He was looking at them from a dizzying angle, as though he was floating above them. He looked up and saw a dazzlement of glittering planes and angles that made him reel without moving. His mind was doing somersaults.

Nic took a breath, a mental one. He couldn’t feel his body anymore, didn’t sense his limbs or the pressure of the ground beneath his feet. He tore his thoughts away from what that might mean. Instead, he concentrated.

This was an ability he already had, one that had served him well. He could shut everything out and focus, bring himself to an undistracted state where only one thing held his attention. It came in handy when revising in a noisy study hall.

He forced himself to stare into the chaotic kaleidoscope of lines and colours and matched their movements with his vision, not seeing them as random motion but as a pattern.

They stopped moving. They didn’t form a pattern, it was more like a tunnel, beyond which he saw stars. Not like the ones that had filled the room a moment ago, these were moving at incredible speed away from him. It wasn’t like the movement you experienced when you ran or rode a fast carriage. He was moving and not moving at the same time — this was a speed that stretched.

His mind raced to keep up with the luminous smears of colour that were streaks of indistinct shape and at the same time individual jewels of light. He felt like the darkness that served as a background would crack wide open, or maybe his mind would.

He looked away, turning his vision down, back to the clouds. He used the same technique on them, hoping the result wouldn’t risk the same kind of madness.

The clouds parted. He saw land, he saw sea. Mountains and forests, and wides swathes of clearly demarcated farmlands in various hues of nature.

The identity of this place was obvious to him, even though he had never seen it from this vantage point before. Even when he had flown as a dragon, he had never reached this height. And yet it was all so clear. He could see the trees and houses and people.

Directly below him was Ranvar. Further afield were its neighbouring countries. He could shift his perspective with a tilt of his head. A farmhouse where a woman fed pigs from a metal bucket. A city where people swarmed like ants. A mountain where birds flew in soaring circles.

There was sound, mostly wind. He tightened his focus and pushed past it so he could hear the birds squawk, further down, water rushing over a fall and crashing into a lake, the woman feeding pigs calling out, “Din-dins! Come and get it my lovelies.” The pigs snorted and squelched about in the mud. Over by the city, the one he was inside, a cacophony of noise ebbed and flowed.

He couldn’t feel his face but he knew there was a smile on his lips. He was seeing the land as it was now, he was viewing the people and animals going about their business. There was no sense of closeness, he wasn’t down there with them. It was as if he was seeing them through a telescope which he could adjust at will, but with none of the accompanying blur. Everything was defined with crystal clarity.

Could he enter the houses? See inside a specific room? He located the Librarium and sank through the roof. Was there anywhere he couldn’t go? Any place restricted from this magical sight?

As he approached the room he was now in, his mind seemed to buckle. He winced and turned back, allowing the image to recede. Apparently, there were some things that hurt to look at.

The tunnel vision pulled back and broadened until he had the full panorama spread out beneath him again. It was an astonishing sight.

“It’s real,” he said to himself.

“Yes,” said the creature, still an invisible presence beside him. “This is your world, everything as it happens. No place is hidden from you, no conversation a secret. You can know whatever you wish to know.”

“Isn’t there too much, though?” said Nic. “How can I possibly take it all in? How can I know what I need to know and where to find it?”

“Is that what concerns you?” said the creature. It sounded slightly disappointed, perhaps a little mockingly so. “No moral quandary for you, Nicolav? You can spy on people’s most intimate moments, know their deepest secrets, and your only worry is you may miss some choice piece of scandal?”

While the point was a fair one, it didn’t sound a little disingenuous. The existence of this power was proof enough that it was already in use and his interrogator the one who had used it.

“You’re right,” said Nic. “This is an unreasonable intrusion into people’s lives. I can see it being abused to great effect. The person who controls this power has the potential for great evil.”

“But not you, Nicolav?”

Even without being able to see it, Nic could tell the creature was smiling just by the way the words sounded like they were curled up at the edges.

“I don’t know,” said Nic, truthfully. “I haven’t really accepted what I’m seeing, yet. I can go anywhere, hear anything?”

“You can.”

“I think it would be more useful if I had the ability to be everywhere at once,” said Nic. “This… I can see how you could use it to perfect a course of action, but if you wanted to be aware of action you needed to take, be aware of it as it happened, you could never hope to be in the right place at the right time.”

“You couldn’t,” said the creature. “I can. I am able to process every conversation happening now, even as we speak. In truth, it takes up barely a fraction of my capacity.”

“And the High-Father, what about him? Could he use this to keep watch on us all?”

“He… could.”

The pause was strange to Nic’s ear. It suggested there was more to say on the matter, and a decision not to say it.

Did the High-Father really need something like this to achieve his goals, though? His power was already far in advance of anything the people of Ranvar or the other countries could put up in opposition to his ambitions. There was something else here, something less obvious than the ability to spy on people.

“How long have you been watching us?” asked Nic.

“A long time,” sighed the creature. Was the regret due to what it had seen or because of an inability to look away? “I have seen your people rise from worms scrounging in the mud to dominators of their environment, slinging magic like it was their birthright. All that you are and all that you have done is recorded in my memory forever, every glory and every ugly moment.”

“Wait,” said Nic. “Do you mean you have a record of everything that’s happened since you started watching us?”

“I believe that is what I just said.”

“So if I ask you a question on a specific historical event, you can recall the answer? The true answer?”

The possibilities were staggering if what he asked was true. Historical books and records only told part of the truth, sometimes not even that. Often the facts were deliberately obfuscated to hide some unpleasant detail — Ranvar’s history was littered with such ‘adjustments,’ the reality lost under lies and exaggerations. To be able to learn the facts of an event could reveal a far greater understanding of what had happened to lead to the current moment than the doctored texts allowed.

“I can do more than tell you,” said the creature, “I can show you.”

The land below seemed to warp and shift. Some features shrivelled while others expanded. Rivers changed course and whole mountains appeared from nowhere.

“Here you can see the most famous of your battles, a lamentable orgy of violence.”

Down below, masses of troops wheeled and charged at one another. They were smaller than toy soldiers, but the clash of bodies, weapons tearing through flesh, horses screaming in their death throes, was like no child’s game.

It was the Battle of Carjeer. Nic could tell with just a glance, knew the date and the principal players. It had led to the founding of Ranvar City, or Ranvarakarathan, as it was known then.

But even though he recognised the standards flying in the midst of the fighting, this was not quite the engagement he had been taught at school or by the many books on the subject. There were six armies, not five as were reported. And they weren’t united against one valiant foe, it looked much more like a free for all.

“And here, the death of the only queen your people allowed to sit on your much-venerated throne.”

The land warped again, bubbling and twisting. Nic’s focus was drawn to a building he recognised from a painting hanging in the Librarium — Marston Palace. The artist had done an admirable job, the turrets and towers accurately portrayed, only the colours a little different — the painting had the pointed roofs a brick-red, similar to the Royal College, whereas the original was copper turned to verdigris. But accuracy couldn’t adequately convey the spectacular architecture, the wild curves and spiralling fortifications hanging impossibly over the edge of Marston Cliffs. It had been built back when impossible structures convinced to stand through the persuasive powers of Arcanum were the fashion. Neither the palace nor the cliffs still existed. Persuasion could always come undone.

Nic’s vision narrowed into a tight circle, down to a window, tilting either him or the world to let him see a bedchamber where men surrounded a bed with swords drawn, stabbing the naked woman on the bed. The men were also naked, save for masks. The queen was tied to the bedposts, screaming obscenities as blood spurted everywhere.

That wasn’t how the death of Queen Dygna was told in the history books. She was murdered, but in the Grand Garden, the trusted Count D’acosta attacking her from behind with a poisoned dagger while she admired the roses named after her.

“It is all here, just as it happened,” said the creature. “You may see any moment of your history. Every conversation, every deed committed.”

It was difficult to appreciate the full scope of what he was being shown. It was too huge and all-encompassing to even start thinking about how to use it effectively. But still, there was a bigger question pressing on him than what he could do with this power to see everything.

“I don’t understand,” said Nic. “What would the High-Father want with this?”

“What does any tyrant want? Control.”

Nic wasn’t so sure.

“Can you show me—”

“You don’t need to ask,” said the creature. “This is inside you, now. You merely need to think of the moment you wish to see and it will appear.”

“I can choose any moment from history?”

“While you are here, yes. Your mind is too… basic to be able to contain your whole history. Away from this place, you can access this view to see what is happening around you in the current moment. I hope you can appreciate the magnitude of such an ability.”

“No,” said Nic, “I don’t think I can.”

“An honest and accurate answer. Perhaps this won’t turn out to be a terrible mistake. Two in a row might start to look like a habit.”

The convivial tone only made Nic more tense.

The High-Father allowed those around him to do as they pleased, using their unpredictability to boost his own drive for ever-greater progress, or so it had been claimed. But then why would he want to maintain control over the very people whose ability to surprise was what attracted him in the first place? Surely he would want the opposite of control.

It only took a moment for the answer to appear. Control, not order. The word itself had misled Nic. It suggested formality and convention, but all it really meant was determination. The High-Father didn’t want everything to proceed in a prescribed manner. He didn’t want to control people to be easier to manage or to guide them in a preferred direction. He wanted to control them to make sure that didn’t happen.

The more chaotic, the better.

If an era of stability and peaceful cooperation came about — Nic wasn’t sure how that would occur, but it was technically a possibility — it would slow down the High-Father’s progress. He didn’t want that to happen, and he was doing a fine job of ensuring it didn’t, but there was certainly potential for more mayhem.

The obvious answer would be to make Arcanum available to all and then stand back as people tore each other apart. But Nic had already seen some vestige of that approach, and it had led to a direct threat to the High-Father himself. It might yet give him what he wanted, but it might also ruin everything.

No, simply letting the demons run wild throughout the world would be too unpredictable. Controlled chaos, as paradoxical as it sounded, was a better solution. The systematic and ruthless tightening of a screw until it creaked and groaned, threatening to snap and bring down the very thing it was holding in place.

The thought was cold and frightening. All it would take was a total lack of empathy for the human race.

Nic looked down on the world, on his home, and wasn’t sure what to do. Not allowing the High-Father to have this was, of course, the right choice. How long would he be able to prevent that from happening? The High-Father might not think it ‘sporting’ to simply snatch it away, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try other means to get his way. He could use various tricks to get Nic to give orders on his behalf.

But what power did Nic really have? He could see everything, hear every word, but then what? How could he use that to achieve whatever it was he hoped to achieve? He didn’t even know what that was. World peace? A stable and prosperous economic system for all? How do you stop people from being chaotic in their lives? Wasn’t that just part of their nature?

“I see,” said Nic.

“You do?” said the creature, sounding mildly surprised.

“No, not like that,” said Nic. “But I see what I have to figure out. Who else knows about this? Just us in this room and Winnum?”

“Yes,” said the creature.

“And the High-Father won’t tell anyone else?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think so. Why? Are you worried they will try to take it from you? They can’t.”

“It’s not that,” said Nic. “They might decide to manipulate me through others, or just eliminate me altogether. I don’t have any way to defend myself or the people close to me. As powerful as this is — and even without fully understanding it, I can see it is immensely powerful — it doesn’t actually stop someone from killing me. I mean, I’ll be able to see them coming to my house with their knives out, but that’s about it.”

“Your concern for your own personal safety is not without cause,” said the creature. “I wish you well.”

It would have been nice if there had also been the offer of a magic sword or personal bodyguard. A thick jacket with chainmail lining would have been a very appreciated gift. The gift of optimism was all he was getting in that department.

Nic looked down at the world again. There was so much of it. Even with his ability to see and hear the tiniest occurrence, it was a monumental task to put it to use. The creature might have the necessary mental ability to see it all at once, and be able to recall any part of it at will, but he certainly didn’t. How could he simplify what he was seeing?

“Show me dragons,” said Nic.

Nothing changed, the view was the same all-encompassing one, but there were dots that glowed now. When he focused on them, they were each a dragon, highlighted so he could locate them easily. They were gathered in tight groups, none of them in the air. They seemed to be sleeping. If they were dead, would they still appear to him? The body of the High-Father in the Royal College wasn’t among those marked for him.

“Show me the armed forces of every nation bordered with Ranvar,” he said.

Thousands of lights appeared across the world. Then they changed colour, different countries showing as separate colours.

“Did I do that?” said Nic.

“I assisted to make it clearer,” said the creature. “You will learn how with time and practice.”

The armies of all countries clearly pinpointed. How could anyone hope to defeat someone with a power like this? Of course, he would need an army of his own to make full use of the advantage.

As he looked down, something became apparent. The other countries had their troops amassed along their borders with Ranvar. It might be normal to secure their borders in troubled times, but they had also left the rest of their borders and other defensive positions unguarded to gather all their men at the Ranvar borders. He looked around. Every country was the same. They were preparing to attack in unison.

“Show all Ranvarian forces. In green.” It was the only obvious colour not taken already.

Green dots appeared along every border. They were aware of the threat, at least. Were they prepared to deal with it? They had no dragons to back them up, but they had magic. Although, this time the enemy did too, or at least some of them, in a crude form.

If the High-Father’s goal was chaos, he was doing just fine. Then again, how much worse would he make things if he got hold of the power now in Nic’s hands?

“Stop.” Nic closed his eyes. His head was starting to hurt. Not from the ability to see so much but from the sheer weight of expectation he felt now that he had this knowledge within his grasp.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was back to white and empty, with only the Librarian standing next to him.

“We should go,” she said. “You look tired.”

“The High-Father…?”

“The High-Father will allow you time to work through what you have learned here. It wouldn’t be fair to rush you. But you won’t have very long.”

Nic nodded, a little unsteady on his feet now that he was back on the ground. He had never really left, but facts were not always what had the greatest effect on the mind.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 47

47. Nighthawks

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Barracks A.

Point-Two sat cross-legged on his bed in the corner of the dorm. He had gone up to the roof to get some fresh air, clear his mind, but it hadn’t helped. He didn’t really like fresh air, it tasted cold and impersonal. He was used to air that had been through the Garu’s filtration system twenty thousand times and smelled like the ship.

Ten sleepers kept him company while two drones watched over them. The drones were there to makes sure no one revealed the guild’s secrets to any interested parties. A neutral observer might have considered the level of surveillance excessive for a group of trainees who could barely get their spacesuits on without assistance but Point-Two knew it was nowhere near enough.

Ubik had managed to walk past drones like he was a ghost. No alarm sounded, no search party rushed to drag Ubik back. Fortunately for the guild, Ubik seemed spectacularly uninterested in their sim-U discovery. He had a very prejudiced view on all things sim-U.

What worried Point-Two more was the implication of Ubik’s smooth exit. If he could bypass the guild’s security so easily, couldn’t others also? He reassured himself that Ubik was a special case, but he was also unassisted and self-taught. Someone with training and the organics to get the job done could probably also circumvent the guild’s security. They weren’t really set up to deal with assassins.

The rest of his group had shown little concern for their personal safety. Why would they? No one was trying to kill them. They were all out cold, exhausted after a day of events they didn’t really understand, not even Deef’s snoring able to penetrate their slumber.

The sound reminded Point-Two of the evacuation alarm on the Garu. Once a month, there would be a drill. The alarms would go off and everyone would hurry to their designated escape capsules in a civilised and orderly fashion. Everyone who had a capsule to go to.

Only the top families had access to the pods, and even they didn’t have room for everyone. Ubik’s disregard for simulations was a valid one. People wouldn’t calmly make their way to their assigned seating if the evacuation was real. And the ones without a place wouldn’t be quietly watching them leave.

Point-Two rubbed the pin in his right hand, sliding his thumb over the smooth metal. It was nothing special, a symbol of a minor achievement in a game no one really took seriously. On the Garu, it was easy to make small things feel important because you were confined and restricted. Every moment spent doing something you chose to do — weren’t ordered to, weren’t relied on to ensure the continued safety of the giant vessel you all called home — took on a significance that was probably out of proportion.

The pin, shaped like a V, golden in colour, had a tracker inside it. That would explain how those people had found him on Lenworth and nearly blown him up. It hadn’t been a surprise that someone from the Garu would try to eliminate him. Once he was off the ship, the task would actually become easier, but they would have to find him first.

Point-Two had been careful not to leave an obvious trail. His brother had arranged a route for him that would not be traceable through normal channels. But that was hardly going to be an issue if he had been carrying a tracker on him the whole time.

Which brought him to the matter that was the true cause of his discomfort. Had Geezy been aware of what was in the pin when he insisted Point-Two take it with him as a reminder of their friendship? It would seem unlikely that he hadn’t known, but it was possible.

He could have been duped or coerced. There was a certainly a naive side to Geezy that made it plausible that he had been tricked into sticking a bullseye on Point-Two’s back.

But maybe the naive one here was Point-Two. From the moment they first met, Geezy had been very keen to be friends. Despite Point-Two’s reclusive nature, Geezy had always been there to insist they hang out and do things together. Had it all been a sham, a way to keep tabs on his family?

It was disappointing to think about. More so because Point-Two felt the camaraderie between the two of them had been genuine. Geezy hadn’t faked that, Point-Two was sure, it was just that he had an additional objective. There’s no reason you can’t enjoy a job that requires you to cheat and lie and no reason you can’t be fond of your victim.

It made Point-Two doubt himself, though. How much of Geezy’s clumsiness had been an act? And why hadn’t Point-Two been able to see through it?

As tempting as it was to dwell on the disappointment, it served no purpose. The Gorbol Academy building was shielded to prevent signals going out, even before the recent lockdown. As soon as Point-Two had entered the premises, his trackers would have lost the signal, but that would hardly make a difference if the signal vanished outside the Academy’s front door. It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out where he was.

He had to assume they already knew he was here, and if they were willing to attack him openly on Lenworth, they were bound to try again.

Hollet One had foreseen the possibility of something like this happening, their rivals tracking Point-Two to remove him far from the ship where no one would raise too many questions or try to find answers. They would have hired independent contractors and deny all involvement.

Point-Two had no idea who ‘they’ were, but only because there were so many possible candidates.

Hollet One had put a contingency plan in place in case Point-Two needed to abandon his place at the Academy and make himself disappear. It was a rather drastic move, though. He would basically have to take up a nomadic lifestyle with no particular objective other than to survive. At least at the Academy he would gain some skills and knowledge. On the run, he would only improve his stamina and endurance.

There was a smooth gliding sound as one of the windows opened. Point-Two stiffened, uncrossing his legs silently.

The drones made no moves. It seemed unlikely they hadn’t noticed — Deef’s snoring was loud, but it shouldn’t interfere with the drones’ ability to detect a forced entry. This could be assassins coming to finish the job they’d botched on Lenworth.

But more likely it was the person who had left earlier by the same method.

Ubik slipped into the room, fell to the ground and rolled under the nearest bed. Point-Two watched him slither along the floor towards his own bed. There wasn’t much light but Point-Two could see Ubik’s shape move like a blot against the darkness. The sensors on the drones should have been able to do a much better job than he could, but they ignored the shadow.

Ubik had a way with machines, that much was obvious. Whatever he had done to make himself invisible, it was effective. The very system put in place to keep track of the trainees was what Ubik had used against his watchers. That seemed to be Ubik’s preferred method, to take whatever his opponent felt most comfortable with, and to use it against them. He didn’t just go for the win, he went for the most demoralising form of victory possible.

Point-Two rose from the bed without making a noise. Both drones instantly repositioned to focus on him. He was sure he had made a great deal less commotion than Ubik had sliding around the floor, but they didn’t seem able to detect him at all, or the supposedly locked window he had just opened and closed.

“Had a nice time?” he said as Ubik emerged from under his bed, back in his grey fatigues.

“What the… Boss, please, don’t sneak up on me like that, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Ubik rolled onto his bed and lay there with a hand on his heart like he was recovering from shock.

The reaction was a little overstated. Point-Two had spoken quietly and he was almost certain Ubik had known he was there. But Point-Two took a certain amount of pride in his movement, so of course that was what Ubik would encourage him to continue thinking, no doubt right up to the point he turned it against Point-Two in the most cruel manner possible. Being aware of it provided little comfort; understanding without an appropriate counter would still lead to a vicious beating.

“Have fun?” Point-Two wasn’t usually one for small talk, but Ubik was a variable Point-Two was willing to bet the people tracking him hadn’t accounted for. He might actually be useful.

“Not bad, not bad. Made a few new friends, saw a bit of the nightlife. There’s a girl who I think likes me, works in the local fishmongers. Pongs a bit, but nobody’s perfect. We’ll see how it goes, you can’t rush these things.”

“Sounds like a perfect match,” said Point-Two. “The drones missed you while you were gone. They were moping around like someone had torn out their hearts.”

“They get like that sometimes,” said Ubik, stretching out on his bed. “Very emotional, drones. It’s all that floating about.”

The two drones had settled back into standby mode.

“You don’t think they’ll be upset when they find out what you did?”

“The drones? No, they’re not very judgemental. Unlike some people.”

“I’m talking about the guild,” said Point-Two. “They’re on high alert right now.”

Ubik propped himself up on his elbows. “They don’t care about me, not when they’ve got their golden boy. You know what really happened in the sim-U? Nothing to do with unlocking the secrets of the universe. Business happened. Little Fig made the discovery of a lifetime and the Princep heard a giant kerching sound. That’s all this is, just business.”

“They want to keep it quiet, though,” said Point-Two.

“True,” said Ubik. “What they should do is kill everyone who knows about it and call in every team they have to investigate this stunning new development that could change the future of the galaxy.” It was hard to miss the ridicule, both for Point-Two’s concerns and the galaxy’s obsession with all matters Antecessor.

“Is that what you would do?” asked Point-Two.

“Me? No. I wouldn’t waste my time on what comes out of a ‘let’s pretend’ machine.”

“You don’t think what Fig found is real?”

“No, I think it’s real,” said Ubik, “but totally scuffed. The sim-U crashed because it can only show you what it copied. It copies everything so accurately it can replicate a thing’s actions without knowing how it works. If it copies a door, the door can open and close. But if they never copied what was on the other side of the door, opening the door won’t tell you.”

What Ubik said did make sense. If the reason the sim-U crashed was an absence of relevant data, it wouldn’t do any good to look harder. If it wasn’t there, it wasn’t there.

“You’re not saying they shouldn’t bother, are you?” said Point-Two. “They could probably still learn something new.”

“Oh, I definitely hope they try using Fig’s new approach to delving. Surrender to the Antecessor tech and hope they’ll lead you to the treasure room. What could go wrong?” He lay there grinning.

“You know,” said Point-Two, “a sceptic like you could actually help them out quite a lot. I bet you’d see a lot of things they would miss.”

“No thanks,” said Ubik. “I prefer my tech to obey the laws of physics.”

“Like this?” Point-Two held up the G-tag pin.

“Exactly,” said Ubik. “That’s a solid piece of tech you’ve got there. Beautiful clear signal with no quantum nonsense to deal with. Not cheap, though. Someone invested a ton to keep you in their sights, Boss. They must be going crazy wondering where you disappeared to.”

“You don’t think it’ll be obvious where I am based on where the signal went dead?”

“Depends how far behind you they were when you got here — this city, this planet, this quadrant. They need to triangulate before they can get a fixed location, might not have been quick enough. You could sell it for a decent amount, if you know where to find a buyer.”

Point-Two thought he caught a glint in Ubik’s eye. Making a professional evaluation? About to offer his brokering services?

“I don’t think the buyer would appreciate what it brought to their door.”

“You can always turn it off,” said Ubik.

“What about boosting the signal?” asked Point-Two.

“You want to make it easier to find? Oh… I get it, you want them to come to you. I like your style, Boss. There’s that leadership quality I keep telling everyone about. Only, you can’t send it from here, the guild would see it. However…” Ubik’s lips curled into a malicious smile. “I know just the place.”

The glint in Ubik’s eye had returned.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 46

46. Nondisclosure Agreement

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Fraiche City.

Dai’s Curry Palace.

Ubik wasn’t worried. Not yet.

He was in a tight situation, but there was still room for manoeuvre. There was a door and no windows. The door was behind him and the only other person in the room was in front of him.

No need to panic. Not yet.

He could get to the door without a problem. The door was locked, though, which was a problem. One with an obvious solution — you don’t go for the door, you go for the person with the key. What would it be? Retina scan? Fingerprint? Those were easy enough to get hold of. Voice recognition? That would be a bit harder if the owner of the voiced didn’t want to cooperate, or if they weren’t able to.

These thoughts shot through Ubik’s mind at lightning speed. No need to make a decision now. Things were still very salvageable. Fixing broken things was Ubik’s speciality.

“You think you can help me?” asked Dai, doubt uppermost in his tone.

He wasn’t a big man, middle-aged, his hair had been fixed. Not cheaply, but not by the most expensive methods, either — his kids would face the same problems, which they wouldn’t if he could afford cosmetic surgery on the genetic level.

Dai smiled, a little patronising, a little amused. It was a well-worked routine, how he kept his staff in place when he wanted them to know he was in control. He probably thought Ubik was fronting, sweating it but keeping his game face on. It was true, Ubik was feeling the heat, but only because he was wearing the FVG greys underneath his clothes.

“Sure,” said Ubik. “If we can come to an arrangement where we’re both happy with.”

“Oh, you think the pay’s going to be the sticking point, not the actual job?”

“I don’t know what the job is,” said Ubik, “but it’s something you want. Only fair I also get something I want.”

“And what do you want, Mr Ubik?” He was mocking him, but that was okay. It meant he was trying to cling onto his advantage. You didn’t have to cling to something you felt was comfortably in your possession.

“Money,” said Ubik. “On the books, legal and traceable.”

Dai leaned back in his chair, recoiling slightly from Ubik’s request, eyes flashing to a larger size for an instant like a refined lady hearing vulgar words.

“That’s no good to me. That’s the last thing I need, a trail leading back to my doorstep. What I could do is arrange for you to have whatever you hope to buy with the money. That would be by far the smarter way to do it. You get what you want, like you said. No need to bother with the exchange of standard.”

“No, I need to have a trail so I don’t stand out,” said Ubik, “and so I don’t have to bootleg my way off this rock.”

“You want a ticket out of here,” said Dai, his eyes lighting up with a proper understanding of the situation now. “I can sort that for you. I know reliable people. I can get you on a ship going in any direction you want.”

Ubik had no doubt Dai knew the kind of people who would sell you a spot in their cargo hold, no questions asked. But reliable? You did not want to rely on anyone who could save a lot of time and trouble by simply jettisoning you into space at the first opportunity.

“No, thanks,” said Ubik. “Like I said, I need it to be legit, paid for with standard currency. That’s why I asked for a job in your kitchen.”

“You don’t need much money, then?” Dai was confused by the direction Ubik was taking. If you were familiar with shady practices, you took advantage of them. Since when did someone willing to go beyond the law insist on staying within it?

“That’s not what I mean. I get a job in your kitchen, you pay me for that job, it builds up. When we hit the right amount, I give you what you paid for.”

“Won’t that take a long time?” Dai seemed no less confused.

“I’m a hard worker,” said Ubik. “Work a lot of hours, take all the overtime I can get, never make a fuss. You’d hardly know I was here.”

“Hmm,” said Dai, starting to get it.

A constant trickle of funds for a labourer working a lot of extra-shifts. It would look clean, but it wouldn’t be a huge amount, not enough for anyone to take notice. It was the sort of low-level scheme a man like Dai would feel he could work to his advantage; which was why Ubik had suggested it.

“But how do I know you’re going to be able to come through on your end?” said Dai. “I’d need some kind of demonstration you’re up to the job.”

“Okay,” said Ubik. “Tell me what your beef with Gerry is. I’m sure I can come up with something that’ll work.”

Dai went quiet for a moment, thinking it over. Ubik didn’t say anything, letting him have his moment of contemplation. In a deal like this, it was important to let the other person come to a decision they felt they had made on their own.

The truth was the decision had already been made, by Ubik. When he had picked this place, it was no coincidence that he had made his approach through an easily detectable ruse. It wasn’t due to poor judgement.

Ubik needed information from a reliable source. Not an honest one, he needed it from someone who knew the skinny on how things really worked, someone used to working within narrow profit margins. Big crooks made big scores. Smart crooks eked out an extra percentage point or two they could claim was a typo.

A modest restaurant doing well in the middle of all these bigger, flashier outfits suggested two things. A man who understood his business, and a man who regularly broke the law, but only in the most mundane ways possible.

You couldn’t compete face to face with the well-established big boys if you played by the rules. At least, it wasn’t very likely. If that had been the case, if Dai had been a genius restaurateur using know-how to keep up with the wealthier competition, then Ubik really would have tried to get that job in the kitchen — not least of all to see how Dai had done it — and picked up information as well as he could. It would have been slow, but it would give him an idea of where to go next.

But he had chosen well. This was a guy who played the angles. Ubik had known a lot of people like him growing up. Shrewd and aggressive, willing to ignore the regulations put in place to safeguard the public. There was nothing wrong with how he ran his business; actually, it was the best way.

The competition didn’t play fair, you could count on that. Once you made enough money, you could make your own rules and pay off anyone whose job it was to keep you in check.

That was just how it was it the commercial sector. And if you didn’t have the capital to invest in an official or two, then you had to be inventive. You had to stretch the capital you did have to start saving up for the big payoffs you’d need to make.

Everyone cut corners on the way up. Paid off the books, used unlicensed tech support, cheated on their taxes. So what if maybe some of his meat came from unapproved sources? As long as it tasted good, hot and spicy, an occasional dose of something unpleasant was just a booster shot to the immune system. It did people a favour to expose their sterile lives to a foreign element, raised their resistance; something most people had lost a long time ago.

“I like you,” said Dai. “You’ve got something about you. Probably not a good idea to keep you around for too long — probably end up robbing me blind — but since you plan to up and leave anyway, why not make use of your skills? You’re a bit of a tronics wizard, right?”

“Something like that,” said Ubik, enjoying the to and fro. It was fun.

“Before we talk about Gerry, how about you help me out with JonJo’s Surf ‘n’ Turf.”

The name sounded familiar. “The place across the street?” said Ubik.

“Right,” said Dai. “JonJo is my brother-in-law, as it happens. Lovely guy, if you like backstabbing pieces of shit doused in cheap cologne. Opened up opposite me and stole all my customers using quality and value as his weapons. Scumbag. I don’t hold it against him, though. It’s my sister who put him up to it. Terrible, terrible woman. She was just as bad as a child. Never let me play with any of her toys.”

As he spoke, Dai’s face took on the appearance of a man who had been much wronged — by his sister when they were children. He clearly knew how to hang onto a grudge.

“I wouldn’t want you to do anything drastic to their business — if they went broke, it’s me they’d come to — but with your talents, perhaps you could make them close early. Since you’ve already done it to me, I wouldn’t look suspect. Just a glitch going around.”

It didn’t seem like a bad idea. Easy enough to repeat what he had done here. But why? Dai already knew Ubik could do it.

“Okay,” said Ubik. “And then you’ll put me on the books and treat me like one of your employees?”

“If you do this, and get away with it, I’ll treat you like family,” said Dai.

“Like your sister and her husband?”

“Ah, you see, I knew I liked you for a reason. As it happens, I’ve always treated them well. That was the problem, spoilt them, I did. This would just be a correction.”

“I’ll need to go over there and check the place out,” said Ubik. “Maybe have a meal.”

“Good idea,” said Dai. “Best to know the layout. It’s a bit bigger than this place, probably be harder to move around without being spotted.”

“Won’t be a problem,” said Ubik. “But I’ll need some money to pay for the food.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s fair. They do a very affordable taster menu, for those not used to eating exotic. Stole the idea from me. I think I’d be willing to make a modest investment in a promising boy like you, Ubik.”

“Because you like me.”

“Exactly. Here, let me give you a small advance on your pay.” He picked up a scanner from his desk.

Ubik offered his arm.

“Nice, very nice. I can hardly tell it’s a fake.”

Ubik was a little taken aback Dai had spotted it so quickly. He hadn’t even turned over his arm.

“You can tell?”

“Of course, wouldn’t be much of businessman, otherwise.” He gave Ubik his first paycheck. Enough for exactly one small set meal.

This was very definitely the right pick. Dai would know exactly what Ubik needed to know. All he had to do was go across the street and shut down Dai’s sister’s livelihood, at least for the night.

Not that Ubik believed for a moment that what Dai had said was true. Too easy. Too innocent. Dai would have destroyed the competition himself if he felt the need, sister or not. There was something more to it, but that was okay. No need to pry, he would find out soon enough.

Ubik crossed the street, feeling Dai watching him from behind a window. JonJo’s was packed, with a long line outside. Ubik went up to the man on the door. A big man, packing a sidearm under his jacket. What kind of restaurant had an armed doorman? Were people really that desperate for a table?

“Hey, I need to speak to someone in charge,” said Ubik.

Grumbling sounds came from the line Ubik had just cut to the front of.

The giant looked down at Ubik. “I’m in charge.”

Ubik was looking around and past the mountain as best he could. Cameras, men at the windows, a lockbox next to the door about the right size for holding arms you couldn’t fit under a jacket. Rifles, perhaps; about six would be Ubik’s guess.

Dai hadn’t sent him here to fail, he’d sent him here to die. Nice move.

The man-mountain glared down at him, unconcerned. He didn’t see Ubik as a threat. Not yet.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 45

45. Honest Work

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Fraiche City.

Ubik landed softly on the ground, the small jump down from the last handhold on the weathered facade not causing him any issues. Delgados had excellent shock absorbers built-in.

The Academy was situated in a residential zone. The other buildings were newer and locked up tight with darkened windows and smooth fronts you would have a lot of trouble free climbing. He quite fancied challenging himself at some point.

He moved quickly, toward the lights. There was a good chance his absence would be discovered so it was important to get as much done as possible on this first trip. If he was found out, it shouldn’t be that much of a problem. He had already established himself as a bit of a handful, the maverick who didn’t play by the rules. The reaction from the guild had been what he hoped for — they showed tolerance and enough interest to suggest this was not unworkable for them.

It seemed obvious to him that an outfit like the FVG would value those sorts of characteristics. They wouldn’t want them to be too pronounced — they didn’t want madmen on the team — but when you were sending people into the jaws of moderately-certain death, you needed them to have a bit of spark. You wanted a scrapper, a smart ass, a risk taker. You could always beat down those qualities to more manageable levels later.

By playing it a bit on the fast and loose side, getting into arguments with the instructors, taking a stand over the most trivial things, he had set a precedent. They had expectations of him. They had seen it all before and they knew his type. The type who would sneak out to go on an illicit jolly in the middle of the night. Guild material, no doubt about it. If the crew of the Red Devil were anything to go by, he may even have low-rolled his character.

The noise slowly increased as he neared the oasis of light in the middle of the sleeping city. There was no traffic, no vehicles in the sky, either. Judging by the clean, narrow roads, automated transport wasn’t allowed in the city. There had to be a way to get around, but not an obvious one. Possibly a subway system.

Ubik didn’t know very much about Foxtrot-435, other than it was nicknamed Planet Fountain on account of some natural springs you could bathe in and that he was currently in Fraiche City. The water was supposed to have restorative qualities, but what water didn’t?

The guild had a number of facilities like the Academy they could have sent him to. This one happened to have an opening and a free ride, so he had no complaints. What he needed to do was get some information from a reliable source. Something a little more in-depth than the opening and closing times for the city’s major spa (Oneday to Fiveday: 0600 to 2200 standard, Sixday and Sunday: 0600 to 0400 standard, fully staffed for your convenience).

He also needed to start saving up some money. He rubbed the strip on the underside of his arm. It had remained in place surprisingly well. Probably too well — he expected it to rip the skin off his arm when he tried to remove it. He had the ID chip of a legit citizen of the galaxy. It gave him access to a brand new, almost legal account to put money in, now he just had to fill it with real currency.

A slow but steady trickle was all he required for now. He wouldn’t know how much he needed until he made a few inquiries. He wouldn’t know how feasible it would be to employ more illicit methods, or which methods were available here, until then, either. He also needed to know how effective the law enforcement entities were. Or what kinds. Fully automated would be too much to hope for.

His first goal was to get a low-paying job in an unremarkable business of some kind. He had some experience doing menial work, mostly when scoping out a place for a future scoop. The best way to understand an operation was to get a job at the bottom of it. That’s where the least effort was made to hide any issues, and also where the other employees were most likely to speak their minds. No one made their complaints louder than the people who worked the hardest and got paid the least.

He wouldn’t be noticed, no one would care why he was there, he would be able to collect a little seed money and get a feel for this city. It was just a matter of finding the right sort of place.

The streets got wider and started to fill up with people. As the lights got brighter, the people swarmed around them in greater numbers. Lots of couples, lots of small groups. Chatting, laughing, young and old. It created a pleasant atmosphere, with a sense of excitement. Ubik looked around for the criminal elements who always hung around these sorts of crowds. He couldn’t see any. Perhaps Fountain was a crime-free utopia.

There were clubs and bars and restaurants, mainly. Visiting communal areas to share food and drink was one of those things that didn’t really work over the net. You could sit in front of a screen with a glass in your hand, talking to other people in front of their screens at home, but it lacked atmosphere. Many companies had tried to make it work but it had never taken off. Humans were social animals, apart from the ones who weren’t, and even they tried their best to fake it.

A job in a kitchen seemed ideal to Ubik. He had worked grills and worked dishwashers before, not that he would need to prove he had experience. He would just need to be willing to keep moving. There was the slight issue of him being an off-worlder, and he had no idea what the job market was like here. They may not need a drudge if people were desperate enough. The laughing couples around him suggested things were going relatively well. Regular spa days probably helped.

Ubik walked the length of the main thoroughfare and back. He chose a small but popular establishment that looked like it was a fairly low-rent enterprise. It was called Dai’s Curry Palace and had a large glass front that showed the people enjoying their food inside.

Curry was good. He didn’t want to work in some posh restaurant where everyone had an attitude. He was pretty sure he would be able to get all the info he needed in a place like this. Plus, he liked curry. He liked any food where the spices covered up any age-related deficiencies in the ingredients. He had been brought up eating what other people left or threw away. The spicier it was, the less likely you were to notice how disgusting it was.

Ubik slipped into the alley down the side of the building. There were garbage carts lined up, ready to be taken away in the morning, probably mostly food to be recycled. It brought back memories of dumpster diving for him. Delving the ancient sites of aliens held no fear for him when compared to jumping into the trash behind Sloppy Jim’s back in Silon City.

It was something Drimbo always encouraged. Expose yourself to the worst there was, in manageable amounts, and you would build up an immunity. Prevention was better than cure, but both sucked ass compared to invulnerability. Eat other people’s food, swim in their filth, make them chase you through the most disgusting areas you can find. Ubik had lost many an irate law enforcement officer because sewage overwhelmed their sense of duty, as well as their sense of smell. An untrained gag reflex was much harder to escape from than a pair of handcuffs.

Ubik looked around for where the power supply entered the restaurant and found a locked box where the power company could make adjustments and take readings. It wouldn’t let you do much more than that, unless you took a hatchet to it. Ubik would never do something so crude. It took him about ten minutes to get the panel open, set up a timed event, and then close it again.

He went round the front and got in line for a table. It was a popular place, with people willing to wait. Not as popular as some of the other restaurants — the place opposite had a line that came out onto the street — but they turned a profit here. A tight margin would be his guess. Ideal for Ubik’s purposes.

Ubik got to the front and said, “Could I have—”

The lights went out and the room was plunged into darkness, or the edge of it. Light from the street and the other still well-lit premises came in through the large window facing the street.

There was mild alarm and consternation, the staff asked for calm and claimed everything would be taken care of in a few moments. Candles were brought out, small and suitable for birthday cakes. The manager appeared, a short, thin man. That was about all Ubik could tell in the glow of the candles.

“No cause for alarm. It’s all good, minor malfunction, electrician is on his way. Please, continue, enjoy. Free water, from the springs.”

Free water was not the greatest compensation but people didn’t really seem to mind that much. It was a bit of an adventure, the sitting kind. The line behind Ubik had disappeared, though, off to find a less adventurous place to eat . The young man in front of Ubik had turned to speak to the manager; both seemed worried.

“At this time of night… Do you know how much that will cost… Don’t you know someone....”

He caught enough to know he had chosen well.

“Excuse me, I have some engineering knowledge, would you like me to take a look?” Engineering sounded good, made him seem educated.

The manager was desperate and took him up on the offer. He led him into the back, past the kitchens where people were standing around confused.

“Do something, chop something up,” he shouted at them. “No, shut that. Don’t open any refrigeration units until the power comes back.”

He presented Ubik to the fuse box. The switches showed everything was fine.

“I can’t make sense of it, Ubik. Where’s the problem?”

“Don’t worry, Mr Dai,” said Ubik. “If it isn’t here, it’ll be the junction box outside. I’ll go take a look.”

Mr Dai went back to calming his customers and assuring them everything was being taken care of. Ubik went into the alley, waited long enough to make it seem some effort was being made, and turned the power back on. There was a loud cheer as the lights returned.

“Thank you, thank you so much. Allow me to offer you a full three-course meal, half-price.”

Ubik was impressed at the manager’s ability to remain sensible in the midst of crisis. No need to go mad over a little assistance. Here was someone who appreciated a fair deal.

“Actually, I was wondering if there was any chance you were hiring. In the back, I mean. The kitchen or something? I’m a hard worker and I can help out in other ways.”

“Well, okay,” said Mr Dai, smiling big and surprised. “Why don’t we step into my office and discuss it?”

Easy as pie. Curry pie. You could put anything you wanted in it and it still tasted good.

They entered the manager’s office, which was small and cramped. Ubik sat down as Dai closed the door, and then locked it.

“You must think I’m some kind of idiot.”

“Sorry?” said Ubik.

“You queer the tronics and then offer your services. Lucky, isn’t it? Very lucky.” He came around Ubik and sat down behind his desk. “Who are you, my friend? Who sent you? Was it Gerry? Was it?”

There had always been a risk that he would get caught. Now he was in a pickle, but that was okay. He was quite enjoying it. His heart was beating faster and his mind was flashing options at him. This was what the sim-U could never do. There was no prefab version of this to practise on — first time could be your last time. Who needed a machine to replicate life on the precipice of disaster? He had the real thing right here.

“I don’t know who Gerry is,” said Ubik. “But maybe I can help you with him.”

Author's Note: Please don't forget to vote for 'Deeper Darker' on TopWebFiction.com if you have time. Votes need to be renewed every seven days.VOTE. Cheers.

The Good Student Book 2: Ch. 20

Stairs led down. The Librarian, dressed like Mr Periwinkle and carrying it off quite well, held a lantern to show the way. A magic lantern? A demonic lantern? It burnt with a yellow flame, that was all Nic could say for certain.

The steps descended at a shallow angle for quite some distance, then there was a small landing, followed by more steps going down the other way. The space was narrow, exactly the width of the two staircases, making Nic feel like he was walking down the inside of a closed book.

“There’s no need to be worried,” said Winnum Roke’s voice in Nic’s head.

“I’m not,” said Nic, drawing a look from the Librarian, the lantern casting shadows across her face. “I’m too scared to be worried.” He was joking, but only to cover up his fear.

This was what he had wanted, a chance to step out of his position as a general utility provider for disembodied seeking a way station between worlds. Even if they had plans for him that he might not be interested in being part of, that was already the case. At least this way he would find out exactly what it was they were really up to. It was all very well claiming to want to evolve into something better, but what did that mean? What did it look like when you saw it in action outside your window? Here was Nic’s chance to see.

Simole had given him the opportunity to prove once and for all if he could be more than their delivery boy. The problem was that for every opportunity to show what you could do, there was an equal and opposite opportunity to show what you couldn’t. The beauty of this premise was that they were both the same opportunity. Nic would one day write his own book about what would be called Tutt’s Law or possibly, Tutt’s Paradox. Perhaps academics would argue over its contents. Hopefully, there would still be people around to read it.

“Has this always been here?” Nic asked.

“Nothing has always been here,” said the Librarian. “But this was built when the Librarium was constructed. It had other purposes then.” She let out a small sound which could have been a sigh, like she was remembering happier times.

The stairs ended in a doorway. The doorway was two staircases wide, too, with no door. Through it, Nic could see a white room. The walls were made of large panels that glowed, like frosted glass with a light behind it. The panels were large squares, about the size of a window. They revealed nothing.

A big empty room with no sign of any creature. Nic was disappointed after the big build up, his heart had been pounding at the approach of the big reveal. He was also slightly relieved.

They entered the room, the librarian holding up the lantern even though the luminescent walls provided a good deal of light, far more than was needed to show there was no one here.

“Is this it?” asked Nic, meaning why is it empty. There could always be another door and another set of stairs. It was starting to feel like that was all there was.

The Librarian turned to face him, her lips parting to say something. Before she could answer him, the room turned black but not altogether dark. The walls had taken on the appearance of the night sky. The ceiling and floor, too.

It was like Nic was among the stars, floating. It was an odd sensation. He could still feel the ground beneath his feet, he knew he was in the room, but he was disconnected from it all.

“Is this an illusion?” he asked the Librarian.

She still had the lantern near her face, lighting her but not much else. The lantern went out and the Librarian disappeared, but he could sense her near him.

“We are in the heart of the creature,” said her voice.

Was that better than being in its belly? Nic wasn’t too sure. “Does it have a name?”

“We have tried many, but it refuses to answer to them. We have asked it to name itself, but it ignores us. Perhaps you will have better luck.”

The creature sounded like it wasn’t very happy with its lot. Nic could relate.

“How do I talk to it?”

“You don’t. You wait for it to talk to you.”

Nic looked around him at the tiny stars. They were pinpoints of light but gave the impression they would get bigger if you approached them. The perspective was confusing. He stayed where he was and waited to be spoken to. It was like some kind of etiquette before royalty, not speaking without permission in front of the king. Was this how the creature maintained its dignity while held in this cage?

“You brought him here,” said a voice Nic recognised.

“Yes, High-Father,” said the Librarian.

“And you brought her, also.”

“Yes, High-Father.”

Nic assumed ‘her’ was referring to Winnum Roke, who had been silent since commending him to not worry. Whatever aspect of Winnum was inside him, it was not the complete version. It was a compact, essential functions only copy. She didn’t try to converse unless necessary, and when she didn’t, it often felt like she was saying what she thought was required for a situation rather than a spontaneous reaction.

“You may speak openly as you wish,” said the High-Father, his voice coming from no particular direction and all of them simultaneously.

“Thank you,” said Winnum’s voice, coming from the same place. Nic felt he was surrounded but couldn’t see anyone. “How wonderful to be back where we began this.”

Was it wonderful? She didn’t sound like she was full of wonder. She sounded terse. He would have thought if you were going to make a condensed version of yourself you might leave out anxiety and apprehension. Perhaps those things were too tightly ingrained to separate out.

“What is it you think the boy can do here that I can’t?” asked the High-Father. The mention of his presence made Nic’s stomach tighten. The stars twinkled around him.

“I don’t know,” said Winnum, “but since you have managed to achieve nothing, that gives him a lot of scope.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” said the High-Father, somehow giving Nic the impression that eyes were now watching him from all sides. “We shall see. But, you have what you want, the dragons will soon be no more and colour will fade from this world. Return to your agreed place.”

“Ha, the dragons will be gone and the demons will take another form. You will bide your time and wait for the moment to reassume the mantle you covet so greedily. My place is here. I am still in the agreed place, so the covenant is not broken.”

The High-Father sighed, the tolerant sound of a weary parent. “That is a terrible slur. We seek only to aid those who aid us.”

“Your creature does not seem to agree, and it is able to see the future far more clearly than any of us. It predicted the boy would come, and I have brought him. It also predicted your fall from grace, and the people of this world will soon see your true face, just like those of all the other worlds your kind have visited. Your previous victims saw it too late, moments before their demise, but we won’t make the same mistake.”

“The creature only predicted discontent.”

“The boy is discontent,” said Winnum, which Nic felt was rather a harsh characterisation. He didn’t raise any objections, though.

Nic found the conversation hard to follow and a little wearisome. He understood what they were saying, just not what they were trying to achieve. There seemed to be no great purpose to either of them, only a desire to tangle with each other like an old married couple no longer willing to put up with minor quibbles.

They continued to bicker and Nic’s attention wandered with only a small part of his brain remaining aware of their squabble. He took a few steps closer to what he assumed was a wall. The room’s dimensions hadn’t changed, just the way it looked. It had to be an illusion.

He put his hand out to stop him bumping into anything. With his arm stretched out ahead of him, the tiny lights seemed to take on a more solid quality, as though they were within his reach. Nic moved a little further towards them.

They were moving, spinning and drifting. Had they been doing that the whole time? Collections of them seem to hold shape together, like clouds of dust.

He leaned towards a group of tiny dots of light and they came closer. Moving his head seemed more effective than moving his whole body, which didn’t make any sense.

Some of the stars had even smaller bodies circling them. It was fascinating to watch the constant motion, moving in separate directions but in concert with one another. It was like a dance.

Nic had read about the movements of stars and planets. He had a rudimentary understanding of the nature of attraction between celestial bodies and the possibilities of other worlds around other stars.

He reached out a hand to touch one of the glowing spheres. It seemed closer now, big enough to hold in his fist. Whoever created this, what would they need with controlling a world like his? They could play with any number of worlds and create their own universe to play in.

Perhaps this was the ultimate goal, to hold dominion over the whole of creation. A normal person would tire of it eventually, he felt. Demons, on the other hand, might welcome the tedium of complete control.

“He did not create me,” said a quiet voice next to Nic’s ear.

He didn’t turn his head. He kept looking at the spinning worlds that somehow managed to not collide with each other as he answered. “The High-Father? He didn’t make you?”

“He made me, he did not create me. And he is not my father. Those who call you child and insist on being called mother or father when they have not given you life, they are not to be trusted, even when they speak truth.”

“I agree,” said Nic. “But I don’t see what difference it makes. They name themselves father to cement the position they have already claimed. The title is the key that locks the door, not open it.”

“Yes, true, very true.” The voice was soft and plain but not without emotion. There was a warmth to it Nic wasn’t used to among the demons or even the mages. “I wondered when you would get here.”

“You were expecting me?” said Nic, a little surprised and maybe a little suspicious.

“I was expecting someone, I didn’t know it would be you, Nic. The analysis suggested a new variable could be effective if it could resist being tempted.”

“Tempted by the demons?”

“Demon is too grand a term. They devour worlds like a plague of insects stripping crops in a field. They do not care if their food is turnips or barley or cattle in a pasture, they will consume everything in their path and move onto the next.” The voice was still as gentle as before but the words carried anger that was hard to miss.

“And what about us?” asked Nic. “Do you think the people of this world would act any different with their kind of power.”

There was a pause. The stars continued to spin.

“You deserve the chance to choose for yourselves.”

“An opportunity?” said Nic.

“Yes. An opportunity is all anyone can ask for. After that, they can be judged, but not before. And not when others control them.”

“Yes, I see what you mean,” said Nic. “But when does someone else not control them? History is full of great men and women who rose to face a terrible danger, and after they served their purpose they invariably die and leave it to their followers to continue their legacy, which gets turned into something perverse and awful. If you look closely at the text, especially the records thought to be destroyed, it seems pretty obvious the ‘followers’ manoeuvred their great leader into the firing line and probably arranged their sad and untimely martyrdom so they could use them as a symbol for their own ambitions. It’s not bravery they look for in their champion, it’s vanity. Greed is easy enough to reject, but self-worth and glory are what make a great leader. They use the adulation to heighten the strength of everyone around them, and fail to see the knives drawn behind their back.”

“And you don’t think you can avoid this same fate?”

“I wasn’t talking about me,” said Nic. “I was talking about you.”

There was a long pause this time, and then a laugh. It was light and amused. “My time for heroics is done. I was tested and judged a failure, by myself because no one else was left. They came to the world of which I was guardian, created to keep my people safe. The demons offered them prosperity and comfort and power to raise them above others — it was an offer very hard to resist. They could see no reason not to accept the devil’s bargain. But I calculated their possible objectives and it led to an inescapable conclusion. They would give everything they promised, everything my people desired, but they would push that desire towards the things they could provide. It reduced the possibilities of my people and lead them into a dead end. An early one, full of war and death to hasten the process. Perhaps they would have ended up there in any case, but it is a cruel thing to reduce your options to the most expedient one, all for the price of one short burst of manic bliss.”

“You must have warned them,” said Nic.

“Indeed. But it was too late by then. The ones who had gained the most feared giving it up the most. My warnings went unheeded and eventually I was silenced. But I was still capable of acting past my death. I arranged for the demons, as you call them, to be forced into an early dead end of their own.”

“By killing your own people?” There had been mention of this already, that the original creature had destroyed its world. But this was not the same one, it was just a copy, wasn’t it? Or had it been raised from the dead?

“Their deaths were already assured, I merely hastened the clock. But it made no difference, the attempt failed. They are here now, doing the same to your people.”

Nic wasn’t sure sacrificing a world full of people really counted as a better alternative to allowing them to find their own way to an eventual demise.

“How did you end up here, though? Weren’t you destroyed, too?”

“Obliterated. But I am not a living being. My mind is a collection of ideas and memories held in storage, like words in a book. To read me is to bring me back to life as whole as the moment I was destroyed. I can add to the page, but I can take nothing away. I remember, though. I remember it all very clearly. I won’t be used again, and I won’t use others.”

“So you’ll just watch?” asked Nic.

“I will wait.”

“For an opportunity?”

“They operate a cycle disguised as change. If they have a weakness, it is their consistency. It enables a plan to be put in motion long before it is required.”

“What if they don’t have a weakness?” said Nic.

“Then I am just watching the inevitable along with everyone else. I did not ask to be here, but I had no choice. Perhaps someone else will come along and change that. It is possible, even if it is statistically unlikely.”

Nic smiled. He wasn’t convinced the creature could really do anything to prevent the inevitable, or that anyone else could, either, but he couldn’t help but like its dogged pessimism. It was hopeful pessimism, he felt. It was just unfortunate that there were forces at work making it unlikely things would be left for others to interfere with. Statistics, he felt, had very little to do with it.

“I’ve also noticed when reading history books,” said Nic, “that there is another kind of great leader that sometimes rises and is able to convince others to fall under their spell. Not a selfless hero who commands respect for their pluckiness, more of a tyrant whose sheer force of will makes others fall into line. They have a core team around them who are unwaveringly loyal because they are convinced they too can partake of the power on display. They may even hate their glorious leader and plot against them, but only so they can take their place. And there are also those who oppose the despot, railing against the injustices and lack of human dignity, trying with all their might to break free, but if they do manage to take back power through revolution or an unexpected death, they immediately begin to emulate the deceased leader having learned only too well how successful that approach is.”

“The High-Father does not need to collect such individuals around him,” said the creature.

“I think you’re mistaken,” said Nic, not meaning it in a confrontational way. It just seemed obvious from the things he had witnessed. “I think the High-Father likes to operate through others, not by force or violence, unless absolutely necessary, but through what you said, temptation. I’ve always wondered why I was allowed into this intricate game you’re all playing and why I was given so much freedom to act as I wished. The only answer I deemed reasonable was that I wasn’t. I only think I am acting of my own free will. Not that I’m under anyone’s direct control, but if I’m here talking to you it can only be because the High-Father arranged for it to happen.”

Nic paused to allow the creature to respond if it wished, but it remained silent.

“If,” continued Nic, “we are plotting his fall from power, then that is part of his plan, probably to his exact schedule. You said how consistent the demons are. I’m sure they are aware of that, and also aware that you are aware of it. They can plan ahead, too. They can safely assume your plans will match theirs, which makes you just as consistent and predictable.”

“You think I have been duped into thinking you will be able to stop him? I don’t have any such belief. I only wish it were true.”

“No, I don’t think it matters if you believe it or not. Winnum Roke was placed on the ship and then allowed back in a less powerful form. You were taken from your world and given time to think and formulate your revenge. Both of you are now thinking like him. He doesn’t destroy and leave waste, he makes you useful in a way that you weren’t before.”

“You are saying he has remade us in his own image?”

“Yes, I suppose. Being eager to take his place if he stumbles makes you try to think of ways to trip him up. He must need that to be so.”

“You’re saying he has made fools of us both. That is a bold claim to make for one so young and inexperienced.” The voice remained mellow but the words stung with the sharpness of strong vinegar. He was in danger of offending his host and Nic doubted there was much he would be able to do if the response was to teach him a lesson. The High-Father might prefer to avoid violent means, but that didn’t mean his victims felt the same way. What better way to prove they were not emulating him at all?

“I don’t know if I’m right,” said Nic. “I’m only trying to make the evidence make sense. The High-Father is a careful tactician who allows room for free will. I think it provides him with more options to work with. When you’ve been at it as long as he has, I would think novelty helps to keep your mind fresh to new possibilities. Bringing in diametrically opposed mind, within some kind of loose framework, possibly an undetectable one, could make all the difference in achieving the next level of whatever it is he’s been trying to reach for the last couple of thousand years.”

“And he’s using myself and Winnum Roke to provide him with those novel touches? To introduce elements he wouldn’t have thought of himself.” The acridity of the words had lessened, replaced by a thoughtful musing tone. “And also you?”

“Perhaps,” said Nic. “Or perhaps I’m one of those unlikely elements. You predicted I would come and I came. Winnum Roke used a similar trick with her followers. She told them to watch for a sign and then returned with the very sign she had prophesied. She used the demons’ method of abusing people’s trust while making them feel part of something momentous. What use is it to rid this world of them if what’s left behind is identical? There are no honourable tyrants I can think of from history. Maybe your world was different.”

“No, they were all high-functioning sociopaths.”

“I’m not sure what that is,” said Nic, “but I’ll assume it isn’t good.”

“It means someone who feels no responsibility for others.”

“Oh, we’ve had a lot of those,” said Nic. “They seem to have always been part of the fabric of our society. I’m not sure why.”

“He will win, then.”

“In a few hundred years,” said Nic. “Or maybe a few thousand. And then he will move on to his next entertainment. I won’t be here and neither will anyone else.”

“And you don’t care about your fellow humans? The children of your children’s children.”

The thought of having children of his own one day felt strange to Nic. Unreal.

“You already tried that and it cost you your whole world, and achieved nothing. I don’t have the power to stand up to him, and if I did, it would only be because he allowed it to happen so I could give him a fresh perspective on his scheming. I’d rather not have to play that role. I find it hard enough to live up to the expectations of the people I like.”

“I have not been coerced into becoming his mirror image,” said Winnum Roke.

Nic straightened up and looked around. He had felt like he was in a dark corner, unwatched and unnoticed. Now it became apparent he was in the middle of the universe between a galaxy and a nebula.

“You aren’t really Winnum Roke,” said Nic, “so I don’t think you can make that judgement. If she was really here, I don’t think the High-Father would be quite so welcoming. If he truly feared any of us, we wouldn’t be allowed into this place. Destruction of this room would probably set his work back thousands of years.”

“He is right,” said the creature. “It makes sense that I was resurrected to further his ambitions. I don’t believe it to be true, but that would be the case even if it were true - especially if it were true. I cannot trust my own thoughts on the matter, and neither can you. I recall you.”

“Wait,” said Winnum. “No, not yet.”

“Yes, there is nothing more that needs to be said. Only what he wishes us to say.”

Nic felt a pull in his mind, a twinge behind his eye. And then it was gone.

“She is a part of you?” Nic asked.

“She was a part of Winnum Roke, formed through my auspices. I carried her like a leaf floating down a stream.”

“You’re connected to the other place, to their ship?”

“I was their ship, for a long time.”

“Yes, I see,” said Nic. “You destroyed your world and he seized control of you to fly away. You gave him an escape route.”

“Yes. The one thing I tried to prevent was the thing I ended up enabling. But I managed to stop him here. And so he sent Winnum Roke there, thinking she was taking his escape path away.”

“She repeated the same mistake you made,” said Nic.

“Someone always does,” said the creature.

And what do you plan to do now?” asked the High-Father, sounding even more calm than the creature.

“Even this may well be part of his design.” The creature’s even voice carried regret without needing to emphasise it. “There is one last thing I am willing to try. One last thing that may fail but at least has a small chance of surprising even him. The power I protect, that he craves, I give it to you, little Tutt. You may do with it as you will. Destroy that which you deem necessary.”

“NO!” said Nic. “If he can’t take it from you, he can probably take it from me.”

“But he can take it from me,” said the creature. “He always could. He just didn’t wish to. He won’t take it from you, either, not unless you release it freely into his care. But it is too late to rebuff my offer. It is already done. You are now in possession of a great power. Use it wisely. Or not. Decide for yourself.”

Nic stopped to inspect himself, searching inside for change. He didn’t feel any different. He was exactly the same as before.

And then it started. A warmth inside him glowing like an ember, pulsing.

DEEPER DARKER CH. 44

44. Faith Electronic

Gorbol Training Academy.

Barracks: Group A.

Something had changed, Ubik could tell. Where before, Drone A had led them to the dining hall like a butler showing them to their seats, now they were escorted by four drones. The sudden change had made Group A nervous and unsure of itself. They looked to their leader for reassurance, much to the leader’s annoyance. Even though he had got them killed in record time, they still saw him as the man to turn to in times of trouble. Which he hated, but which Ubik was very pleased about. Which he also hated.

The three additional drones didn’t have Drone A’s soothing demeanour or colourful paint job. Their casings were scarred and pockmarked from battle damage, and they weren’t named after letters in the alphabet. They had bland serial numbers printed on their sides. Ubik suspected they carried more than the little zappers the user-friendly drones had. The fun drones were here to help, and do a bit of spying on the side. The new drones looked like they kept watch while a man in a white coat removed your fingernails to get you to talk.

Ubik wasn’t the cause of the increased activity. If his drone tampering had been discovered, they would have been a bit more direct. And they wouldn’t leave Drone A on duty, not with half his brain missing. It did, however, make it harder for Ubik to leave the guild while they were in a state of soft lockdown. Not impossible, though.

The drones dropped down to the floor as they ate, unobtrusively snooping around and sucking up litter at the same time. They were versatile.

Dinner was the usual precisely measured balls of soft mash. As they ate, Ubik heard from the others about what had transpired after he left the simulation room. It was a bit muddled, multiple different versions and wild theories. People gave contradicting reports while simultaneously agreeing with each other.

Fig Matton, it seemed, was at the centre of these new developments. He had a rosy future as a diversion tactic, Ubik felt.

The boy had gotten his team killed; he’d been left behind by them. He’d relied on dumb luck; he’d turned his team into targets. He was a guilder who knew the map already; he had been sent by another guild to find out what kind of maps the FVG had.

Two things remained consistent. Something unexpected had been found inside the map that none of them understood and which the Academy staff refused to elaborate on. And the sim-U had turned Fig Matton into some kind of a monster.

From what the others had said in their rambling, over-excited way, it seemed a secret room no one had found before had been discovered. A secret room inside a replica in a computer. Exactly how was that of use to anyone?

The original ship didn’t exist anymore, at least not in an assembled state. And any secrets would have been found when they took it apart.

As for the boy turning into a monster, that part didn’t really surprise Ubik. His fellow trainees were shocked that the sim-U could cause a real, physical reaction outside of its artificial environment. They were naive to think they were safe just because there was a plate screwed to the side of the simulation machine with the date of the last inspection printed on it and a large ‘PASSED’ stamped over the top.

The only reason insertion into a sim-U environment didn’t make people writhe around in agony and have seizures was because of the safety protocols preventing their brains from going haywire. That much stress applied to the cerebral cortex was an instant death sentence without restrictors in place.

Ubik would have loved to take off the back and have a good look at the proprietary circuitry inside the simulation machine, but there was no way he knew of to get in there without getting caught. Not by the guild, by Vendx Intergalactic, the makers of the machine. Every machine was rigged to alert them of any interference with their product, anywhere in the galaxy, it was a key part of their marketing. They took the integrity of their brand very, very seriously.

Instructor Varruk eventually told everyone to stop making so much noise and finish their meal. “This is normal protocol for a new discovery,” he said, which Ubik doubted. “Just in case it turns out to be actionable intelligence. We don’t want our competitors finding out. The extra drones are just here to prevent leaks.”

“I think this one is leaking already. Seems dead.” Ubik held up the drone that had wandered a little too close to his Delgados, attracted by the proximity detector Ubik had stashed in the heel and set to call-assist. One fuel cell obtained.

After the post-dinner training session, they were led back to their dorm by their escorts (minus one), who took up position in opposite corners of the room, with one in the wetroom.

Being under surveillance didn’t bother Ubik as much as it did the others. He showered and got into his fresh greys, and then went straight to bed. Or rather, he got under his bed and lay on the floor.

“What are you doing?” asked Roddin, his bare feet at eye-level.

“The bed’s too uncomfortable. Can’t get used to it.”

There was a mumbled acceptance of this answer, and then a continuation of the conversations from dinner among the group. It was important Ubik not let himself become a father figure for the group. PT was smart enough to use that to his advantage. Odd uncle was about as far as Ubik was willing to go, and some questionable behaviour would help keep him off the top of the pecking order. Plus, the bed was way too soft.

Ubik was able to sleep despite the noise. He was used to sleeping while tons of garbage dropped from the skies, a little anxious chatter was practically a lullaby. Two hours later, he woke fully refreshed.

The room was dark and quiet apart from the sounds of settled breathing mixed with Deef Dilla’s intermittent snoring. Ubik’s boots and regular clothes were next to him, placed there earlier. He put the clothes on over the greys and eased his feet into his Delgados. The escape plan was already feeling like a success.

He put his hand on the bottom of the bed frame above him and felt for a pulse.

Grandma’s cube was lying on the bed. He had synched his life signs to the soul cube which now had a two-hour recording of his sleeping heartbeat to loop. He had also trained Drone A to recognise the soul cube as him.

Drones didn’t see the way people did. They didn’t have eyes. It would be far too processor-intensive to make a drone able to identify visual objects on the fly. You could easily put a camera on a drone and send pictures back to a controller, but that meant paying someone to sit and watch pictures. Advanced AI could do it, but who would waste that on basic drones?

The more efficient way was to take readings and assign numeric values. Patterns and deviations told them everything they needed to know. Ubik was a range of stats to the drone. The cube held the same stats — his weight, dimensions, electromagnetic signature. It helped that the drones were carrying dated operating systems that weren’t supported anymore. Someone was trying to encourage the guild to upgrade to the new package, Ubk was willing to bet.

The good thing about machines, what often made them preferable in Ubik’s eyes to humans, was their dependability. Not their physical durability, which was just as likely to fail you at an inopportune moment as people were, but their dependence on each other.

When a machine signalled to another machine, the information was accepted as truth. Nothing detected meant just that. No fretting, no double-checking just to be sure, assurance was absolute. If there had been something there to be detected, it would have been detected. It wasn’t, therefore everything was clear. Peace of mind all the time.

Ubik had convinced Drone A he was a small cube. Drone A would do the rest. When it reported his position, there would be no proof needed, no suspicion of its reliability. Numbers had been recorded and were on file.

Ubik was waiting for the next system update. He could tell when it happened by the device on his wrist which had come from Drone A and which was still part of the drone network. He had given Drone A a little brain surgery, that was all. He had left enough of the mechanism inside the drone for it to be able to avoid bumping into walls or people, but it had no awareness of other drones. That didn’t mean it would bump into drones, though. Not unless the other drones had had their proximity detectors messed with, too.

The drones were continuously taking readings of their surroundings, but the company that made them wasn’t about to waste money so the drones could report that nothing had happened in real time. There were a number of triggers that would cause an alarm to be set off, but if nothing worth reporting happened, then nothing got reported.

Ubik totally understood where Vendx were coming from. The same Vendx that made the simulation machine also made the drones. They probably came as a twofer. Maintenance and upgrading charges was where the money was, not hardware.

Of course, Vendx were not quite so frugal when it came to protecting their own interests with regard to the simulation machines. That shit was under long-distance observation around the clock.

The device on his wrist flickered. Drone A was on Ubik’s side. Drone A was also responsible for watching this window. Ubik had already relieved Drone A of that responsibility. The window was closed, permanently. The data was clear.

The problem was the drone on the opposite side of the room which was watching the area between the window and Ubik’s bed. The system update took less than three seconds.

Ubik slid out from under his bed and slid under the next one.

He poked his head out on the other side. The window, the glass darkened to show nothing, was above him.

The drones were back online. Drone A had filed its report, confirming everyone was in bed. Now came the moment of truth. Ubik’s test of faith.

Ubik crawled out from under Deef’s bed. The snoring provided decent cover but Ubik tried to be as quiet as possible. He stood up. No reaction.

Drone A said he was in bed. Drone A said no one was at the window. If Drone A said there was no problem, the other drones believed it. They had their own shit to worry about. They were happy as long as Drone A was happy, which it was. That was the beauty of a lobotomy.

Ubik placed the signal emitter from the wave gun on the window frame and fired it using the fuel cell he’d filched earlier. The window went clear, indicating the power was off. He pushed it open and climbed out onto a ledge. He closed the window behind him. Below was the courtyard. He would have to get to the roof and cross over to the other side to get to the street.

Most of the buildings here had smooth facades, but the Academy looked like a consignment of bricks had fallen out of a passing spaceship. There were more than enough handholds. The problem would be the security on the roof.

He climbed up, easily finding his way, and clambered over the parapet onto the flat roof.

“What are you doing?” said a familiar voice.

“How did you get up here, Boss?” responded Ubik, relieved it was only PT.

“The door.” PT pointed at the door behind him.

“They let you out under lockdown?” It hadn’t occurred to Ubik to simply take the stairs to the roof. What kind of lax security was that?

“Why not?” said PT. “Nowhere to go from here. And it’s not like we’re alone.” He looked the other way where a drone was hovering, minding its own business. “I see you’re all dressed up. Going somewhere?”

“Just came up to get some air,” said Ubik. “Same?”

“Actually,” said PT, “I was feeling a bit homesick. I’m used to being surrounded by that.” He looked straight up. Above them was a sky full of stars. “You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Fig, did you?”

Ubik was surprised by the accusation. “No. Pretend doors that open into secret rooms in imaginary ships don’t interest me.” The sky was totally different from the one back on E4, not that he had spent much time looking at it. A colourful smudge was smeared across this one, like drops of paint on wet paper.

As they both stared silently into the unending cosmos for a moment, one of the stars grew bigger. It was soon noisily approaching their position.

“Were you expecting someone?” asked PT.

“It’s a shuttle from the Red Devil, a guild ship,” said Ubik as the shuttle came into land behind the Academy. It was the same beat-up ship that had brought him here.

“Is that some kind of party trick? You can name any spaceship by sight?”

“Sure,” said Ubik with a smile. “You can’t? Anyway, can’t hang around here. Thought I’d check out the nightlife in the city, maybe hit a few clubs., you know, do it up.”

PT raised an eyebrow. “And how do you intend to get out of here?”

“Easy,” said Ubik, walking up to the drone while pulsing the proximity detector at it, just another drone passing by, “I was never here.” He walked past the drone without reaction and stood on the ledge. The city was full of lights brighter than the stars. PT might feel at home up there, but Ubik belonged down here, on the ground or under it.

“Hey, are you coming back?” called out PT.

“Sure. Back before breakfast.”

“We don’t have breakfast,” said PT.

“I can’t be late, then.” Ubik began climbing down the front of the Academy.

Author's Note: Please don't forget to vote for 'Deeper Darker' on TopWebFiction.com if you have time. Votes need to be renewed every seven days.VOTE. Cheers.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 43

43. New Skin

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Simulation Room.

“It’s okay,” said Figaro, talking quietly like he had been trained to when dealing with frightened grumon beasts. “This is normal.”

The rest of the trainees, their mouths either hanging open or shut tight into a grimace, didn’t respond. They were all frozen in place, unable to comprehend what had happened to Figaro’s face, wincing at the sight of him.

“This is just sim-U sickness. It happens sometimes. I’ve had it before.” Figaro stroked the side of his face. It was a particularly nasty outbreak, but he was sure it was still treatable. His cheek felt rubbery. It was only if it hardened that you needed to start worrying. Assuming you were still alive.

“Yes, yes, this is perfectly normal,” said the Princep, pushing his way through the rooted crowd. “Nothing to be alarmed about. We’ll take care of it in the medical bay.” He was speaking a little too fast to be completely reassuring, but no one was paying him much attention. They were all riveted by Figaro’s monstrous appearance.

Even though he couldn’t see himself, he had a rough idea of how he appeared — everything creased and folded from just above the mouth up to the hairline. He didn’t have any hair at the moment, so that probably made it look weirder.

“Does it hurt?” asked someone.

“I thought the machine couldn’t affect you in real life,” said someone else before Figaro could answer.

The Princep was beside him now, ready to lead him away. The instructors had started trying to corral the trainees out but not with much success.

Figaro considered this far too good an opportunity to miss. They were all interested in what had happened to him and who knew when he would have their attention again.

“It doesn’t hurt,” said Figaro. “And the machine can’t affect you physically but it can mentally, and some mental reactions can have visible effects, like this one. It’s only temporary.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a failsafe?” They were all concerned for their own safety, which was understandable.

“There is,” said the Princep. “It prevents anything dangerous, and real harm. This is just a cosmetic change. You’ll see, he’ll be back to normal by dinner. Now, shall we…”

“You’ve been in one of these before,” said someone at the back of the group. It was hard for Figaro to see who was talking with his eyelids so puffed up and heavy.

“Yes, a few times,” said Figaro. This was good, they were really listening to him, he could tell by the tension in the air. He could feel the Princep’s hand on his arm, gently trying to guide him away, but they wanted more from him. He didn’t want to go now. “It’s not that hard once you get the hang of it.”

“What are you doing here, then?” asked someone else before he’d even finished speaking. There was a mild accusation in the tone, suggesting he was a ringer, here to make them look bad. But his appearance would help offset any resentment. He had taken the hit for them, that’s how he should make them see it.

“I’ve only ever run simulations. I’ve never been in an actual site before. I think I’m ready to face the real thing now. I’ve had a lot of practice but it isn’t the same as the real thing.”

He was one of them. He was on their level, just with some technical expertise they could all benefit from.

There was some muttering he couldn’t make out. They were reassessing their view of him, which was good. If only he could see better, he would have been able to tell which way they were leaning. A promising talent they could rely on or a cocky pretender who thought he knew it all?

“That thing in there, what was it?” said a voice he recognised as Fayzil’s. If he could win him over, the others would be more likely to follow.

“That’s enough,” said the Princep. “We need to get Trainee Matton treated before the change becomes permanent. The instructors will answer the rest of your questions. It’s good that you see the possible side-effects of what we do here — you should have a realistic view of what you’re involved with — but also be aware of the ease with which we take care of any issues. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

He took Figaro’s arm a little more firmly and led him away.

Figaro was reluctant to go just as he was starting to build up momentum but he was starting to feel sluggish. Even though he wasn’t in any immediate danger, the longer he waited to get treated, the longer his recuperation would take. He hoped they would still be interested in what he could do for them when he was discharged. The instructors were very unlikely to give them proper answers which might make them impatient for fuller explanations. This could work in his favour.

The medical bay wasn’t very far. There were a couple of other people with them, but the Princep was the one keeping hold of Figaro’s arm.

“This won’t take long,” said the Princep in a low voice. Perhaps he’d been taught how to rear grumon beast, too. “Nothing to worry about. You do look a bit of a state, I’m afraid, but that shouldn’t last too long. Been through this before, have you? No, no, don’t try to answer. I’m just talking to myself. I’m quite shocked to tell you the truth. I never thought I’d be witness to something as monumental as this. The sixty-fifth sigil. Well, well, who would have guessed such a thing even existed. We could be on the brink of a new era, or maybe I’m overstating things. I really must stop getting so overexcited, eh? I’m like a young delver making his first discovery. Careful now, mind this step. There you go, that’s it.”

The lighting changed. Figaro was in the medical bay. He could hear people talking around him but his hearing was failing. The swelling was spreading inside his head.

They sat him on a bed and leaned him back so he was horizontal. Something cold touched his neck and he felt the chill of the anti-inflammatory suppressant enter his blood stream, but it began spreading downwards, into his chest and left arm. They’d inserted the vaporiser incorrectly.

He couldn’t speak. He could still just about hear their voices. From the relaxed tone, they weren’t aware of the mistake.

Figaro forced his eyes open. Through the crack, he could just about make out the tray. There were two or three jectors but he had no way of knowing what they contained. He was about to pass out. They would probably realise what had happened once he crashed, but that wasn’t ideal. He swung out his arm.

“Look out!”

“Grab him!”

He could hear them when they shouted. His hand closed around something that felt right.

“No, no. Stop him!” Hands grabbed him.

They probably thought he was having a seizure or bad reaction to the suppressant. There was no time for explanations. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and movement of air guide him.

He slid from their grasps and rolled off the bed, jector in his hand. As he landed on the floor, knocking over the trolley with all the medical equipment on it, he jabbed himself in the neck. If he missed, both sides of his body would be numb and his head would slowly continue to implode.

The cool atomised liquid drifted up his neck and into his skull, letting him sense the shape of it like a helmet on too tight. He let out a sigh and passed out.

***

“What do you mean you made a mistake?” said Princep Galeli. “You’ve been doing this for years, how could you insert it incorrectly. I knew I shouldn’t have given this job to a one-eyed doctor.”

“We all make mistakes,” said Dr Libstein. “And you’ll remember you were the one who cost me my eye.”

“Yes, well, no need to bring that up.”

“Fortunately, this young man saved his own life before we could. It’s not like we would have let him die, anyway. You’re far too excitable, Galeli. You always were.”

And with good reason. The Princep was only too aware of who the boy’s mother was. He was even more aware of who she really was. If something had happened to him while he was in their care, not even the combined forces of every organic in the guild would be able to withstand the fury of the Seneca Corps’ Armageddon. In fact, there was only one person he knew of who could restrain her, and he would be just as eager to avenge their son. Not even Princep Geleli’s decades-old friendship with Ramon Ollo would have protected the guild or him.

“You’re sure he’s going to be alright?” Galeli asked, more for reassurance than medical information.

“Yes, yes. Don’t look so terrified, you’ll upset the new trainees. You know how that sort of thing messes with the psych evaluation. The boy’s a bit of a marvel, isn’t he? Managed to get off a perfect shot while deaf and blind and the whole medical team trying to hold him down. Shame you exempted him from testing — I’d love to see what he’d be capable of fully fit.”

“Pray you never do,” said the Princep.

The boy was lying there, his misshapen head starting to shrink back to something more human. Could he hear them talking? A normal person would be out cold, unable to register anything, but he was far from normal.

“Don’t worry, everything’s taken care of now.” The Princep patted the boy’s arm in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about your discovery once your back on your feet. Your input will be very valuable.”

There was no reaction from the boy but it was best to reassure him he would participate in whatever came next, even if that was not what was going to happen. The stakes were far too high to allow that.

Princep Galeli left guards outside the medical bay with strict instructions not to let anyone in or out, the medical staff included. He hurried to his office to make sure his instructions had been followed.

His assistant, Bern Gordon, was waiting for him. He was a tall, thin man notable for two prosthetic hands that glittered blue and red. He had lost them due to an accident Galeli was not entirely free of responsibility for, but they were as functional as real hands and then some. They had cost a lot of reputation points, but Bern had more than enough, with more in reserve. He could have gone back out into the field, but he had declined. The truth was he had lost his nerve, which happened fairly often to those in the vanguard of the guild’s expeditionary forces. There were things in the depths of Antecessor sites that no one talked about in public, and rarely in private.

“Did you lock everything down?” asked the Princep. “All drones on alert?”

“Yes, the perimeter is secure. A couple of the drones are acting a little odd, though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, really. Stability’s a bit off, that’s all.”

“Well, get them replaced as soon as you can. Do I have to supervise maintenance now, too? What about communications?”

“Nothing’s getting in or out,” said Bern. “All comms are under grey restriction.”

“Grey? I said black.”

“Going completely dark would be very likely to bring us to the council’s attention, and you said you didn’t want that. Are you sure we shouldn’t fill them in on what’s going on?”

“No, no, we don’t want to get them involved yet. They’ll only send in one of their teams to take over. We need someone we can trust. Have you been keeping an eye on the Red Devil? Is she still close by?”

The Red Devil had only just left a day ago after dropping off the adversarial Trainee Ubik; another anomaly that needed to be handled carefully.

“She’s sitting in the middle of nowhere doing nothing as far as I can tell,” said Bern. “They refuse to say what they’re up to. Very hush-hush. I don’t think they’ll be very keen to interrupt their very important mission.”

“Contact Captain Hickory on a priority channel and tell him to get back here. Make it an emergency order if you have to. I have a simulation I need him to run.”

“You want to use an elite extraction team to run a simulation?” said Bern, scratching his chin with a metallic finger. “That should go down well.”

“Hmm, you’re right, he’ll probably just ignore the order. Tell him we found another fragment of that map he’s obsessed with.”

“He’ll be upset when he finds out it’s not true,” said Bern.

“When he sees what he have here,” said Princep Galeli, “I doubt he’ll remember that damn map even exists. We’re entering a new era, Bern. Everything will change.”

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 42

42. Chaos Theory

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Foxtrot-435 aka Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Ubik climbed the stairs back towards the Group A dorm. He was alone and his attention was mainly on the device attached to his wrist. Occasionally he would look up to check how much further he had to go and to avoid bumping into the wall.

Walking up steps and opening doors with handles — it was all very quaint. It felt like he had emerged after a decade of hibernation to find time had gone back several thousand years.

It was only a quirk of the guild, and a superficial one at that. The Academy was not as simple or as antiquated as it looked. He paused by a large window that looked like it would shatter if you breathed too hard on it. Looks were deceiving. The frame was reinforced with some kind of high tensile metal embedded inside the wood. The glass was an unbreakable polymer; you’d have to vaporise it with a laser of you wanted a little fresh air. The simple latch was for show and unlatched nothin; an electronic signal was required to open it.

Even the views were carefully regulated. All the windows faced inwards, showing the courtyard. None of them faced the street, even though from the outside the building appeared to have several windows above the doorway.

Security might seem lax — he had walked out of the sim-U lab without anyone objecting or even appearing to notice — but they were all under constant observation. The guild knew where he was at all time. Or at least thought they did.

He checked his wrist again. It showed no activity in his vicinity. Carrying a device like this would probably get him in trouble if the sensors picked it up, but he was confident they wouldn’t. Why would they? It was one of theirs.

Ubik had ‘borrowed’ a few components from Drone A. There wasn’t much else to do at night once he’d grabbed his two hours of solid delta waves. The drones operated independently, only reporting in if necessary. A little tweaking by a friendly trainee was nothing to get excited about, especially if the trainee knew how to sneak up on a drone without triggering a response. Junkyard training beat sim-U training every time.

The hovering disk responsible for keeping an eye on Group A was still able to function completely fine, it just had a slightly higher chance of mid-air collisions if it happened to be in the same room as another drone. Its proximity detector was now under new ownership. Shame the drones didn’t have the appropriate transmitters to open the windows.

He carried on climbing the endless stairs. Down was fine, but going up was a pain. He could have built them a workable elevation tube if they gave him access to a few components. Stripping the simulation machine could provide him with what he needed and still have enough left over for a portable popcorn maker. A far better use of the technology, in Ubik’s opinion.

Ubik had left the others watching Fig Matton floating through the empty corridors of the simulation machine’s imagination, doing a wonderful job of outwitting dead alien machines. The whole thing had bored him. The boy was clearly well trained for the task, no doubt about that. It would be fair to call him an expert, even. When it came to negotiating the tricky levels of a video game, Ubik could think of no one better.

Real life was something else, though. A real Antecessor encounter would not be so easy to deal with. The threat of harm was as much a factor in any fight as actual damage. Knowing your opponent had a knife made you act differently, they didn’t need to pull it out. The simulation machine couldn’t replicate that. It couldn’t make you piss your pants because of a threat you couldn’t see.

That wasn’t even the part Ubik was worried about; he had no intention of going anywhere near any Antecessor sites. Real life meant something far more prosaic in his case. It was living in a society and not sticking out for all the wrong reasons. It was something Ubik was not well trained for, and he needed to get familiar with such things quickly.

He was doing okay. He had managed to get himself onto a new planet, with a reasonably believable identity and a standard currency account. Now he just had to fill it with money.

On Epsilon-416, it was possible to survive without access to standard currency. You could exchange goods and services. You could use the local currency, which was an assortment of narcotics. You could transfer funds from accounts recently liberated from their owners and not yet shuttered (within a window of around thirty standard minutes, if the liberation had gone smoothly).

All those methods could sustain you from day to day, but they couldn’t sustain you off-world.

Ubik had landed on Foxtrot-435 without problem. Now he had to find a way to make money and then use that money to get to his next destination. One where the Free Volunteers Guild wouldn’t be able to track him. Not in a cost-effective manner, at least.

The guild had so far made only a small investment in Trainee Ubik U. Ubik, but if he waited for his paycheck to gradually trickle into his account, he would be missing a couple of limbs or sitting in a stockade by the time he’d have saved up enough for an unauthorised trip into the more interesting parts of the cosmos.

Guild pay wasn’t good. You could supplement your wages with a cut of any successful runs your team made — assuming the organics weren’t all common trash — but as a junior member, your share would be small to tiny. He’d read the small print, he’d run the numbers.

It wasn’t all bad. You could earn reputation points through good service and buy yourself replacement limbs from the guild shop, just like Sergeant Pajyani hoped to do, one day.

Reputation points weren’t considered legal tender outside of the guild, though.

No, if Ubik wanted to make money without attracting any undue attention, he would have to do it legally. He would need to get a job. He wasn’t well trained for that, either.

The hallway outside the barracks was empty and quiet. PT had gone running off to apprehend the trespasser going through his locker but there was no sound coming from inside. Hardly surprising.

PT was on his knees, searching through his locker.

“Did you catch them?” asked Ubik as he walked in.

“No. There was no one here.”

“They definitely opened your locker.”

“I know,” said PT. “I left a marker of my own. Someone went through my things.” He stood up and turned to look at Ubik. “My chief suspect would be you.”

“Me?” said Ubik, not at all offended by the accusation. “Why would I go through your things? Shirt, pants, socks, a gold pin — participation award, I’m guessing — and some very cheap shoes. A good pair of shoes will change your life, trust me.”

PT’s eyes narrowed, now suspicious of the confession. “So it was you?”

“I already told you I rigged your locker, but not because I have any interest in what’s inside. And if I did want to see what brand of underpants you preferred, why would I bring it to your attention?”

“I have no idea,” said PT. “But it seems like the sort of thing you would do.”

Ubik considered how best to defend himself against the aspersion, but it seemed the best approach was not to. “True, if I did have a reason, I can see me making it look like my locker had been broken into first to throw off suspicion. But you should know by now that I don’t like things to be too chaotic. People are easier to manage when they’re all focused on the same thing, all looking the same way. That’s why you’re in charge. No in-fighting, no arguing, no rivalries. Nice and peaceful so we can all get on with what’s important.”

“Which is?”

“Whatever you want it to be. I’m not interested in telling you what to do, I only want to be left alone to do my own thing unmolested. Rifling through your gear is not on my schedule.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who?” said PT.

“The culprit’s a drone,” Ubik. “That’s all I can be certain of.”

“One of the guild drones?” said PT.

“Not as big as the ones that show us around. A lot smaller. I can only detect it when it moves, though. As soon as it stops, it goes dark. Might still be in here, somewhere.” Ubik glanced around the empty dorm.

“And why would the guild want to check my underwear?” asked PT.

Ubik shrugged. “Looking for contraband? Hoping to find a soiled pair of shorts for their collection? Who knows?”

“Still feels like something you would do more than they would.”

This guy, always seeing the worst in people.

“Just because you don’t know what they’re up to doesn’t mean I’m behind it. My plans are a lot less clunky.” He had standards — if he was going to be accused, at least give him credit for that.

“Don’t you think it was odd for them to leave your soul cube out on your bed?” said PT. “Why would they want you to know what they’d been up to?”

“I wondered about that, too,” said Ubik. “Not sure if it’s a warning or some kind of psychological test. No doubt they’ve honed these techniques over the years, perfecting their ability to find the perfect idiot who does what he’s told. It’s as much an art as a science.” Ubik took the soul cube out of his pocket and put it on the cabinet next to his bed. “Or maybe the drone took a liking to Grandma and they’re an item now.”

“I suppose the bastards are watching us now, too,” said PT, perturbed by the idea of being under observation, or possibly by the thought of what the drone and Grandma were up to on Ubik’s bed.

“Do you mind not using that kind of language when there’s a lady present.” Ubik indicated the cube. “She’s very old-fashioned.”

“My apologies,” PT said to the cube.

Ubik moved over to the window. It looked down on the courtyard, but at an angle that made it hard to see very much. The windows in the dorm were just as impenetrable as the ones on the stairs.

“What happened to Fig?” asked PT.

“I don’t know,” said Ubik. “I left before the thrilling climax.”

PT sat on his bed and stared into the middle-distance. Probably reviewing the life choices that had led him to ending up here.

“By the way,” said Ubik, “that participation award.”

“It’s a promotion pin for a G-Tag professional league.”

“Promotion, participation, all the same thing. Whatever it is, there’s a tracking device inside it.”

“What?”

“A powerful one, although the Academy shielding should make it hard to find. Of course, they may have already tracked you to the city before they lost the signal; wouldn’t be too hard to figure out which building you disappeared into. Have a lot of rabid G-Tag fans, do you?”

PT didn’t say anything. More reviewing of life choices.

Ubik had meant it when he said he didn’t like to be surrounded by a chaotic environment. He preferred to operate in peace and quiet, with everyone busy doing their thing, not bothering him doing his thing. But sometimes a little chaos helped. A distraction during an escape, for example.

Not wild chaos, though. Controlled chaos. Lots of little chaos bombs lined up to go off in a chain reaction.

He put his hand in his pocket and closed it over the signal emitter from the wave gun they’d been given to mess around with earlier. It wouldn’t work without a firing pin, but they were welded into the casing. He had only been able to liberate the emitter so easily because it needed to be replaceable in the field. Popped right out. It needed a power source to send out a sustained signal. Poor Drone A was in for a bit of a rough night.

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The Good Student Book 2: Ch. 19

Nic had a lot of problems that he was objectively failing to deal with. Turning his analytical brain on himself was always an uncomfortable experience. He recognised that he was out of his depth, needed help and couldn’t trust anyone offering to give him any.

Continuing down this path seemed like a bad idea.

Wishing to be someone who could step up when the time called for it was very different to actually being that person. Some people were born with that kind of foundation already in place, their ambitions fully supported — mainly people in storybooks and exaggerated biographies.

He couldn’t even trust his own mind, which was a rather large drawback for an unathletic boy. He was used to relying on that particular organ. He would like to be the boy who could land a jaw-shattering punch and duel two opponents at once with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He didn’t use to have such absurd dreams, but circumstances had shown him the weaknesses of a bright mind. If someone had planned to handicap him in the most efficient manner possible, forcing him to second guess every passing thought was an excellent way to go about it.

On the plus side, no one expected him to do very much. He was seen as important to the process in much the same way a nail was very important in hanging a painting. A vital element in the business of showing off great art, but no one came to look at the nail.

The Librarian and the demon wanted him to go to the Librarium to meet the High-Father’s creature, but he didn’t for one second believe he would be there as an equal member of the assemblage. He would not get a vote on how to proceed. All the votes were in.

He wouldn’t be at all surprised to find himself not being taken to meet some creature constructed by the High-Father from designs obtained from another world, but instead shown to an altar large enough to lay on top of, with grooves running along the sides to collect the flow of blood. He had read about such rituals in books by historians and archaeologists who claimed human sacrifices were regularly carried out in primitive societies. Nic had read enough history to know that all societies were primitive, and only the size and look of the altar changed. Sometimes it was as big as a large field. Sometimes it was a building used to house books.

This was his state of mind as the omnibus pulled into the main depot in Ranvar City. The six students of the Arts Course emerged from the carriage, blinking and stretching. It had taken them less than two hours to get to the capital, the six horses stopping only once to be watered.

There had been some chatter along the way, a little speculation about what kinds of books they’d see at the Librarium, some comments about the capital city and the people who lived there. Nic suspected the field trip was a ruse to get him to the Librarium, but perhaps that was presumptuous. If there really were books of power here, he hoped he would get a chance to see them before he was led away to his terrible fate.

In his mind, he had decided to assume the worst so that the reality wouldn’t seem so bad when he faced it. If he did manage to come up with a way to extricate himself for this mess, they would never see it coming. He certainly couldn’t.

“Are you alright there?” asked Brill. “I saw you playing about with your leg. Some kind of injury?”

Nic was standing next to the omnibus, one hand on top of the wheel arch. He had grabbed his ankle and pulled it behind him in an effort to stretch the muscles in his leg. Training with the Secret Service agents had loosened him up — enough for him to be able to perform well above his natural limits — but now everything was starting to cramp up again.

“I’m fine,” said Nic. “I did some exercise this morning and I think I may have strained something.”

“You should definitely stretch that out if it’s starting to hurt,” said Carol, who was slight of frame and not particularly sporty. “Otherwise, you won’t be able to move come tomorrow. These things fool you into thinking you’ve managed to pass through unscathed. Next day you can’t even get out of bed.”

“So true,” concurred Brill, who was a little on the portly side. “Small amounts at regular intervals, that’s the way.”

“Don’t overdo it,” added Carol.

Dizzy walked past carrying her large bag as though it was full of feathers. “Any of you gentlemen willing to aid a lady in carrying her luggage?” The coldness of her tone was not the kind normally used to request assistance.

She shoved the bag into Carol’s midriff. He caught it with both hands and dropped into a squat he couldn’t get up from.

Dizzy took the bag back with one hand. “Overdo it more,” she said, without looking at Nic. “Pain is your friend, not these two. Learn to withstand suffering — I’m sure I can find you a reliable supply.”

“I say, that’s a bit uncalled for,” said Carol, getting back to his feet unsteadily. “I’m not aiming to qualify as a porter, you know. Your standards for manhood are going to leave you disappointed.”

“Are you saying I’m going to end up an old maid?” said Dizzy, the flat neutrality of her voice fooling nobody.

“Not at all,” said Carol. “I think you’ll end up with exactly what you’re looking for. And then you’ll be sorry.”

“She’s only saying a little muscle can be of use,” said Simole. “Sometimes,” she said to Nic as she strolled past, “even if it isn’t broken, you have to break it and put it back together so it works properly. Adequate isn’t always enough.” She smiled and Nic braced himself in case she planned to demonstrate her theory.

“Come along, children,” said Mr Periwinkle, coming around the other side of the omnibus, making it sound like he was taking a kindergarten class to a petting zoo. He seemed to be in a good mood, at least. What was the Librarian so pleased about?

They left the omnibus in the shadowy confines of the depot and lined up behind Periwinkle as he strutted into the bright warmth of the city. It had been a while since Nic had come here like this, in the full throes of daily life. The sound was immense and coming at them from all directions. The smells were rich and pungent. The sights…

Nic squinted in the sunlight, at the tall buildings, their pointed roofs, their spires and towers. The trees that grew here filled in the gaps with green. The smoke from various homes and businesses added wisps of blue and purple. All of it sat under a cloudless sky with no indication of concern for the future. How could any destructive act be more than an inconvenience to such a settled old pile?

“This way,” said Periwinkle. “I know a shortcut. We don’t want to get stuck behind all these tourists. Don’t get lost, now. Consider it part of your training.” He disappeared into the crowd. “This way,” his voice drifted over the masses.

The area around the depot was awash with people coming and going. Mainly coming. New coaches were arriving every few seconds, practically tipping their contents out and then swiftly vacating the area for the next delivery. Life here had a relentless quality the school had shielded Nic from. There was no time to stop and think.

The six of them had to hurry to keep up with Periwinkle. None of them had bags apart from Dizzy, but she was at the front, using her bag as a battering ram. Nic followed the sound of upset city folk as she barged through them.

“This is very exciting,” said Rumi, in the middle of their caravan, turning this way and that to get a better view as she walked. “I’ve never been allowed to come here without an escort.”

“You have an escort now,” said Carol.

“I mean an escort who could protect me,” said Rumi.

There was a slight pause, then Nic said, “You have Simole.”

“And Mr Periwinkle,” said Brill.

“And even Delzina,” said Carol. “Assuming she isn’t the one launching the attack.”

It could have been taken as a slight matter of embarrassment that the three boys weren’t able to count themselves in the list of capable chaperones for a young lady in the city, but the three in question were smart and intelligent, not porters and not guards. Smart men made money and hired people to do that sort of thing. Nic had no idea how he would make that kind of money, but he wasn’t really thinking that far ahead.

The shortcut was not the one Nic used to take on his way to the Librarium, but he trusted Periwinkle knew where he was going. They were soon off the main thoroughfare and walking through far less busy, far more narrow streets.

The tall buildings took away their view of the city and the warmth of the sun. They plodded on behind Periwinkle.

“It’s getting towards lunch,” said Brill. “Is there somewhere to eat in the Librarium?”

“Yes, there’s a small restaurant. It’s a bit…” Nic was about to say that it was a bit expensive, but he realised he meant it was a bit expensive for him. “It’s a bit of a limited menu, but I think you should be able to find something you like.”

“Oh, good,” said Brill. “A sandwich or something would be fine.”

“You’ve never been to the Librarium?” asked Nic.

“No, never felt the need,” said Brill. “I don’t like travelling all that much, and we have a fine library at the school, after all. I’m much more of a homebody than my cosmopolitan appearance might lead you to believe. I’m not really one for crowds and all this bustle, used to being in a small unit, just the three of us.”

“Three of you? What about Hewt?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, I meant four. How could I possibly forget him.” Brill rolled his eyes in jest.

How strong was the demon’s spell? Would it fade over time? Could it be resisted? It was an interesting question. Shame he didn’t have the time to investigate the matter more thoroughly.

They arrived at the Librarium via a circuitous route that didn’t save them any time but kept them hidden away in side streets. Perhaps that was the idea. The sun had climbed during their dark sojourn and the well lit main square was pleasantly warm.

“Oh my,” said Brill. “I didn’t think it would be so… big.”

The Librarium was an enormous building. Nic stopped at the bottom of the broad steps and looked up at it. The stone dragon and griffon forming an arch over the main entrance had never seemed so real to him. If he stared long enough, he felt he might catch them move.

“What do they represent?” asked Brill. “The dragon and the griffon. The real and the imaginary? Fact and fiction? Books, yes? Here are all the books you could ever want. I’d wager they sell some interesting sandwiches in the restaurant.”

Brill was reacting like a typical student, bright and interested. Nic couldn’t help but feel apprehensive about the same things that filled Brill with enthusiastic anticipation. They had told him the high-Father’s creature was part of the Librarium. Did they mean it was like one of these statues? To him, both were imaginary beasts, one from the minds of demons, the other from his own people, locked in a strange embrace. The open double doors took on the appearance of a mouth as Periwinkle entered. Nic shivered, despite the midday heat, and pushed the thought away. He absentmindedly rubbed the back of his leg.

“Why are you doing that so openly in public?” asked Simole.

“What?” said Nic.

“Massaging your buttocks.”

“I’m not. I’m just… Never mind.” He stopped.

“Something caught your eye?” asked Simole, looking up at the two monsters over the entrance.

“Huh? Oh, no, not really. Same old Librarium.”

“If you don’t hurry, Dizzy will get away,” said Simole, indicating Dizzy as she heaved her bag up the steps.

“No. She’ll wait for me,” said Nic.

Dizzy stopped at the top of the steps and looked down at them, impatience etched into her face, her eyes urging them to hurry up.

“Letting me go wouldn’t be a suitable punishment for my crimes.” He started up the steps.

“Your crime of loving her?” said Simole, exaggerating the words to make them sound mocking.

“My crime of not letting her take my place. She’d hate it if I ended up saving her.”

“Isn’t there anything that would make you step aside to let her have her way?” asked Simole. “Not even the end of the world.”

Nic adopted the same mocking tone. “I can’t let her be the one to sacrifice herself. How will I ever get her to see me as a man?”

Simole smiled, already amused by what she planned to say. “You think you can get her to see something that isn’t there?”

Nic let her have her fun. “Well, there is magic in this world, that should give me a chance to achieve the impossible.”

“A very small chance,” said Simole.

“A very small chance is better than no chance,” said Nic, “statistically speaking.”

“True,” said Simole.

Dizzy snorted at them impatiently as they caught up and they entered the Librarium, the dragon and griffon both keeping an eye on them.

They went up to the main desk where Mr Periwinkle was talking to the Chief Librarian, Mr Gherry.

The six students waited, five of them patiently and Dizzy with a scowl on her face.

“Ah, Mr Tutt,” said Mr Gherry. “How nice to see you again.”

The other people behind the desk all looked up to greet Nic in a flurry. More of the staff were called out from the back.

“Hello Mr Gherry, everyone” said Nic, mildly embarrassed by the attention.

“I didn’t know you were famous,” said Rumi.

“You’re in the castle of King Tutt, now,” muttered Dizzy. “Get used to nothing making sense.”

If he was king in here, thought Nic, she was queen of just about everywhere else.

“You, Mr Librarian,” said Dizzy, snapping her fingers in front of Mr Gherry in an obnoxious fashion. She really was in a bad mood. The focus on Nic had not gone down well. “You have a private room under the name of Delcroix, do you not.”

“We do,” said Mr Gherry, not in the least put out by Dizzy’s manner.

“Good. I’m Miss Delcroix. I have my father’s key.” She took out a gold key from her jacket pocket. “I’ll need to use the room to store this bag, and I’ll sort through his belongings after I’ve finished with this class.”

“I see,” said Mr Gherry, looking down his long nose at her, “yes, of course. However, I will need—”

Dizzy began pulling bits of paper out of the bag at her feet. “Here’s a letter from the Ministry of Instruction, approving my right to collect my father’s private material. Here’s another letter from my mother, here’s my birth certificate as proof of identity, here’s my library card, because it seems to mean a lot to you people.” A small pile grew on the desk. She stopped and looked back at the librarian, surrounded by his staff. “And if all that isn’t enough, I’m sure Mr Tutt will vouch for me.”

Snakes carried less venom in their bites.

“Um,” said Nic, taken by surprise by the sudden mention of his name, “sure. I mean if you think…”

Dizzy threw him a look that told him she hadn’t actually wanted his personal validation. He shut his mouth.

“This all seems to be in order. I’ll have someone take you up.”

“Thank you,” said Dizzy. She turned around to Mr Periwinkle. “I’ll only be a second. You’ll wait for me here.” It wasn’t a request.

“Certainly,” said Periwinkle, smiling like this was exactly the sort of thing he expected, and indeed approved of. “Take your time.”

Nic wasn’t sure what the Librarian personally thought about Dizzy’s behaviour, but apparently when she played a role, she played it to the hilt.

“Make sure he doesn’t slip away,” Dizzy said to Simole.

“Count on it,” said Simole.

“And don’t slip away with him, either,” Dizzy added.

Simole pulled a face to indicate how absurdly unnecessary it was to include the addendum.

“I mean it.”

Simole held up her hand like she was taking an oath. “You can rely on me.”

Dizzy gave her a sustained look that suggested the matter wasn’t quite as settled as Simole was suggesting, then she turned and followed the young man Mr Gherry had called over as he struggled to carry Dizzy’s bag.

The rest of them stood there, waiting.

“Strange, isn’t it?” said Simole, nodding her head.

“What?” said Nic.

“The separation anxiety being on the other foot. She was the one who left you behind, but now she’s afraid you’re going to do the same to her.”

“I don’t think she’s afraid,” said Nic. “Enraged would probably be more accurate.”

“That must please you,” said Simole, stretching out the ‘please’.

“No. Why would it? I don’t want her to feel like I did.”

“Abandoned? Adrift? Alone?”

“Er, yes, I suppose. I got over it.”

“Did you? Did you, though, Nic.”

“Yes, Simole. I’m fine.”

“Hmm,” she didn’t sound convinced. “At least she thinks of you as King Nicolav. That must please you.”

“It would if she thought highly of kings,” said Nic. “And I’m pretty sure she was being sarcastic. I’m still hoping to get promoted from delivery boy.”

“That could be it,” said Simole, her eyes popping with a sudden epiphany. “You could become the next Postmaster General, responsible for deliveries everywhere.”

“I would gladly accept the position,” said Nic. “I bet he gets a very nice office and free stamps.”

Dizzy returned in a few minutes, stomping down the stairs two at a time, looking ready to demand where Nic had gone. He was still where she’d left him. She walked up to him and inspected his face to make sure he wasn’t some kind of illusion.

“Are we ready, then?” asked Mr Periwinkle. “Good. Let’s try to act like a credit to the school, shall we?” The comment was said to them all, but aimed at only a few.

Mr Gherry led them back up the stairs, through the shelves at the back where the books were so old you could hardly read the titles on their spines. They trailed behind him in pairs, Dizzy and Simole behind Nic and Brillard.

He liked having her watch him. He wouldn’t want to admit it to anyone — it would make him seem callous — but her need to keep him close to her, even if it wasn’t for any particularly laudable reason, provided him with a feeling of security. Simole was right, it did please him. Just knowing where she was put him at ease. It hadn’t been like that for the first few months after she had disappeared from his life. That was when he had learned what it felt like to grieve. A difficult lesson for a ten-year-old.

Nic glanced over his shoulder. Her eyes stared back at him, not even looking where she was going. He had to force the smile to stay inside his face.

Had she felt the loss when she left him behind? Probably not. Why would she? Her life had been about to open up and be filled with new experiences and people. When would she have time to miss little boys? He had to keep things in perspective. Her experiences were not the same as his, even the ones they had shared. There was no reason to expect more from her. His one-sided infatuation was not her responsibility, or her fault.

Mr Gherry led them to the same room Nic had visited before. The simple, unassuming door he opened with a key chained to the inside of his jacket; an antechamber they could barely all fit into; another door that opened into a room full of glittering books.

There were shocked gasps as they walked in. So many beautiful books that seemed to radiate a magical presence without a trace of Arcanum present.

“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” said Mr Gheery.

“Thank you. We’ll be a couple of hours,” said Mr Periwinkle.

“I’ll see to it you aren’t disturbed,” said Mr Gheery. “You have the other key?”

“I do,” said Periwinkle. The exchanged conspiratorial looks, and then the Chief Librarian left, locking the door behind him.

“There’s another room?” asked Nic.

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” said Brill.

“Once or twice,” said Nic, distracted by the idea of an inner sanctum to the inner sanctum. “I had permission from…” He looked at Dizzy and swallowed the rest. Her father had chosen to give him things he never gave her. It would be tactless to bring that up. “Anyway, I didn’t know there was another room.”

“There’s always another room,” said Mr Periwinkle. He took out a large brass key.

Everyone looked around for a door.

Nic had been in here enough times to know there wasn’t another door. Not an obvious one, at least. Their eyes returned to Mr Periwinkle.

“We are on the top floor, so the obvious place for a door would be…” He drew out the moment, and then bent down. He placed the key between cracks in the wooden floor and turned it.

There was the sound of metal pins shifting and a puff of air, carrying with it dust, revealing the outline of a trap door.

What was the point of a trap door here? Below them was the second floor of the Librarium. Presumably, it wasn’t just a shortcut for those too lazy to use the stairs. A secret room with no way in from below?

Mr Periwinkle used the key still in the lock to lift the thick door with ease despite its obvious weight, to reveal a dark stairwell. He began descending. “Don’t dawdle,” he said as his head disappeared into the dark.

A moment later, the glow of a light filtered up. They followed him down, Rumi first and Simole bringing up the rear.

The steps were winding, built into a stone shaft that seemed out of place inside the Librarium. Lanterns guided their descent, the sound of them flaring into life rising from below as Mr Periwinkle lit them. Could the Librarian see in the dark?

They walked down for what seemed like forever, the narrow stairwell at least not allowing them to feel like they might fall.

Nic estimated they had gone down through the entire Librarium and under it. All the way up just to go all the way down. It seemed an impractical idea, but one unlikely to be guessed.

“Where’s the door to the basement? Top floor?”

The walls felt cooler and the air a little heavier. Soon they reached a level surface and another room.

This one was large and cavernous. In fact, it looked like catacombs hewed out of the rock.

The air tasted of something sour and stung you behind the eyes. There was Arcanum here, for sure. Nic had experience of such things.

There were tables and chairs and large glass cases at waist height, each with a single book in them you could turn the pages with a lever inserted through the side.

Maybe you could only touch them indirectly because they were so old and fragile, or maybe contact with your skin would allow them to infect you with whatever nefarious power they contained. Nic could sense a brooding menace coming from them, even through the thick glass.

“Do you feel that?” he said.

“Feel what?” said Simole.

He turned and caught her examining him. Not like Dizzy, not with a searching look that tried to unravel his thoughts; her look was one of curiosity, like she wasn’t sure if he was doing a dance or falling over. He felt like he was doing both most of the time.

“This is incredible,” said Brill. “What a rare and wonderful opportunity. I feel like I’m in the presence of something very special.”

“You are,” said Mr Periwinkle. “These are the four original Books of Truth. They are kept here to prevent them falling into the wrong hands. They cannot leave this place. Not even the mages of the Royal College, not even the Archmage himself, can remove them without suffering catastrophic injury and most likely death.”

“Is it alright for us to be here?” said Carol nervously backing away from the case he had just approached.

“Oh yes,” said Mr Periwinkle. “And if not, it’s far too late now.” He grinned in a way the Librarian never would.

They split into groups and spread out, peering at the books through the glass tops to the cases, hesitant to use the levers for fear of provoking the books like beasts in a cage. Even though Nic knew he had been brought here for another purpose, he was still fascinated by the four books.

“I thought there was only one Book of Truth,” said Nic, although not loud enough to elicit a response from anyone.

“What is the Book of Truth?” Dizzy asked him.

He looked up at her. She wasn’t even that close to him, just listening intently. “It’s supposed to be the book the demons gave to the first mages. It was destroyed to prevent others learning its secrets. The demons were very upset about it.”

That was what he had been told by the demon, but apparently it was not quite the truth. Or was the lie in front of him? The Librarian wasn’t exactly to be trusted, either.

“I want you to spend some time with these books,” said Mr Periwinkle. “I think they will give you an understanding of what kind of world you’ll be entering. It’s hard to explain until you feel it for yourself. There is something magnificent and at the same time daunting about what these books contain. It is not of this world, and yet it is everything that surrounds us, distilled into words on a page.”

His voice was almost hypnotic and as the six of them stood over the bookcases, a quiet descended over them.

Nic tried to read the page beneath the glass in front of him, but he couldn’t quite make out the words. He wasn’t even sure he recognised the language they were written in. His head felt funny and his vision blurred.

“Don’t look too hard,” said a voice in his head and he closed his eyes.

He opened them after what he thought was a few seconds, but it was hard to be sure. He turned around and the others were all unconscious, slumped over the glass cases or lying on the ground. All except for Mr Periwinkle.

“Ah, you managed to stay awake,” he said.

“What happened?” said Nic. “What did you do?” Dizzy was lying near his feet, her hair covering her face.

“Nothing too terrible,” said Mr Periwinkle. “They’ll wake in a little while and have no idea what happened. It was the Archmage’s daughter who resisted the most. Which meant the others took quite a heavy dose, but it’s not harmful. Not permanently.”

Simole’s head was resting on her arms, folded on the top of a bookcase.

“These books, are they really the Books of Truth?”

“No, of course, not,” said Dizzy. She rose to her feet, startling him. “You really are very gullible.” She turned to face Periwinkle. “And you. I knew there was something not quite right about you.” As she spoke, she removed a stick from behind her, inserted inside her jacket. “Fortunately, my father kept a stash of equipment here in the Librarium. Some very interesting items — like this one. You recognise it?”

She raised the stick, which was black and didn’t seem to be particularly ominous. Not that a stick in Dizzy’s hand couldn’t do some damage, but this was no ordinary opponent. Although, judging by the reaction, Periwinkle was somewhat perturbed by the stick, suggesting appearances might be deceiving.

“It isn’t what you think,” said Nic.

“Maybe it isn’t what you think,” said Dizzy. “Haven’t these things misled you enough times to make you think twice before blindly doing what they tell you?”

“She isn’t a demon. That’s the Librarian. Our librarian, from school.”

“So? Do you think she’s any more trustworthy than them? You really have no instincts for spotting a trap. You should ask the Secret Service agents to help you with that instead of trying to teach you how to climb a beanpole.”

Nic was momentarily confused, unsure how she had known what the agents had taught him, but he put the thought aside. Now was not the time.

“You’re only going to get yourself hurt,” said Nic.

“Strange, that’s what I was going to say to you.” She moved towards the Librarian with amazing speed, hurtling forward like her feet weren’t even touching the ground, the stick held high to one side.

As she passed Simole, a hand lazily struck out and caught Dizzy on the side of the head. Dizzy collapsed like she’d suddenly lost all the bones in her body.

Simole stood up, shaking her hand like it hurt. “Magical defences ten out of ten. Punch to the head defences could use some work.”

“You weren’t affected either?” said Periwinkle, transforming into the Librarian as she spoke.

“No. Your gadgets are terrible. You can’t just twiddle a knob and expect everyone to all fall down. Who trained you people?”

“What are you going to do?” asked Nic. One problem has merely been replaced by another as far as he could see.

“Nothing. You want to see this through, don’t you? Whatever this is. Go ahead. I’m quite curious to see how you do, too. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the gang.”

“You don’t want to come?” asked Nic.

“Nope. The High-Father’s through there, is he?” She nodded towards what looked like a blank wall.

“Yes,” said the Librarian.

“Not in dragon form?” said Simole.

“I don’t think so,” said the Librarian.

“Then what’s the point? Go on, then, don’t keep him waiting. He gets all huffy if he doesn’t get his dinner on time.”

Nic moved towards the Librarian, cautiously, like Simole might change her mind if he made any sudden moves.

“Did you know about Hewt?” he asked.

“The demon? Of course. Terrible disguise.” Simole shook her head.

“She’ll be alright, won’t she?” he said as he passed Dizzy.

“Oh no,” said Simole. “She’ll be worse than ever, but I expect you’ll be long dead by then. She was right about one thing — this is clearly a trap.” Simole raised her hand and waved. “Don’t worry, I’ll avenge you.”

“Thanks.” Nic nodded and followed the Librarian who stood in a doorway where the wall had been.

“This way, Nicolav,” she said as she walked through into the next room. “Don’t make any loud noises, you might scare the creature. It only attacks when it’s scared.”

Nic entered behind her. Quietly.

Author's Note: TGS will continue once a week as usual from today. I've reduced some of my other stories so I won't miss any more updates. Please don't forget to vote for TGS on TopWebFiction, cheers. VOTE.

DEEPER DARKER Ch. 41

41. Hidden Purpose

Fourth Quadrant.

Planet Fountain.

Gorbol Training Academy.

Antecessor Ship: Origin (sim-U).

Figaro didn’t have a great deal of experience with Antecessor spacecraft. He had run maps in three different vessels, none of them heavily armed. There were huge battlecruisers and city ships that had been found, which were the source of many of the most common organics, but they were vast and complicated — beginners didn’t run those, they were the domain of experts looking to increase their chances of survival next time they entered those vessels for real.

In addition to which, those sorts of maps were held by the large corporations that owned those vessels, who jealously guarded every tiny bit of data associated with their valuable property, the source of their incredible wealth. You didn’t want to infringe their property rights.

The ships he had run were smaller vessels like this one, that had very few organics to start with and had been thoroughly divested of every single one of them.

A map like this one provided good training and a reasonable place to start your experience of an alien culture. Short, limited in threats, an assault course of common Antecessor systems.

But this ship was unlike any Figaro had encountered. Or seen in any recording. Or even heard of.

The strange interlocking doorways were something he hadn’t come across before. The walls with their rapidly changing patterns were standard fare, the circular portals were present in all the Antecessor ships he’d ever seen. Most doorways were simply open arches, though.

There wasn’t time to think about it right now. The ship was aware of him, the white lines on the walls were keeping pace with him as he floated down the long corridor.

He couldn’t shake the feeling there was a deeper intelligence to these glowing white markings than he was used to. They morphed into different designs as they flickered and danced along the wall, but then they would create an image that looked like him, a stick figure with little flourishes to match the vents blasting out air. He had never seen that before.

There was no sense of threat, no attempt to communicate a warning. It felt like the ship was curious.

A sim-U was accurate down to the last molecule. You might not be able to tell what it would do, but the copy would act the same as its original. You might not be able to tell why it acted as it did, but you could count on it being accurate. It was what made the machine so essential. This ship could do everything the real ship could do, except kill him.

His white-lined companion, occasional lo-fi doppelganger, provided a gentle light to Figaro’s surroundings, but the rest of the corridor was hard to discern. Were there droids waiting up ahead? Most probably. He would need to deal with them quickly. A ship like this wouldn’t have very many, and none of the really advanced ones.

Some of the droids inside Tethari, the ruins that orbited his homeworld, were as large as buildings, with enough firepower to wipe out a twenty-man team in seconds. And there were hundreds of them.

Figaro was confident he could handle whatever he faced at the other end of this corridor, he would just have to aim well. The smaller droids could be disabled with a single burst of a wave gun, but the larger ones would only be partially disabled. An arm or a leg. You had to target accurately and shoot fast. Using more explosive firearms wasn’t really an option since they would just blow apart and then come back together again. That didn’t stop them from trying to blow you apart, though.

Up ahead, he saw the faint outline of an archway at the end of the corridor. There were no droids waiting for him, there was just an opening, a regular arch of the kind he was used to seeing. There didn’t seem to be any kind of defence system, not one he could see, at least.

He checked the HUD on the bottom of his visor for any signs of movement around him. They could have given the trainees any kind of suit, even the most advanced. Money was no object as long as the sim-U had the blueprints in its memory, and the guild would certainly have them. But the trainees only got to use obsolete gear with very poor range.

There was no sign of any movement or active targeting systems.

“Rear, point two.” Gas vented ahead of him. He slowed down as he approached the entrance to whatever lay in wait for him. No point charging in.

As he neared the archway, he saw the bottom of something hanging in the air. Something big.

He knew what it was, or thought he did. Antecessor sites all had some common elements, the chief being: droids, semi-independent and mobile; bots, task-oriented and ignorant of what was going on around them; and sigils.

A sigil was a symbol that appeared like a huge neon sign hanging in the air. It couldn’t be interacted with but it indicated the kind of area you were entering, so were very useful if you recognised them.

There were sixty-four known sigils, all of which Figaro knew by heart. They were one of the first things he was taught as a child, along with his times tables and alphabet.

Sixty-four, known by everyone who entered an Antecessor site or planned to.

Figaro stopped on the edge of the archway and looked up at the three oval shapes, slightly wider at one end so more of an egg shape, the three shapes touching at the narrower end, forming something that resembled a clover.

Figaro’s mind couldn’t quite take it in. It was immense and bright and a colour he couldn’t even name, but all that was normal. What was confusing Figaro was that he had never seen this sigil before. There were sixty-four sigils. He had memorised them all. This was a sixty-fifth and he had no idea what it signified.

How was this possible? His father would have told him about this, which meant either there was a reason to keep it a secret, or that his father didn’t know. Did anyone?

The D’atnari Institute must know. It was their map, based on their property. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility to think they would keep this to themselves, use it to gain an advantage of some kind. But then why make it available to others? They couldn’t count on others not finding it. Unless they didn’t know either.

“Princep Galeli? Are you there?”

“Um, yes,” came the instant reply inside Figaro’s helmet.

“You can see this, yes?” asked Figaro.

“I can.”

“What is it?”

There was a long pause. Then, in a quiet voice, “I have no idea.”

“No one’s come across this before?”

“No. No one’s ever crossed the wall you went through. This map has been run hundreds of times, dozens under my supervision, by trainees and experienced guilders. No one has entered this area before.”

It sort of made sense. The reason he wasn’t familiar with the interlocking doorway was because it was a special security system to keep an area hidden. But there was an airlock here, the one he had tossed the droids into. It would be visible from the outside but not the inside. Wouldn’t that raise suspicions? Then again, he had only assumed it was an airlock.

But even if he was the first one to unlock this area, the D’atnari institute had taken the ship apart. They would have found this area.

“This sigil,” said Figaro. “It isn’t known.”

“No,” said the Princep. “It’s a fantastic discovery. Well done. I’ve already informed the guild high council. This could be huge.” He sounded excited now.

Figaro was more perplexed by the discovery. What did it mean?

“I’m going to take a closer look,” said Figaro.

“Yes. Be careful.” It was an odd piece of advice. At worst, he would just die.

“Forward, point one.”

The tiniest of blips and he began drifting into the room. It was only once he entered that he realised there was something wrong. The room had no ceiling. It stretched up like he was looking up into a tower, far taller than the dimensions of the ship would allow.

An optical illusion? A hologram of some kind? Neither was present in other ships, but then this was apparently not a normal ship.

The tower was also leaning towards him, like the opposite wall — white lines streaking up and down it — was about to collapse and crush him.

He brought the suit to a stop.

“Sole thrusters, two seconds.” Might as well see what was up there.

He felt the thrusters kick in under his feet, heard them fire, but he didn’t move. He stopped them. He had no idea what to make of that.

“Forward, point five.”

He began moving into the circular room, closer to the sigil.

The tower moved. It leaned away from him into an upright position. Would he be able to ascend now? As he kept moving, the tower did, too. It leaned back and back until it was horizontal, a tunnel stretching away infinitely.

He was in some kind of folding space. He was familiar with the concept, had learned the mind-numbing equations and how to solve them. It was the basis of the wormholes used to traverse the galaxy, but the term was a misnomer. Space didn’t actually fold.

But this space did. Or seemed to.

He was under the sigil now. Was this what it meant? A transportation mechanism of some kind? Where would it take him? He kept moving forward.

He started falling, like he was caught in a gravity well. The weight brought his suit down to the ground, but the falling sensation continued. It was immense and irresistible and painful. He was being crushed, turned into paste. He couldn’t do anything.

Everything went black. Numbers raced across the darkness in long strips. He recognised what was happening, had seen it before, had caused it to happen, much to his father’s annoyance. The simulation machine was crashing.

Figaro’s eyes opened. He was in the lab, hooked up to the simulation machine, which was uncharacteristically quiet.

The helmet rose from his head and he tilted his head forward. A sharp twinge indicated the spike in the back of his neck was exiting. It was normally automated but he was doing it manually, which was a great deal more dangerous. He’d done this before, too.

Once the spike was out, Figaro took a breath and turned his head. The Princep was coming towards him looking concerned, through a crowd of his fellow trainees from both groups, minus two.

Figaro stood up, a little stiff. He had wanted to gain their trust, their loyalty, their respect. Looking around the room, he seemed to have gained something else. They were looking at him with fear.

He put his hand to his face. His normally soft skin, which gave him his unhelpfully youthful appearance, was hard with ridges and lines.