Book 4 - 12: No Consequence
Second Quadrant
Cairo-3998 aka Planet Challenger
Daring City
Figaro led the way back towards the city. The lights had all gone out now and it was hard to see exactly where they needed to go, but Figaro had prepared several maps of the whole planet and downloaded them into his suit and also into a number of microdevices hidden on his body in case his suit was compromised.
He also had tools, backup batteries and several spare communication devices. As much as he had learned from Ubik’s ability to think on the fly and to see disasters as an opportunity, it had also taught him that there was no such thing as too many redundancies.
“The elfidium structures beneath the surface are collapsing,” said a voice in his head.
“I know,” said Figaro.
“This planetoid will also collapse.”
“Yes,” said Figaro. “I estimate we have less than an hour to get off-world. Although oxygen production has already ceased, so we’d be stuck on an airless rock anyway.”
“It was not necessary to destroy this world.”
“Probably not,” agreed Figaro.
“We must find a way to neutralise Ubik.”
“Oh, do you have any ideas how?”
There was no response.
“Are you sure it’s this way?” said PT, running alongside him. “I thought the spaceport was over there.” He indicated to the left of where they were headed.
“It is,” said Fig. “But there’s a service tunnel near here. I think it would be better to avoid bumping into any of Boss Glosso’s guards. They might already know he’s dead.”
“I doubt it,” said Ubik, holding the pink arm like a torch to light the way. One finger pointed straight up. “It’s going to be chaotic with all the power out. They’ll be too busy dealing with everyone trying to leave at the same time.”
“Did you cut the power?” asked PT.
“No,” said Ubik. “This did.” He waved the pink arm, the hand always managing to point in the same direction.
“Can you turn it down?” said PT. “If anyone looks over this way, they’re going to see it shining like a beacon.”
“I can’t,” said Ubik. “There’s no dimmer switch.”
“I don’t think it matters,” said Figaro. “Everyone’s going to be rushing to the port, so the guards will be trying to keep order. Which means they will be scanning everyone. So they might clock us and have orders to apprehend us if spotted. The service tunnel will keep us off their radar for as long as possible.”
“Good,” said PT.
“Seems a bit like overkill to me,” said Ubik.
“Overkill?” said PT. “You just murdered a man. What happened to all that talk about leaving people alive so they can be wildcards?”
“I didn’t murder him,” said Ubik. “I cured him. He was on the verge of a horribly painful death. If I hadn’t extracted the toxins from his body, he would have been dead within a year.”
“So instead he was dead within a few minutes?”
“That was an unfortunate side effect of the procedure, yes.” Ubik waved the pink arm again. “We wouldn’t be able to take it off the planet without taking the elfidium with us, and Glosso decided to hide a bunch of it in his internal organs. How is that my fault?”
“So, you take no responsibility for his death?” said PT.
“I take no responsibility for anything,” said Ubik. “It’s not like I don’t have a voice in my head telling me to kill everyone who annoys me, I just don’t listen to it. You have one too, don’t you?”
“No,” said PT, “I don’t.”
“You don’t have a voice telling you things would be a lot easier if you had just pushed me out of an airlock?”
“That isn’t a voice inside my head, that’s my normal voice I’m using right now,” said PT.
“Word will get out soon about what happened here,” said Figaro, not wanting their conversation to come around to him. “Whoever Glosso’s backers were, they’re going to investigate and they’ll find out we were involved. News will spread quickly. I think we have a four-hour head start at most.”
Boss Glosso may have been the ruler of this small world but it was obvious he only did so with the permission of some larger organisation or conglomerate. They would also have known that Glosso was trying to get hold of an ancient artefact of some kind. They would want to know where it was now.
A large metal bump rose out of the ground ahead of them.
“That’s it,” said Figaro. “We just need to open the hatch.”
There was a horizontal door with a keypad and a circular handle. Figaro and PT looked at Ubik.
“I don’t have the key code,” said Ubik.
“Just open it,” said PT.
“Fine, okay, I’ll just do everything.”
Ubik shoved the glowing pink arm into PT’s hands and got on top of the metal door. It took him about five seconds to change the lock light from red to green. The door hissed as it opened.
“You can get rid of him now,” said the voice in Figaro’s head. “Push him. Shot him. Stab him. He is vulnerable.”
“Be quiet,” said Figaro.
“Who, me?” said Ubik, turning around.
“No,” said Figaro.
Ubik disappeared into the ground.
There was a short ladder leading down to a junction of four tunnels with pipes running across the roof and walls. Inside, it was hot and humid.
“Which way?” said PT, holding up the pink arm.
“Down here,” said Figaro.
They were able to move quickly and without being stopped. There was no one down here but them. There were some faint rumblings though, and Figaro’s control panel was picking up some very disturbing readings.
Twenty minutes later, they came to a ladder that took them back to the surface, at the edge of the spaceport which was outside the dome.
Ubik went up first, pushing the hatch open. Figaro ignored the voice in his head and followed him up.
The buildings were all dark and the lights from starship engines only provided momentary illumination before disappearing into the sky. The noise of ship engines filled the air as more and more of them took off in rapid succession, veering wildly to avoid hitting each other.
There was a panicky, desperate quality to the exodus.
As they crossed the tarmac to get to their ship, people ran past them, too busy to notice three men and a pink arm.
There was a lot of activity over by the control tower as shouts and complaints began to reach them. A great many more people wanted to get to their ships and were being prevented. There was some scuffling and the guards were having a hard time maintaining order.
Then the ground shook under them with far greater vigour than before and patience lost out to panic as people rushed into the spaceport all at once, pushing the guards aside.
The sudden influx of frightened mercenaries helped provide cover for the three of them as they made their way to their ship, a small freighter they had stolen from a mining colony on an asteroid belt they had passed on their way here. Arriving in an Antecessor ship would have drawn unwanted attention.
Once they were inside with the door closed and PT sat down in the pilot’s seat, Figaro finally felt comfortable not staring at his control panel.
Ubik put his feet up and hummed to himself with his eyes closed, showing no signs of concern as usual.
“We must regain control of this mission once we return to the ship,” said the voice in his head. “We cannot allow further delays.”
Figaro didn’t respond to the organic but it wasn’t as though he didn’t share its concerns. Ubik was running this show, and it wasn’t entirely clear where he was intending to take it. And it had become abundantly clear that he was willing to kill the people who got in his way. Was this the real Ubik?
They took off without waiting for permission and PT quickly veered off the main shipping route and headed for one of the moons orbiting the fifth planet in the system. The small freighter moved surprisingly quickly and left no detectable trace of its emissions thanks to some modifications made by Ubik.
They were able to rendezvous with the waiting Antecessor ship without being seen. They were met by the three Antecessors when they boarded.
“We got it,” said Ubik as they boarded.
Three silver blobs floated in the air, obediently waiting for instructions. They were faceless and featureless, but it did seem like they were looking at Ubik.
Figaro took the pink arm from PT and held it up. The hand pointed to the right. Where they needed to go.
“Prepare for departure,” said his organic through the arm.
“Now we go to the Antecessor homeworld?” said PT.
“Yes. We m—”
Ubik snatched the arm from Figaro, cutting off the organic. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll get there eventually. First, we need to get past the Central Authority patrols guarding the border into the First Quadrant.”
“And how do we do that?” asked Figaro.
“Easy,” said Ubik. “We join the CA.”
“What do you mean?” said PT.
“They take in recruits every year. We just take the test, pass with flying colours, boom, we’re in.”
“Great plan,” said PT. “But aren’t the CA looking for us?”
“Exactly. Which is why they’ll never suspect we would come to them. See? Brilliant.”
“Why don’t we just fly this ship through a wormhole directly into the First Quadrant?” asked Figaro.
“We could do that,” said Ubik. “We could. But there’s no way to punch a hole through their defences without them noticing. And we want to slip past them without them realising. This is all about stealth and subtlety. This is how we’re going to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention. Trust me, no one knows more about sneaking into places unseen than me.”
There were some questions, largely ignored, and a little disagreement, mostly placated, about the fastest way to get to the Antecessor homeworld. But it was agreed keeping a low profile would be the best way to proceed.
No matter what route they chose to get there, it was clear that Ubik’s skills were the best suited to get them past the technologically advanced Central Authority. Everything they relied on was everything Ubik was master of.
The Antecessor ship set a course for the First Quadrant boundary and quietly slipped away.
Behind them, Cairo-3998 exploded.
