Deeper Darker - Book 4: Chapter 18: Less Than Lethal

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The benefits spoked for themselves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that, dear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm,” said Fig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a murmur of anticipation and excitement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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