First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” said Fig.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fig looked over at Point-Two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s happening?” said the woman

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

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

“What’s he going to do?” she asked.

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

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

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

“We’re leaving,” said the woman.

“Good,” said Point-Two.

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

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

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

“I don’t think so,” said Point-Two.

“Hey!” shouted Ubik. “Get ready.”

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

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

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

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

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

“We have to find cover,” said Fig.

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