Deeper Darker

First Quadrant Border

Central Authority Space Station New Haven

Hall of the Second Trial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Figaro prepared himself for some sort of intimidation tactics.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want?” said PT.

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

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

“Why?” said PT.

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

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

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

“Our thanks. And our protection.”

“Protection from what?” asked Figaro.

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

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

“And if we say no?” said Point-Two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, good luck with that,” said PT.

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

“We don’t,” said Figaro.

“I wish I wasn’t even here,” said PT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone floated off the platform.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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