The Emperor of Everything

“Truly?” Molnekh shook himself, attempted a smile.

Just then the barges, which had been motionless, shuddered and began to drop.

Dolmaero shrieked, then looked embarrassed. He unlocked his hands from the rail. “Startled me,” he explained, but he looked a little calmer, now that they were no longer so dreadfully exposed.

The sides of the lock were the same gray monocrete that had formed the banks during their journey. As they dropped, the skinny rectangle of bright sky at the top of the lock rapidly grew smaller, and the barge’s lights came on.

By that soft illumination, Ruiz noticed that the lock walls were marked by graffiti, apparently burned into the obdurate monocrete with energy weapons. The graffiti were in the main vertical, in script stretched by the speed of the vandal’s passage. Many were the usual clutter of names and dates, but others were longer messages. Most of these were in unfamiliar languages and alphabets, but near the bottom of the great shaft, Ruiz saw one he could read.

Abandon hope, all ye who cannot swim, it said, and Ruiz laughed.

They came to a stop, the barges surging and rolling.

“I don’t know which is worse,” Dolmaero said. “Hanging from the sky or being buried alive.”

A moment passed, then a great door levered up and the barges moved out into the sunshine.

The air was suddenly oppressive — fifteen degrees warmer and saturated with humidity.

Ruiz could smell the sea, and the stink of decay that always blew from SeaStack.

They moved now across long-cultivated fields, broken by occasional marshes and meandering streams. Here were a number of great manor houses, but the styles varied widely. Some were built in aggressively archaic forms, and in the fields surrounding these, overseers watched gangs of archetypical peasants labor in the mire. Other manors were confections of glass and metal, and the fields were full of gleaming mechs.

“What are they?” asked Nisa.

“The mechs? Just machines.”

“Why aren’t all the fields worked by mechs?” asked Dolmaero. “Surely they’re more efficient than slaves?”

“Yes, they are — but these are hobby farms,” said Ruiz.

Dolmaero seemed puzzled.

Ruiz tried to explain. “In the pangalac worlds, little food is grown — most of it is manufactured from elemental matter. These farmers are either hobbyists, or cater to the luxury trade.”

Dolmaero shook his head. “So these farms are the property of rich folk, who play at farming? Very strange.”

“Yes — well, rich pirates, which isn’t exactly the same thing.”

“And what is a pirate?”

“You’ve met one,” Ruiz said. “Remember Marmo? He was once a pirate, until he retired to a gentler trade. Pirates are thieves, kidnappers, murderers; their arena is the void.”

Dolmaero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They are then in the same line of work as yourself?”

Ruiz was taken aback. “One might say so, I suppose.” He scratched his head. “But I commit my depredations under a commission from a legally registered business entity; perhaps that makes a difference.”

“Oh, surely. I meant no offense.” Dolmaero looked wryly skeptical.

Ruiz shrugged, and the conversation lagged.

The sun beat down, the air was breathless, and after a while, they all went to the lower deck, to find shady places under the belly of the statue.

It was late afternoon before Corean caught up to them. Ruiz and Nisa sat together at the taffrail, gazing out at the flat landscape. The spires of SeaStack had drawn close enough to tower menacingly over them, and Ruiz had begun to hope that they would reach the city before Corean found them.

Then Corean’s sled swooped past, ten meters off the ground, fifty meters out. It veered around and burned past again, and Ruiz imagined he could see Corean’s dark hair through the armorglass bubble.

He jerked Nisa to her feet and ran for the pit, where they might get some protection. As he ran, he shouted for the others, who tumbled into the pit just moments after he and Nisa arrived.

“It’s Corean, I’m afraid,” Ruiz said.

Flomel tugged at his leash and fixed Ruiz with red eyes. “Now you’ll get what’s coming to you, casteless one,” he said, gloating.

Corean laughed with genuine pleasure. “Wonderful,” she said. She had seen Ruiz Aw and his Pharaohan slut running to hide under the testicles of the grotesque statue atop the barge. “You saw them?”

“Yes,” answered Marmo. “Do you recognize the barges? I wonder who they belong to.”

“No… but what does it matter? What should we fear from creatures who decorate their craft with such leering monstrosities? They must be primitives.”

“Possibly.”

She laughed again. “Though you must admit, Ruiz Aw’s hiding place is strikingly appropriate.”

Marmo made a noncommittal noise.

“Well,” she said. “Let’s see if they’re stupid enough to surrender. If I can get the Pharaohans back in one piece, I can still salvage something from this fiasco.”

She slowed her sled until it paced the barge and activated a loudhailer.