The Emperor of Everything

Ruiz studied the moorage. The surrounding vertical walls offered no handholds; they could not climb out. Nor could they swim to freedom. Despite the jocular graffiti at the Edge, no one with any sense swam unprotected in Sea-Stack’s murky waters. Besides disease, poisons, hazardous currents, submerged machinery — there were the many scavengers that lived on the refuse discarded by SeaStack’s inhabitants. The most terrifying of these were the margars, great armored reptiles big enough to swallow a small boat in one gulp — but there were countless others, ranging in size down to the tiny brainborers that infested the sewage outfalls and waste-heat exchangers.

What would happen if they stayed aboard? Ruiz sighed. He was pessimistic. Probably the barges would be fumigated for vermin — which they might well be considered, if they refused to leave.

“Let’s go,” he said, reluctantly.

They filed off the barge, Ruiz leading. He disengaged his hand reluctantly from Nisa’s — best to be ready to act. Behind her came Molnekh, leading Flomel, who cringed and rolled his eyes. Dolmaero brought up the rear, walking with slow dignity.

Ruiz paused for a moment before entering the doorway, to confirm that no other exits offered escape, then he shook himself and went in.

The corridor curved to the right and descended at a gentle incline. Their steps echoed strangely as they trooped along. After a bit, Ruiz realized that they were following a spiraling path into the roots of the spire.

Other than the blue lightstrips, the corridor was featureless, the floor free of dust, and the walls polished to a high shine. Clean cool air sighed from concealed ventilators; otherwise the silence was complete.

The corridor abruptly ended in a broad high-ceilinged hall. A serving mech waited for them there, its chassis a simple unmarked ovoid. It stood motionless until they had all entered the hall, then it spoke in clear unaccented lingua pangalac.

“Your rooms are prepared,” it said.

“What does it say?” asked Dolmaero.

“Apparently we’re expected,” Ruiz replied in Pharaohan. “We’re to have rooms.”

“Or cells,” muttered Dolmaero pessimistically.

“Perhaps.”

“Come,” said the mech, and inclined its chassis.

It led them to the first of a dozen doors. “Yours,” it said to Ruiz.

The door swung open silently. Ruiz debated the wisdom of acceptance. He glanced about. No security devices were visible, but he had no doubt that they existed — their captors seemed fond of hidden weaponry. He sighed. What choice did he have? He started to lead Nisa inside, but a manipulator extended from the mech and barred her from entering.

“Each must be alone for now,” it said.

Ruiz teetered on the edge of attacking the mech, but controlled the impulse. He smiled encouragingly at Nisa, lifted her hand, and kissed it gently. “It says we must have separate accommodations, Nisa. I think we should obey, for now. Be alert, and remember: There’s always a way out, if we can be clever enough.” Ruiz turned to Molnekh. “You’ll have to release Flomel, I suppose. We’ll rely on our hosts to control him.”

He turned again to Nisa, filled his eyes with her.

Then he went inside and the door locked behind him.

His cell was a small apartment, equipped with all the necessities and most of the luxuries a pangalac person might require. The walls shone with soft white light, the floor was of warm, slightly resilient softstone. A suspensor lounge occupied one corner. Across from it was a plush levichair, floating before a dark holotank. An autochef’s stainless-steel louvers filled a recess in the far wall, just above a dining ledge.

Ruiz jumped when a door to his left slid open. Inside, a warm light beckoned, and he heard a splash of water in the shower enclosure.

He shrugged and went in to get cleaned up.

Later, wrapped in the soft robe the valet slot had delivered when he was finished, he sat in the levichair, studying the holotank. He was strangely reluctant to activate it. After all, he might learn something unwelcome from his captors, who obviously expected him to make use of the tank.

“Ah, well,” he said finally. Then, “Activate.”

The tank bloomed with random color for an instant, then organized swiftly into the scaled-down image of an uncannily handsome man.

He had a narrow fine-boned face and luminous green eyes. He smiled in a professionally friendly manner and spoke in a smooth baritone. “Welcome, seeker,” he said. “Shall we introduce ourselves? My name is Hemerthe Ro’diamde. And yours?”

Ruiz saw little point in claiming an alias — the others would quickly prove him a liar. “Ruiz Aw.”

“An interesting name. You’re of Old Earth stock?”

“I’ve been told as much. Who can say for sure?”

Hemerthe smiled again. “True. We thought to seed the stars, but there have always been many fine vigorous weeds among us.”

Ruiz was having difficulty following the thought. “I suppose,” he said. “Will you tell me who you are, and where we are?”