The Emperor of Everything

Hemerthe stood before them. “You realize, of course, that we had already considered this possibility. In a way, you offer us nothing that we could not take without your permission.”

“That’s not entirely true,” said Ruiz. “Your Gench will have told you that my mind is heavily self-circuited. Many areas of memory are locked down; if you simply take a copy of my mind and clone a body to hold it, you’ll be faced with the same difficulty you now have. You wish my willing participation, or so you claim.”

Hemerthe drew a deep breath. “Then let me see if I have this right. You two will permit us to take an impression of your total personality matrices, and will freely donate clonable cells. You, Ruiz will undertake to unlock the inaccessible areas of your mind, so that your replicant will be completely open to us.”

“I make no guarantees that my replicant will be any happier about staying,” said Ruiz.

“I understand. We’re not worried. It’s the self-protective aspects of your mind that we were most concerned about — otherwise you’re perfect. But what do you demand in exchange?”

“When the procedure is complete, you’ll release us: Nisa, Dolmaero, Molnekh, and me. You will provide us a boat in good operating condition and personal weapons. You will remove the mission-imperative from my mind. You will buy the slave Flomel from me at a fair market price — and he’s valuable, a conjuror from Pharaoh. Finally, you’ll give my friends a datasoak, so that they can learn the pangalac trade language. They speak only Pharaohan now, which would sabotage any chance they might have to survive in SeaStack, if something happens to me.”

Hemerthe laughed. “It seems you value yourself highly, Ruiz Aw. But apparently you trust us to keep our bargains.”

Ruiz shrugged, feeling a sickly helplessness. “I can find no alternative to trust. I’m afraid I’ve grown unresourceful in my old age.”

Hemerthe patted his shoulder. “No. Your instincts are still sound. We will agree to your terms; they are small things to us.”

Gradually, Ruiz began to feel a bit better. After a long while, he asked, from a rare urge to make polite conversation: “How long before the new Ruiz and the new Nisa will walk in Deepheart?”

Hemerthe grew animated and prideful. “Oh, we have the best tech this side of Dilvermoon. We grow the cells in dispersion, and then use nanomanipulators to construct the body, cell by cell. None of that primitive embryo-acceleration for us. How long? A week, ten days at the most. A few days more to embed the personality.”

This information gave Ruiz an odd chill. “Then I must leave immediately.”

The four of them stood on the landing, in the steamy SeaStack sunlight. Tied fore and aft to the mooring rings was a low sleek boat, powered by a silent magnetic propulsor. Its cockpit was covered by an armorglass bubble, now raised.

Dolmaero studied the boat with puzzled eyes. “I confess, Ruiz, I find this latest development even more astonishing than your capture of Corean’s airboat. How in the world did you win our freedom?”

Ruiz shrugged uncomfortably. “I sold a bit of myself. And a bit of Nisa. And all of Flomel.” In the safety pocket of his new unisuit was a cylinder of Dilvermoon currency, fourteen hundred paper-thin indium wafers. An energy tube was strapped to his forearm under the sleeve, operated by implanted muscle sensors. He wore a splinter gun at his belt, carried a tiny pepperbox graser tucked into each of his high boots. Here and there about his clothing he had hidden other weapons: knives, a stun rod, a monoline garrote.

“Which part of you and Nisa did you sell,” asked Dolmaero.

“A part that doesn’t show,” Ruiz answered shortly. Nisa squeezed his hand.

“Ah.” Dolmaero drew back slightly, as if in apprehension. “Well, the new language you bought for us is a remarkable thing. I find myself thinking thoughts that had never occurred to me before.”

“Me too,” said Molnekh. “It’s not a comfortable feeling, Ruiz Aw — but I suppose you had a good reason?”

Ruiz turned to Molnekh. “If somehow I should be unable to interpret for you, how would you manage?”

Molnekh rubbed his chin. “I hate to even consider the notion. We yokels, here on this weird world without Ruiz Aw’s protection? No, I can’t imagine such a disaster.”

“Nor I,” said Dolmaero.

Ruiz smiled. “Well, time to go,” he said. He stepped down to the speedboat’s deck. The boat rocked, sending ripples across the still black waters of the moorage. “Come,” he said, raising his hand to help Nisa aboard. “Let’s get moving, before the Sharers change their minds.”

When Dolmaero and Molnekh were seated in the aft bench, and Nisa was secured beside Ruiz, he pressed the toggle that lowered the bubble. The control slate lit, and a faint hum came from the propulsor. He touched another switch, and the mooring lines retracted.

He took the yoke and the boat powered away from the landing, leaving a frothing silver wake.