The Emperor of Everything

Greed seemed the best possibility. How could he divert the torrent of Publius’s greed into a useful channel, use it to drive the turbines of Ruiz’s own purposes?

He shook his head, as if to shake loose the cobwebs of distraction. He sat down and stretched overly tight muscles. Now was a time for clear thinking, if ever there was one. He took a deep breath, composed himself.

First, what did Publius value? His reputation was evidently not as important to Publius as it once had been. His labs, of course, but Ruiz could see no way to hold that huge facility hostage without assistance. His monsters, his employees? No… Publius had often declared that no one in the universe is irreplaceable — except, of course, Publius.

What else, then? Was there some essential core to Publius’s business that Ruiz could affect single-handed?

He wondered: Did Publius own a Gench? The more he considered the idea, the more likely it seemed. The puppet Publius proposed to substitute for Alonzo Yubere had undergone deconstruction; had it happened in Publius’s own labs? Possibly. If so, was Publius sufficiently eager for Ruiz’s services to risk the Gench as a hostage? I suppose, Ruiz thought, it depends on how much of a gambler Publius is, and on how he rates my chances of success. Presumably Publius hoped to gain access to a larger number of Gencha, if he supplanted Yubere — but if Ruiz failed, Publius would have no Gencha at all. Maybe Publius owned two Gencha — he was probably wealthy enough.

If so, perhaps he would consent to risk one of them.

It didn’t seem enough. What else could he ask for, especially if, as was probable, Publius refused to give him a Gench?

Nothing came to him. He pounded his fists against his forehead, in panicky frustration. What could he do? There must be something; he refused to believe that he was no more than a tool that Publius could pick up, use, and discard. Besides, others depended on him, and on his resourcefulness.

Much as he tried to focus all his attention on the problem of controlling Publius, distracting thoughts kept creeping into his mind.

And all of them concerned Nisa.

Eventually, he dimmed the lights and lay on the bed and forced his body to relax. Perhaps he was too tired to be clever, he thought, and so he willed himself toward sleep.

Remint interrogated corean to exhaustion, and the process revealed how little she really knew about Ruiz Aw. She found the process unpleasant, but Remint was relentless, and she could not order him to desist without blunting his effectiveness.

What in fact did she know about Ruiz Aw? She knew how he looked, how he moved, how he sounded. She knew that he was a skillful slayer, ruthlessly decisive. To some extent she understood the basis for his almost-pathological self-confidence — or what appeared to be self-confidence. She knew he could be charming. He was an excellent liar, and she was beginning to believe that he had lied to her under the probe… and that he was much more than a freelance slave poacher. How could anyone as effective as Ruiz Aw exist in such obscure circumstances?

Who was he, really… and why had he chosen to inflict himself on her?

The trend of Remint’s investigations veered to the matter of Ruiz Aw’s affiliations. Remint asked a hundred questions about Ruiz’s first escape attempt through the marinarium belonging to Corean’s neighbor, the Farelord Preall.

Eventually Corean grew impatient, and asked, “Do you think he had help? Do you think he’s part of a hostile organization?”

Remint sat back and did not answer immediately.

“Well?” she demanded.

“He had no help; such is my opinion, based on feeble data. He is simply very good, and very lucky.”

Corean looked at the slayer curiously. “You believe in luck? Strange. How can that be?”

Remint shrugged. “How else do you explain the hidden mechanisms of the universe? The fate that spared my brother and destroyed me?” He seemed uninterested in the matter; it was simply an illustrative example, and Corean felt a chilly unease. “In answer to your second question, I believe he was sent by some organization, though perhaps not one specifically hostile to you. He may be a League agent — since they own the world where you’ve been poaching slaves.”

Corean was horrified. “But, he carried no death net! How could he have been League.”

Remint assumed a didactic tone. “In the first place, not all League agents carry the net; this notion is a carefully nurtured myth, designed by the League to intimidate their enemies. In the second place, the nets can be successfully tampered with — not removed, but slowed. From your description of the events at the launch ring, I think it conceivable that Ruiz Aw suffered a partially triggered net at that time.

“But all this is beside the point. Ruiz Aw is presently operating without any outside assistance, in my opinion.