The Emperor of Everything

Ruiz had not expected Publius to make so bold a suggestion. Madcollars were a fairly effective trucial technology. Two persons forced to devise a way to trust each other for short periods would each don explosive collars, which could be activated by an impulse from the hand controllers each held. However, if one wearer lost his head or otherwise perished, the other’s collar would instantly explode. They were equipped with volitional filters, so that they could not be activated against the wearer’s will. Once the collars were locked on, they could only be removed by mutual consent. Their major limitation was that they were short-range devices; distance or the interposition of a suitably massive object rendered them useless.

“You would wear them with me now?” Ruiz asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I have great faith in your skills — you know this — but you are after all undertaking a very dangerous piece of work.”

“Ah,” said Ruiz. “So the problem remains — how can I trust you until I’ve done the job?”

Publius shrugged. “It’s your problem, Ruiz. Didn’t your night of scheming birth any plans?”

“I’m not sure. Tell me, do you own a Gench?”

Publius’s face curdled slightly, as though he had bitten into an astringent fruit. “Yes. What of it?”

“More than one?”

“Yes, yes. Three, in fact, though one is almost moribund and one barely trained.”

“Ah. Excellent,” said Ruiz, feeling a slight degree of hope. “Then here is my proposal: Allow one of your Gench to accompany me, wearing a madcollar with me. I’ll rely on your cupidity; even you aren’t rich enough to throw away a Gench. When we return, I’ll unlock the Gench as soon as you’re locked with me, and everyone will be safe and happy.”

“Absurd!” barked Publius. “Why would I risk so major a portion of my fortune?” His face filled with a snarling anger, but as Ruiz had hoped, a duplicitous gleam flickered behind his eyes.

“Because you have such great faith in my skills.”

Publius fumed and shouted for fifteen minutes, but in the end, he agreed to lend Ruiz his youngest and least valuable Gench.

And Ruiz was thankful that Publius’s vast arrogance had caused him to underestimate Ruiz’s subtlety.

When Lensh returned with Remint from their visit to Flomel in the pen, the pilot seemed to have gotten over his initial fear.

“Good news,” he called, bouncing into the suite. “Guess who we found?”

Remint stepped forward swiftly and took Lensh by the arm, gave him a shake that rattled his teeth. “Shut up, beast,” he said. “I will inform; this is how I choose to perform my duties.” There was no emotion in that pronouncement, just a cold intensity.

Corean shivered, but she kept her face as expressionless as Remint’s. “What did you find?”

“We found your other slaves,” said Remint. “I conclude that Ruiz Aw is no longer in Deepheart; your slave Flomel made statements that support this conclusion.”

Corean couldn’t help smiling. “Good news, indeed. And what did Flomel say?”

“He reports that the others are convinced that Ruiz Aw has abandoned them to the slave market. My assessment is that this is likely.”

“I was right,” Corean said to Marmo. “You see, he’s a lot like me… but I’m far more intelligent. How should we proceed?”

Remint regarded her stonily. “My hypothesis is that he is unlikely to return for his profits; no doubt he has made arrangements to receive his funds remotely, if at all. Unless I can obtain access to the others — so that I can put them under brainpeel — or unless we can coerce the pen into cooperation, the trail ends there.”

Corean sat on the couch and looked up at Remint. “I don’t think we can get the pen to help us — their business depends on their reputation for incorruptibility. So, we’ll take the others. Let’s buy them, though it galls me to pay out good money for things I already own.”

Remint gave his head a single negative shake. “Not possible. Ruiz Aw has placed a hold order on them for a week — I checked with the management.”

Marmo stirred. “Perhaps he intends to return for them, after all.”

“Unlikely,” said Remint. “Probably he hopes to thwart our investigations until the trail has grown cold.”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Corean. “So, we must take them from the pen by force.”

Marmo floated forward and protested. “Corean! You’ll bring the pirate lords down on us. Your passion for revenge is out of hand; please, come to your senses!”

Corean turned to him and spoke in a deadly voice. “Marmo, you don’t understand the issues here. The matter has gone far beyond personal vengeance now; our survival is at stake. Remint, see to it.”

He nodded, and turned to leave. “Come, Lensh,” he said. “We must hire some firewood; we will need decoys.”

Lensh turned pleading eyes to Corean, but she looked back impassively. He hung his head and left.

Six hours later, Remint returned, leading the four dazed Pharaohans, who were chained together in a coffle. Flomel looked up with haunted eyes, recognized her, and cried out. “Lady Corean. I’m so happy to see you. Can you get me out of these chains. Your man was most disrespectful.”