The Emperor of Everything

Occasionally one of the mercenaries would ask a question about the target’s identity or the stack’s location, but Ruiz parried the questions as gracefully as possible. He felt an unwelcome sense of responsibility for the killers he’d hired, especially since Albany had joined them. He was certain that if any of them learned what was going on, Publius would see they didn’t survive long enough to spread any inconvenient rumors.

When he was done, he asked for questions. “No one?” he asked, looking around at the stolid faces. “All right. When we get to the depot, you can draw whatever personal weapons you prefer. Albany, you’ll be our trap man; you’ve got a good nose.” He nodded at the cyborged clone. “Huxley will run the antisurveillance gear; that’s his specialty.”

The beaster, whose name was Durban, spoke in his breathless way. “And I?”

“Point walker.” Ruiz turned to the ex-gladiator, who claimed no name. “You’ll leapfrog with Durban. And you two will flank,” he told the women, who called themselves Moh and Chou.

“How ‘bout you?” asked Albany. “We seem to be doing everything.”

“I wish,” said Ruiz. “I’ll be herding the nonexpendables.”

The stolid faces acquired sour expressions. “Who might they be?” asked Durban the beaster.

Ruiz answered reluctantly. “A Gench and a noncombatant ringer.”

Now the faces were turning mulish. “What the hell,” said Albany weakly.

Ruiz shrugged. “Well, that’s why you’re getting the big money. What else can I say?”

“How about: ‘If you’ve changed your mind you can get off at the first stack we come to’?” asked one of the Jahworld women.

“Sorry,” said Ruiz, shaking his head. “Your chop is on the contract. Nonperformance gets you sold in the Pit.”

“You’re a harder man than I remember,” said Albany, shaking his head ruefully.

“I have a tougher contract than you do,” said Ruiz, thinking of Publius’s knife.

* * *

Before they boarded the sub, Publius sent Huey to fetch Ruiz to him. When Ruiz arrived in the command cabin, Publius was looking out through a large armorglass port, at the twinkling lights of SeaStack. The cabin was lit only by a central cluster of dim red glowbulbs, presumably to accommodate the preferences of the small Gench who waited in the corner. On a couch at the back of the cabin sat the false Yubere, smiling his thin unemotional smile. Four Dirm bondguards stood spaced around the cabin, fingering their weapons and watching Ruiz alertly.

Publius turned as Ruiz entered, raised a hand in greeting. “Ah! Ruiz! Are you ready to turn the tides of history?”

“I suppose,” said Ruiz doubtfully.

Publius frowned. “Ruiz, you have no sense of the magnitude of this moment. That’s a shame; I wanted you to feel the importance of your task. When you succeed, the universe will change forever.”

Ruiz was growing weary of Publius’s grandiosity, but he concealed his contempt. “I’m glad you have confidence in me, Emperor Publius.”

Publius was happy again. “Oh, I do. But now, to business.” He beckoned, and an immature Gench shuffled across the floor toward them. “Let me take your slave collar,” Publius said.

Ruiz bent his neck, and Publius applied his molecular key to the collar’s lock. “Doesn’t that feel better,” asked Publius. “Are you sure you want to wear the madcollar with my little Gench?”

Ruiz didn’t bother to answer.

“Oh, all right.” Publius took a metal case from a storage slot and opened it, to reveal two madcollars. “You’ll want to examine them, I suppose.”

Ruiz lifted them from their case and carried them to a pool of brighter light. He noted that they were of SeedCorp manufacture, ordinarily a sign of reliability. He checked to see that their seals were undamaged. He ran both controllers through their diagnostic sequence, while Publius stood waiting impatiently.

“They seem all right,” said Ruiz without great confidence.

“Of course they’re all right. What do you take me for?”

“A clever man,” said Ruiz.

“Well, of course you’re correct,” said Publius, mollified. “Get on with it, then.”

Ruiz turned to the Gench. “Has Publius explained the arrangement to you?”

One of the Gench’s mouth slits trembled, then opened. It spoke in a faint whistling voice. “I am to be a hostage.”

“True,” said Ruiz. “You understand how the madcollars work?”

“Yes.”

“Please verbalize your understanding,” said Ruiz.

“If I die, you die. If you die, I die.”

“That’s right. Also, once the collars are locked on, they can only be removed if we both agree to it.”

“I understand perfectly,” it said.

“Good. Let’s do it, then.” Ruiz snapped his collar around his neck, then watched closely as Publius set the collar around the Gench’s neckring, securing it with anesthetic staples. Ruiz picked up his controller; the Gench opened another mouth and extended a manipulator to its controller.

They both pressed the appropriate stud, and Ruiz felt his collar click into active mode. Foreboding rushed into him; he thrust it away. He would need all his skills, every fraction of concentration, to perform Publius’s task — and then to survive Publius’s gratitude.