The Emperor of Everything

The passengers had begun to react to the attack, had started to rise from their pallets, faces slowly shifting toward hostility, as they realized that these ambushers were almost certainly not allied to their owners.

But their impulse toward attack was cut short by Huxley, who stitched his splinter gun across them. They fell back silently, blood welling from the arc described by Huxley’s gun, dead or dying.

“Still clean,” said Huxley, consulting the tiny dataslate strapped to his wrist.

An instant later Durban landed on the corpses and rolled, covering his armor in red splashes. Then the gladiator and the puppet hit… and matters started to deteriorate.

The gladiator, a heavy man apparently no longer as agile as he must have been during his years in the bloodstadia, stumbled and fell against the razor rail that rimmed the far edge of the tram. He gasped and folded over the rail, which came to life with a high-pitched whine. In an instant its vibrating blades had sliced through his armor and deep into his belly. He struggled to escape the rail’s terrible keenness, his legs scrabbling weakly. The rail must have penetrated almost to his spine when he made a last spasmodic effort and slipped over the side.

Ruiz lunged at the puppet, who was still leashed to the gladiator’s wrist. The gladiator hit the end of the leash and the puppet slid toward the rail, just before Ruiz landed on the spot he had been. But Albany saw what was happening and grabbed the puppet before he hit the rail, though Albany was twisted awkwardly across the pallets of corpses, his foot hooked precariously under a girder.

“Do something,” said Albany hoarsely. “Can’t hold them for long.”

Ruiz leaped to the rail, stopping just short of the red-dripping blades. The gladiator hung from the leash, while he tried with his other hand to retrieve the intestines that were slipping in gory loops from his belly.

Suddenly he looked up from his task, at Ruiz. His eyes were glazing with shock, but he spoke. “Too slippery, Ruiz.”

He wasn’t too far gone to react when Ruiz began to saw at the leash with his sonic knife. “No, no, no, no,” he said. “Don’t want to be Gench food. Don’t. No, no, no.”

The tough filaments parted reluctantly. The gladiator pleaded. Ruiz kept his eyes fixed on the knife.

He didn’t look down, not even when the leash finally parted and the man fell wailing into the pit.

Chapter 16

“Still seems clean,” said Huxley, sitting in the middle of the corpses, his detectors spread around him, heedless of the blood that stained his armor. “I was concerned we might find weight sensors, or something else out of the ordinary.”

The puppet got to his feet, apparently undisturbed by his near encounter with the razor rails. “In many ways I’m a conventional man,” he said calmly.

“Who cares?” asked Albany. “You care, Ruiz?”

“No. Get your gear and clear the rest of the traps, Albany.” Ruiz took the end of the leash, took the sealer from his pocket, and attached the end to a girder. “Durban, help me pitch the bodies off.”

The beaster looked up, eyes bright with pleasure. He licked a smear of blood from his glove and made an odd purring sound.

“And turn down your skein,” Ruiz said.

Durban snarled, and for a moment Ruiz thought he would attack. He felt an answering rage fill his body, and he leaned toward the beaster, knife ready, his mind completely clear, completely purposeful, for the first time in days. The chinks in the beaster’s armor seemed to take on a glow in the intensity of Ruiz’s regard; he could almost feel the sensation the knife would transmit to his hand when it penetrated Durban’s shell and sank into his flesh.

Durban started to rise, lips writhing back to show his teeth. Latent violence stained the ruddy light a darker crimson, and Ruiz felt his anger transmute into a kind of black joy.

The beaster stopped abruptly. Fear and blood lust appeared to struggle for control of his face. He shuddered and dropped his eyes. After a moment he reached up, touched the skein at the back of his neck. Though he didn’t look up, Ruiz could sense Durban’s returning rationality.

“Good decision,” said Albany, who holstered the splinter gun he had held aimed at Durban. “It’s generally a bad idea to fuck with Ruiz — even though he might seem like an easygoing fellow.”

Ruiz felt his own anger recede, to be replaced by an empty regret. But he switched off the knife and slipped it back into its wrist sheath. “If you max your skein again, I’ll cut it off you,” he said in a neutral voice.

He and Durban began to pitch the corpses off the tram. The beaster worked with a will, though he still wouldn’t meet Ruiz’s eyes. Ruiz felt no residue of irritation with him; he was too busy worrying about what they might find at the top of the pit.

They had moved around the pit, to a level just above the tunnel they had jumped from. Ruiz looked through his scope, to see Chou wave and retreat down the tunnel into darkness.