The Emperor of Everything

Chapter 5

Ruiz Aw’s emotions ran along a steep curve. At first they plummeted into fatalistic despair, as he waited for Corean’s airboat. But as the sun dropped toward the horizon and she did not come, his hopes flared up brightly. One more night; was that too ambitious a favor to ask of his luck? He began to believe it might not be.

He was so involved in this fantasy of delayed destruction that he didn’t react for a moment when Molnekh shouted.

“What?” he yelled back.

“Something’s coming!” The tone of Molnekh’s shout wasn’t entirely joyful, however.

Ruiz took one last look up toward the pass. No sign of Corean. He crawled out of his hiding spot, to discover that his legs had gone a bit numb from his uncomfortable perch.

He reached the ground without falling and hobbled toward Molnekh and Nisa at his best speed.

Corean paced the control blister of the survey sled she’d borrowed from her starboat. “Can you push this thing no faster?” she demanded of the creature who sat at the controls.

The pilot turned to her, opened his catlike mouth in a parody of a smile. “Yess, misstresss. We can go fasster. If the Shardss are watching, as they alwayss are, we can become a lovely flaming comet for about, oh, ssix hundred meterss. But then I fear we’ll sstop.” His eyes glittered with appreciation for his own wit.

She made no answer — she had learned to accept Lensh’s sarcasm as the price of his service to her. Apparently such insolence was a hard-wired part of his enhanced feline-based brain — not even the Gencha could root it out, without impairing Lensh’s intelligence and effectiveness.

Of course she knew that the Shards were watching. Sook’s alien owners enforced their peculiar rules with astonishing rigor. They prohibited certain modes of travel, large warships, large military units, nuclear weaponry, and many other useful elements of modern warfare. From their orbital platforms, they punished transgressors instantly and severely.

Occasionally this was inconvenient. On the other hand, were it not for the Shards and their unreasonable proscriptions, the pangalac worlds would long ago have exterminated the criminal enterprises that now flourished so vigorously on Sook.

“Patience,” Corean said to herself.

Beneath the sled, the pink veldt flowed past. The blue mountains where Ruiz Aw had wrecked her airboat were still only a smudge against the horizon — and the sun was very low. They would never get there by dark, and the survey sled was unequipped for the slow ground-level travel the Shards allowed after dark. She would be forced to land, and so Ruiz Aw would have to wait until the morning for his reward.

For a while Corean lost herself in pleasant visions of what she might do to that troublesome person. Ruiz had stolen her boat and several of her most valuable slaves, had killed two of her most useful henchmen, had almost murdered poor Marmo. Marmo was in the cargo bay now, being attended by Lensh’s littermate, Fensh. A medical limpet was busy healing the scraps of flesh that remained to him, and Fensh was directing a repair mech in the replacement of Marino’s damaged mechanisms. Corean cursed herself for a sentimental fool. If she hadn’t stopped to pick up Marmo’s wrecked chassis, and then had to backtrack to find his missing power cell, she’d have reached the wreck well before dark.

At the back of the cabin, the Mocrassar shifted, its claws clicking on the plastic deck. Fresh from the molting cell, its stink was particularly vile, but Corean had long ago learned to ignore the odor. It was, after all, the stink of wealth — no one but the very rich possessed Mocrassar bondwarriors.

She descended to the cargo bay, where Marmo lay clamped in a repair frame. The lower half of the cyborg’s face showed pale sweat-beaded flesh, but he had regained consciousness and a faint smile trembled on his thin lips. “How are you doing?” Corean asked curtly.

“Much better, thank you,” Marmo answered.

Corean sniffed. Her feelings toward the old pirate were ambiguous. He had been with her for a long time, he was the closest thing to a friend she possessed, he had always found ways to be useful. On the other hand, he must have committed some act of incompetence. How else could Ruiz Aw have managed to take the boat?

“What happened, Marmo?” She strove to contain her annoyance.

The cyborg’s oculars shifted focus with a tiny whine, as if he were no longer looking at Corean, but at some memory. “He bested me. I know nothing of what happened to Ayam and Banessa, except that they must both be dead.”

“Yes.” Corean had found the giantess’s vast corpse and Ayam’s smaller remains, covered with gorged carrion birds, near the place where she had recovered Marmo’s power cell. “Can’t you be more specific?”

“It was Ayam’s watch, just after midnight. I was in the control blister, Banessa in her cabin. The next thing I knew, Ruiz Aw jumped through the hatch, grinning like a demon, whirling some primitive weapon at me. I got off a burst — I carried a splinter gun — but somehow I missed and the chains snapped tight around me. I was helpless for a moment, then Ruiz Aw fired some chemical-energy ballistic weapon at me, which knocked the gun out of my hand.” Marmo drew a deep breath. “It went downhill from there, and soon I was on my back and Ruiz Aw was sawing through my neck with a dull knife. He gave me no choice but to cooperate.”

“You might have chosen to die — rather than betray me.”

Marmo sighed. “Perhaps. But I must tell you, I don’t think it would have helped much. The man is not entirely human. Are you certain you wish to pursue him? It might be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Corean stared at him. What was wrong with the old monster? In his pirate days, he must have suffered more grievous defeats — the scarce flesh that still clung to his mechanisms testified to terrible wounds. What was Ruiz Aw but a clever trickster with good reflexes?

“Well,” Marmo said. “Never mind — if you must have him, I’d help, as always. But let us take a vow not to underestimate him again, and to be very very careful.”

“Marmo,” she said. “He’s hurt me badly, in many ways. I must inflict greater pain on him, before I can be happy again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Corean,” he said in the faintest of whispers.

Ruiz Aw reached the bank where Nisa and Molnekh stood, and looked north.

“What is it, Ruiz?” asked Nisa.

He wasn’t quite sure. There seemed to be a flotilla of barges approaching, but they shouldn’t have been so clearly visible at that distance. He squinted against the shine that reflected from the water, and waited.

A moment later he saw that the barges carried high eccentric superstructures, large strange faces, perhaps the forms of animals. They looked a bit like floats in a parade.

“Wait here,” he told them. “If you see me get aboard, then you get ready to jump on. If something happens to me, run away.” He set off toward the approaching barges at his best speed.

A few seconds later he was only fifty meters from the leading barge, and he darted off the bank into a concealing tangle of vines.

There was too much to see in the moments he had to make a decision. There were six barges, all somewhat longer than the cargo carrier that had earlier passed, and with higher topsides. The sculptural forms welded to their otherwise featureless decks were disturbing, even frightening. At the prows were the handsome elongated faces of beautiful men and women, far too large for the crouching human figures into which they merged — as if megalocephalic steel giants knelt on the decks of the barges. The faces displayed expressions of detached delight — wide eyes, cool smiles. The sculptures had been anodized in rich primary colors, and the sexual characteristics of the figures were exaggerated; breasts were massive pendulous billows splayed across the deck from gunwale to gunwale, penises were great veined tree trunks, running the length of the decks and curving up under the figures’ chins. Great swaying chains ran from heavy belts at the figures’ waists to the gunwales on either side.

But he saw no evidence that the decks were otherwise crewed. The first barge passed in a rush of foam; Ruiz observed two standard security locks set into the topsides, fore and aft. He saw no evidence of automated weaponry — which meant nothing much.

The second barge was gone. Ruiz dared delay no further. When the third barge drew even with him, he jumped from concealment and ran alongside for a dozen steps. He could barely keep up; the others would have to be helped. He veered toward the bank, leaped, landed successfully on the deck grating.

Nothing destroyed him, and he shouted for the others to be ready. The barge approached the landing swiftly.

He heard Dolmaero calling, getting the others into the positions he’d planned, and felt a rush of gratitude for the Guildmaster’s competence.

Nisa was running alongside, and he caught her as she jumped, keeping her from sprawling. He set her on her feet and turned, just in time to catch Dolmaero’s outstretched arm as the Guildmaster missed his footing and started to fall toward the water. Dolmaero’s weight threatened to jerk Ruiz from his feet, but he heaved with all his strength and drew him, floundering on his belly, onto the deck.

Before he could set and turn around, Flomel hit him, grabbing at his splinter gun as he bounced off Ruiz’s left side. Rage blinded Ruiz. He crouched and whirled, bringing up his arm and bunching his fist into a heavy ball. He struck Flomel’s forehead at full extension. The conjuror flew back, smashed loose-limbed into a great steel thigh, spilled bonelessly to the deck — but the gun he had somehow reached bounced off the deck and twinkled into the canal.

Molnekh appeared at Ruiz’s side; apparently he was much more agile than the others. He started to reach out toward Ruiz, but then looked at his face and cringed away, raising his hands protectively. “Be calm,” he squeaked. “The damage is done, and Flomel has paid for it.”

“Paid for it?” Ruiz said, struggling for control. “If he’s dead, he got off easy.”

Nisa knelt beside the mage, who indeed looked like a corpse. “He’s breathing. Let’s throw him in the canal,” she said, her face paper-white except for two red spots at her cheeks.

Her expression was single-mindedly feral, and somehow it shocked Ruiz from his rage. He wondered if he looked like that — though surely his hard face was more practiced at ferocity than her smooth young one. “No,” said Ruiz. “Leave him alone. If he lives, I’m going to sell him to the first slaver I meet. If ever a man deserved to be a slave, Flomel does.”

Ruiz directed his flock to stay put until he had examined the barge for dangers. Dolmaero nodded somberly. Nisa patted him gently. Molnekh was busy tugging Flomel into a more comfortable position and didn’t look up.

He roamed about the deck for a few minutes, finding no obvious security devices, no hatches other than the two locks set into the barge’s topsides. Though it had not been apparent from the bank, the barge was designed to provide deck passengers with a degree of comfort. In the various nooks and crannies of the steel statues were a number of seats, upholstered in red softstone. Under the arch formed by the figure’s penis and drooping testicles was a luxurious circular pit equipped with a padded floor — Ruiz would have been amused, had his mood not been so dark. The loss of the splinter gun had dealt their chances of survival a severe blow. How could he have been so careless? Granted, Flomel had made a lifework of having fast hands — few hands were so deft as those belonging to the conjurors of Pharaoh. Still, Ruiz blamed himself bitterly.

On the far side of the figure was a spiral staircase, leading to the statue’s back. Ruiz ascended cautiously, but found the upper deck as unpopulated as the lower. Here were rows of seats, arranged like an excursion boat’s. Forward, a gangway led up to a small observation pulpit atop the figure’s cranium.

Nowhere did he see any access to the interior of the barge.

He stood for a while on the pulpit, leaning on the polished rail, gazing down the tunnel of trees through which they traveled. The sun must be nearly down; the light had that golden impermanence that accompanies the longest shadows of the day. He felt a deep weariness that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion. The bedrock to which he had anchored his life seemed to be shifting; he no longer seemed capable of following the maxims that had for so long successfully guided him. For example: One must kill one’s enemies as soon as conveniently possible. He should have killed Flomel long before, of course — he should do so right now. And he would, as soon as he had overcome this temporary — surely it was only temporary — distaste for murder.

But even more basic to his existence was this rule: Give no loyalty to anyone. And he had violated this rule a dozen times since the moment he had first seen Nisa.

He was afraid. It was a kind of fear he had not felt in more years than he could remember. He lowered his head to his arms. If he hadn’t so thoroughly forgotten how, over all those hard years, he might have cried.

Ruiz caught a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye and whipped up his head. Above the broad rump of the leading barge’s statue, someone peered at him through a railing. After a moment the person hesitantly stood up. Ruiz saw a thin old man dressed in dirty tatters that might once have been magnificent. The old man showed a lean vulpine face, a wildly tangled mane of white hair, and large pale eyes. His expression was cautiously friendly, as if he had no idea who Ruiz might be, but didn’t want to risk offending anyone.

They stared at each for a moment, then the old man raised a fragile hand and waved, a gesture so slight that it might only have been the tremble of age.

Ruiz waved back, with only a little less restraint.

Two other people appeared to each side of the old man. One was a young girl wearing rags similar to the old man’s, though cleaner. Her face was round and unremarkable, but she smiled with what appeared to be genuine friendliness.

The other was a large young man, wearing a drab unisuit, such as might be bought in the cheap emporiums of a thousand worlds. He had a wide coarse-featured face and an air of confident stupidity. He ostentatiously shouldered the old man aside, once he decided it was safe — and then he glared at Ruiz with bovine truculence.

Ruiz laughed silently, then waved again, this time with cheerful enthusiasm. The young man’s mouth sagged open with perplexity, then clamped shut with annoyance.

Ruiz turned away, somewhat reassured by the presence of these other hitchhikers — for such they obviously were. Perhaps they were as thoroughly ignorant as Ruiz of the dangers of their situation — but in any case, their survival was at least a hopeful sign.

He went to the aft end of the observation deck and stared at the rest of the barges, but if they also carried passengers, none were visible.

He felt an unwilling fascination as he looked at the great steel face of the trailing barge. It was a woman with huge heavy-lidded eyes, high sculpted cheekbones, and cascading hair. Her mouth was just a bit too full, as though distended from some internal pressure. The proportion and detail were exquisite, very different in style from the crude exaggeration of the body. The bodies were laughable; this face was compellingly erotic.

He went back down to the lower deck, where Flomel was moaning and showing signs of recovery. Molnekh was bathing away the blood where Ruiz’s fist had split the skin on Flomel’s forehead, and he looked up at Ruiz with a slightly ambiguous expression. “His skull may be cracked, but it doesn’t seem to be broken,” Molnekh said in a tone that neither approved nor censured.

“I don’t care,” Ruiz said flatly. “If he lives, I must make you responsible for his conduct — no one else is sufficiently quick.”

“Yes,” Molnekh said. “Flomel has always had nimble fingers. I’m sorry he lost the weapon, Ruiz Aw.”

“Well, here’s his leash, Molnekh. I’ll seal it to his neck, so. Here is the other end, and the seal. If you must leave him, loop the leash around some object too sturdy to be persuaded, and seal it. Do you understand?”

“I’ll be his keeper, Ruiz Aw.” Molnekh suddenly regained his usual look of expectant cheer.

“Good. Now, there is no more food, but we all still have our water bottles, and empty bellies won’t kill us for a day or two. The main thing is: We’re getting farther away from Corean with every minute, which is better than the best food, in my view.”

Only Molnekh looked momentarily doubtful.

Ruiz told the others of his discoveries and surmises, and directed Molnekh and Dolmaero to wait in the padded pit, where they might make Flomel comfortable, if they wished. He stood up and took Nisa’s hand. “Be alert,” he told the men. “Call out if you see anything strange.”

Nisa giggled and Ruiz followed her gaze to the enormous phallus that thrust the length of the barge. “Well,” he amended. “Anything strange and dangerous.”

“It looks dangerous enough to me,” she said. “What sort of folk worship such odd idols?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I imagine we’ll find out, but not, I hope, until we’re well away from Corean.”

Then he led her up to the observation deck, to a bench at the back, where they sat together in companionable silence until the sun had gone down and the night had arrived.