The Emperor of Everything

Chapter 7

Corean lifted the survey sled from the slope where her damaged airboat lay, leaving Lensh and Fensh behind. Lensh waved up at her cheerfully and crawled back under the boat.

“Are you happier now?” Marmo asked.

Corean glared at him. “It’ll take them three days to fix the boat, if they work harder than I expect them to.”

“But at least it’s repairable.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” She flew toward the pass, covering in a few minutes the distance that Ruiz had taken hours to walk.

“What’s the worst case? If he’s reached the canal, he may have caught a barge, but the barges are slow. He can’t have reached SeaStack yet, if he went south — and where else could he find high-speed transport? If he went north, the sniffers will catch him long before he reaches the IceGate launch rings.”

Corean was still sullen. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I used to think so, but he’s a slippery snake.” Her mouth quirked downward, and she fell into a silence.

Finally Marmo spoke again. “Such a sour expression! If you don’t stop abusing your face, you’ll lose it. Didn’t it cost more than a dozen airboats?”

“It’s guaranteed for a hundred years,” she said — but she smiled with artificial brilliance, then smoothed her hands delicately over her cheeks. “Do you really think it might go bad?”

“No,” he said. “I was just teasing.”

She laughed, and the hard line of her mouth relaxed a little.

She frowned again when they reached the landing. “They’ve been here,” she said.

Marmo peered through the armorglass. “Send out the Moc first. It’s a good place for an ambush.”

“I will… but they’re gone. I feel it.”

“Perhaps.”

A few minutes later they stood on the landing, looking at a heap of empty food wrappers.

“I wonder how long they’ve been gone,” she said, looking at her sniffers — two tall, spidery mechs equipped with olfactory analyzers and trank guns. One went striding off to the north and one went south.

“Maybe they didn’t catch a barge; maybe the sniffers will catch them a few miles down the bank.”

“Sure,” Corean said scornfully.

The sniffers soon returned unsuccessfully, unable to pick up a scent. She was unsurprised. She raised the survey craft and drove it arrowing south. “It’s a couple of days to SeaStack, even by the fastest barge,” she said. “We’ll take a quick run that way first. If we don’t see him, we’ll go north. If we can’t spot him from the air, we’ll come back here and set the sniffers.”

“A good plan,” Marmo said agreeably.

Ruiz held his aching head, while Nisa rubbed gently at his neck. That pleasant sensation couldn’t completely distract him from the unhappy reality of their situation. They were the prisoners of unknown beings. They traveled toward an unknown destination, to face an unknown fate.

On the far side of the upper deck, in low voices, Molnekh and Dolmaero discussed the possible motives of their captors.

Dolmaero took a gloomy view. “They’re slavers; what else? In the wider universe, it seems that all are either slaves or slavekeepers.”

“Would slavers feed us so well? Would you go to so much trouble to ensure the comfort of your slaves? Well, perhaps you would, Guildmaster, but you’re not typical.”

Molnekh was overly influenced by the culinary evidence, in Ruiz’s opinion.

Dolmaero shook his head. “Perhaps it’s no trouble at all. Many things I regarded as impossible seem to be easy here: flying, raising the dead…. Perhaps, for these folk, hot muffins and fresh-squeezed juice are as easy to provide as stale bread and water.”

“It’s a possibility,” Molnekh said, looking unconvinced.

Ruiz ignored them and studied the forest. It grew increasingly less wild, interrupted more frequently with cut-over tracts, cultivated fields, manicured pastures. Occasionally they passed habitations. Many were crude huts, some were hunting lodges built elegantly of wood and stone, and once they passed a palazzo built of some glistening blue ceramic material, all slender spires and graceful flying buttresses.

“What is it?” Nisa asked.

“A wealthy house,” he answered absently. Just the place, he thought, to steal a good airboat. A bitter useless pang of regret touched him. Soon Corean would catch up to them, and then what would happen? Even if the containment field operated in both directions, Corean probably carried weapons powerful enough to breach it — certainly her Moc did.

The afternoon passed slowly. After a while, Dolmaero and Molnekh lost interest in their discussion. Molnekh went below to wait for the next meal to arrive, and Dolmaero sat stolidly, staring at the passing sights.

Ruiz felt a sense of dismal failure, and he could think of nothing to say to Nisa. She seemed not to take his silence badly, and he was grateful for her quiet company. He tried to think of a course of action, but nothing came to him, not even the most farfetched of ideas. He wondered if he had at last exhausted his ingenuity — a profoundly depressing possibility.

Finally, he was drawn from his dark mood by a change in the atmosphere, a feeling of imminence, a shift in the movement of the air. He heard an odd sound, like wind moaning through a tunnel. The forest ahead seemed to grow lighter, as if they approached a huge clearing.

Ruiz got up and went forward to the observation pulpit, followed by Nisa.

They were standing together when the forest ended and they emerged into sunlight and space.

His heart fell and lifted in one violent swoop.

“Oh. Oh,” whispered Nisa. “What…?”

Ruiz drew a deep breath. “The locals call it the Edge.”

“You know where we are, then?”

“I think so.”

The barges moved now through a barren rocky zone. Ahead, the world seemed to end, replaced by pale blue sky. The canal continued out into empty air, a long dark finger of still water, leading nowhere, apparently supported by nothing but the monocrete banks.

The barges began to slow, but it was obvious that at their present rate of deceleration, the barges would never stop before they reached the edge. The wind howled, blowing straight up past the lip of the cliff.

Nisa clutched at him. “Are we going to die?”

“Probably not just yet,” Ruiz said hopefully. He was craning his neck, trying to get a glimpse of what lay below the cliff.

The barges slowed a little more, and the first one floated out into space. Nothing happened to it, and he felt Nisa relax slightly. Then the barge directly in front passed the lip of the cliff, also without dire consequence.

When their turn came, Ruiz saw what he expected to see.

Perhaps a thousand meters down and twenty kilometers away across a flat coastal plain a vast cluster of bizarre shapes twisted from the bright ocean far into the sky. They looked like nothing else in the known worlds, misshapen skyscrapers, or horrifically attenuated mountains — sometimes narrower at the base than at the top.

From this distance it was impossible to grasp the scale of these structures.

“What in the world…. How can so much water exist? It is water, isn’t it? And those… are they buildings?” Nisa’s eyes were wide.

“It’s water, though not the kind you can drink. The place is called SeaStack.”

She looked at him. “You’ve been there?”

“Several times.”

“What manner of place is it?”

Ruiz sighed. “It’s a city, of a sort. Or a thousand different cities. But mainly it’s where star pirates are born, and where they go to die.”

By the time the last barge had slid out into nothingness, Molnekh had come pounding up the ladder, pale with terror. Still, Ruiz noted with approval that Molnekh was able to move. Dolmaero clutched at the rail, face frozen and shining with sweat; he looked, for the first time since Ruiz had known him, incapacitated. Perhaps he was afraid of heights.

Looking back at the cliff edge they had passed, Ruiz felt a quiver of the same fear. The slab of black basalt seemed to drop away forever, and the plain was so far below that it didn’t seem real — a panorama in a misty painting.

He took Nisa’s hand and joined the others. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

“Oh, of course not,” Molnekh said, leaning cautiously over the rail. Apparently he was sufficiently in command of himself to be capable of sarcasm.

Ruiz grinned. “No, really. This is a device called a lock, unless I’m fatally mistaken. We’ll be gently lowered to the plain, where we’ll resume our journey.”

“Truly?” Molnekh shook himself, attempted a smile.

Just then the barges, which had been motionless, shuddered and began to drop.

Dolmaero shrieked, then looked embarrassed. He unlocked his hands from the rail. “Startled me,” he explained, but he looked a little calmer, now that they were no longer so dreadfully exposed.

The sides of the lock were the same gray monocrete that had formed the banks during their journey. As they dropped, the skinny rectangle of bright sky at the top of the lock rapidly grew smaller, and the barge’s lights came on.

By that soft illumination, Ruiz noticed that the lock walls were marked by graffiti, apparently burned into the obdurate monocrete with energy weapons. The graffiti were in the main vertical, in script stretched by the speed of the vandal’s passage. Many were the usual clutter of names and dates, but others were longer messages. Most of these were in unfamiliar languages and alphabets, but near the bottom of the great shaft, Ruiz saw one he could read.

Abandon hope, all ye who cannot swim, it said, and Ruiz laughed.

They came to a stop, the barges surging and rolling.

“I don’t know which is worse,” Dolmaero said. “Hanging from the sky or being buried alive.”

A moment passed, then a great door levered up and the barges moved out into the sunshine.

The air was suddenly oppressive — fifteen degrees warmer and saturated with humidity.

Ruiz could smell the sea, and the stink of decay that always blew from SeaStack.

They moved now across long-cultivated fields, broken by occasional marshes and meandering streams. Here were a number of great manor houses, but the styles varied widely. Some were built in aggressively archaic forms, and in the fields surrounding these, overseers watched gangs of archetypical peasants labor in the mire. Other manors were confections of glass and metal, and the fields were full of gleaming mechs.

“What are they?” asked Nisa.

“The mechs? Just machines.”

“Why aren’t all the fields worked by mechs?” asked Dolmaero. “Surely they’re more efficient than slaves?”

“Yes, they are — but these are hobby farms,” said Ruiz.

Dolmaero seemed puzzled.

Ruiz tried to explain. “In the pangalac worlds, little food is grown — most of it is manufactured from elemental matter. These farmers are either hobbyists, or cater to the luxury trade.”

Dolmaero shook his head. “So these farms are the property of rich folk, who play at farming? Very strange.”

“Yes — well, rich pirates, which isn’t exactly the same thing.”

“And what is a pirate?”

“You’ve met one,” Ruiz said. “Remember Marmo? He was once a pirate, until he retired to a gentler trade. Pirates are thieves, kidnappers, murderers; their arena is the void.”

Dolmaero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “They are then in the same line of work as yourself?”

Ruiz was taken aback. “One might say so, I suppose.” He scratched his head. “But I commit my depredations under a commission from a legally registered business entity; perhaps that makes a difference.”

“Oh, surely. I meant no offense.” Dolmaero looked wryly skeptical.

Ruiz shrugged, and the conversation lagged.

The sun beat down, the air was breathless, and after a while, they all went to the lower deck, to find shady places under the belly of the statue.

It was late afternoon before Corean caught up to them. Ruiz and Nisa sat together at the taffrail, gazing out at the flat landscape. The spires of SeaStack had drawn close enough to tower menacingly over them, and Ruiz had begun to hope that they would reach the city before Corean found them.

Then Corean’s sled swooped past, ten meters off the ground, fifty meters out. It veered around and burned past again, and Ruiz imagined he could see Corean’s dark hair through the armorglass bubble.

He jerked Nisa to her feet and ran for the pit, where they might get some protection. As he ran, he shouted for the others, who tumbled into the pit just moments after he and Nisa arrived.

“It’s Corean, I’m afraid,” Ruiz said.

Flomel tugged at his leash and fixed Ruiz with red eyes. “Now you’ll get what’s coming to you, casteless one,” he said, gloating.

Corean laughed with genuine pleasure. “Wonderful,” she said. She had seen Ruiz Aw and his Pharaohan slut running to hide under the testicles of the grotesque statue atop the barge. “You saw them?”

“Yes,” answered Marmo. “Do you recognize the barges? I wonder who they belong to.”

“No… but what does it matter? What should we fear from creatures who decorate their craft with such leering monstrosities? They must be primitives.”

“Possibly.”

She laughed again. “Though you must admit, Ruiz Aw’s hiding place is strikingly appropriate.”

Marmo made a noncommittal noise.

“Well,” she said. “Let’s see if they’re stupid enough to surrender. If I can get the Pharaohans back in one piece, I can still salvage something from this fiasco.”

She slowed her sled until it paced the barge and activated a loudhailer.

“Ruiz Aw! I see you; no point in hiding. Come out empty-handed, and we’ll put this unpleasant episode behind us.” Corean’s amplified voice was light and easy.

Ruiz peeked over the rim of the pit. The survey sled floated a mere twenty meters off the port gunwale; if only he had a ruptor, or even a heavy portable graser….

“Come now… I admit to being hasty, before. I was very glad you managed to shut down the boat before my little fit of temper resulted in an unhappy accident. My people tell me the damage is not so bad.”

A moment passed, then she resumed her persuasions. “I was hasty in sending you to the Gencha. Clearly your cleverness is too valuable a commodity to risk so foolishly. Now I understand what an enhancement to my business you’d be, truly I do. We’d make such a formidable team.

“You won’t come out? Well, I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I want to make amends, truly. The Pharaohans belong to me; send them out and you can go your way, no hard feelings — though I hope you’ll change your mind and enter my service someday.”

The sled withdrew a short distance. Flomel was smiling, as if he actually expected Ruiz to release him into Corean’s custody. Ruiz was tempted to; Flomel deserved it richly.

“What next?” asked Dolmaero.

“She’ll talk some more; then she’ll start shooting. I don’t think she’s stupid enough or crazy enough to come on board after us — she’ll content herself with cutting us to pieces from a distance.”

Nisa clung to him with both arms, eyes shut tight.

Flomel gasped. “You won’t let us go? Why? Why? You insist that we die with you?”

Ruiz sighed. “The others are free to turn themselves over, but you and I, Flomel, we must live or die together. Besides, the barge won’t let us go.”

Molnekh shivered. “I’m not brave enough to risk her kindness, anyway. Guildmaster?”

“Nor am I.”

Ruiz felt a black resentment against the slaver — not so much because she was about to kill him; he had never expected to die in bed. No, he hated her because she was stealing a life he might have spent with Nisa. He pulled her close and concentrated on the precious sensations of the moment: the touch of her body against his, her scent, the sound of her breathing. He succeeded in shutting away the thoughts of what might have been.

Corean spoke again, and now her voice was ragged with anger and anticipation. “All right. Keep the woman — my parting gift to you. But send out the others. You know they’re my property!

“You won’t?” A long moment passed, then the survey sled’s weapons pod swiveled and its muzzles twinkled.

Ruiz pressed Nisa to the floor of the pit, covering her with his body. The barge’s containment field flared brilliantly as the projectiles struck and an earsplitting screech assaulted them.

The attack ceased for a moment, and Ruiz felt the vibration of machinery, transmitted through the deck. He raised his eyes cautiously, and saw yellow fire lance out from the barge and touch Corean’s sled. It tilted and wheeled away, staggering through the air in short uncertain arcs. It crossed several fencerows before plunging into a small bog.

Ruiz was on his feet, watching, fists clenched. With all his heart he hoped for a secondary explosion; it didn’t come.

Soon the wreckage was lost to view behind them. On the barge, several impressive arrays of energy weapons rotated their barrels up and sank back into the deck, which closed seamlessly over them.

“Damn!” he said, caught between uncertainty and the elation of survival.

“What is it?” shouted Dolmaero, who still crouched in the pit with the others.

Ruiz sat heavily on the edge of the pit. “We’re safe, for a time. But I’m afraid Corean may still be alive.”

The afternoon moved toward sundown, and another dinner appeared. This time Ruiz was watching, hoping for an opportunity to penetrate the barge’s interior. But the platter descended from a closed-off recess, big enough to hold the platter and nothing else.

Near dusk the barges neared the border between the freeheld lands of the coastal plain and the city of SeaStack. A customs fortress squatted above the canal, a fat armored spider of a building supported on delicate curving pylons.

“What is that?” asked Dolmaero.

“Customs. They won’t bother us.” The pirate lords who controlled most of the activities in SeaStack cared little who entered their watery city — newcomers were fair game, valued for what goods and skills they might bring. But the lords were much less easy about allowing folk to leave SeaStack… who knew what treasures they might try to steal away?

In fact, as their barge passed under the base of the customs fortress, they saw, in the outgoing channel, a small rusty barge tied up to one of the several inspection piers. Its crew stood facing a wall, hands on heads, watched by armed guards. Dozens of uniformed inspectors swarmed over the barge, waving detectors, prying up the barge’s plating, burning probe holes here and there.

Their barges weren’t stopped, as Ruiz had predicted, though as they moved out into the sunlight again at the far end of the fortress, several hard-looking men came out onto an overhanging balcony and gestured ambiguously at them. The pirates spoke together in soft voices, laughing softly, then went back into the fortress.

Finally they passed through a tidegate, out into the labyrinthine waters of SeaStack. Overhead, the towers twisted up into the darkening sky, blotting out most of it. The origins of the stacks seemed even less imaginable, seen up close. In places they rose from constructed bases, or at least shaped metal shone through the crust of age that covered everything. In other places, they seemed wholly natural in their random upward growth, stone and dirt and ancient trees hanging from the terraces that overhung the channels. The bases of the towers were riddled with caves and entryways, some at water level and some higher, some lit by brilliant security lights, others dark and forbidding.

The others stared, openmouthed. The craft that plied the scummy waters ranged from battered junks with painted sails and slave-powered sweeps, to the newest skimmers and needleboats. The people were as motley as their craft, representing every human variant. An occasional alien drew gasps of astonishment from the Pharaohans, who had seen few aliens during their stay in the slave compound.

Ruiz concentrated on remembering the route they took into the heart of SeaStack, and on trying to relate the landmarks to his memories of the pirate city.