The Emperor of Everything

They looked stricken. “Don’t they ever grow old? Have accidents?” Nisa seemed overwhelmed by the thought; her eyes were wide with shock.

He took a deep breath. “In the pangalac worlds, people live as long as they can afford to — the wealthy could live forever, if they wished. And if the Sharers lose a body to some mischance, they can replace it with a brainwiped body from the slave market, or a mind-suppressed clone.”

Nisa seemed to struggle with some tangential thought. Eventually she spoke in a small voice. “And you, Ruiz? How old are you?”

Ruiz cursed himself for failing to see the personal implications of his revelations. “I’m a little older than I look,” he said gently.

No one spoke for a long time after that, as if they were having difficulty digesting these startling ideas.

Chapter 9

Eventually they reached a great hall. At the bottom of a broad ramp was a circular stage, occupied by a half-dozen strikingly handsome men and women, who waited in high-backed levichairs. Concentric semicircles of seats marched up into a darkness behind the stage. Only the first row was occupied — by the other travelers from the barges.

Ruiz and his group were the last to arrive. When they were seated, the woman who today was called Hemerthe rose to speak.

“Welcome, seekers,” she said with a smile and a look that seemed to focus on each of them for a moment. “Today we’ll discover how you may serve Deepheart. We must exercise discrimination; eternity is infinite in time, but not space. Some of you will be chosen to join us in eternity. Others will surrender their freedom to defray our expenses. In either case, you will contribute to the grandest experiment in the history of desire.”

Cold comfort for those not chosen, thought Ruiz.

“So, without further delay, let us begin.” She gestured, and a mech guided an autogurn down the ramp. On it squatted a Gench — perhaps the most moribund one Ruiz had ever seen. Its sensory tufts were dry and crumbling, its eye-spots were frozen in a random jumble. Its shapeless wrinkled body resembled a paper bag of moldy trash. Wires and tubes connected it to the autogurn, and on the gurn’s lower tray, machinery clicked and bubbled. Trailing the autogurn were two security mechs, equipped with padded manipulators and catch-nooses.

“What is it, the creature?” whispered Nisa, voice full of disgust.

“Remember the Gencha I told you about? That is one, although it’s certainly not a very healthy one.”

“Do they plan to take our minds, then?” asked Dolmaero.

“I think not,” replied Ruiz. “It seems too decrepit to survive a single such effort.”

The three vagabonds from the next barge were seated to Flomel’s left. The large young man glared at Ruiz. “Shut up,” he said. “There should be no gabbling at this important moment.”

Ruiz eyed him calmly. “You’re right, no doubt,” he said politely. “My apologies.”

The young man thrust out his chin, looking pleased.

The Gench paused before the first of the white-robed seekers, and a thin tendril reached out from the Gench and touched the seeker’s forehead. The man jerked, became rigid.

On the platform, the judges gathered around a podium dataslate. They murmured together, pointing at the slate and shaking their heads. A minute passed, then Hemerthe spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your body is flawless, but your mind is superficial, inflexible, disengaged from your passions. You are ambitious, but not committed.” She motioned, and the security mechs took the man by the arms and led him away.

The evaluations continued. Of the six in white, only two were accepted. The others were taken away in silence; apparently they adhered to a stoic code.

The Gench reached the plump young woman in the ragged finery. She turned up her face for the Gench’s touch with a clear-eyed innocence that Ruiz found unsettling.

This time the judges took a long time to reach their decision. Finally Hemerthe stepped forward. “We’re sorry, truly — this was a hard decision,” she said. “Your body is imperfect, but bodies may be enhanced without difficulty. The trouble lies in your mind. You are passionate, you are intelligent, you have enthusiasm and the urge to excel. Your deficit is this: You have never been beautiful, you have not learned the lessons of adoration.”

She lowered her head and waited for the mechs to take her. But Hemerthe wasn’t finished. “Still, you’re such promising material that we cannot simply sell you in the slave market. This we will do instead: We will make you beautiful and return you to your home. When you think you have learned what you must learn, come to us again, if you wish.”

When the mechs came to lead her away, she clutched at the fox-faced old man’s hand for a moment, then went, teary-eyed and smiling.

The old man was next. The judges’ conference was short and Hemerthe’s pronouncement definite. “You are one of ours,” she said.