The Emperor of Everything

The lights were brighter and more frequent, the floor was covered with soft carpet, and soothing music began to play from hidden speakers. But the weapons pods were still in evidence.

Ruiz turned down a side corridor and found three adjacent cubicles. He ushered Dolmaero and Molnekh into the first two, pressing his palm to the green touchplate of the identifier, then offering his eye to the red retina lens. He dropped a half-dozen Dilvermoon currency wafers in each slot.

Lastly, he opened the door to Nisa’s cubicle. She went inside meekly, but then she turned and stood looking at him, hands clasped, eyes huge. She didn’t smile.

When he pressed the door closure, he felt a wound open in his heart. He struggled with a dreadful feeling that he had just seen her for the last time. No, he thought. It’ll be all right.

But his hopeful thoughts had a cold insubstantial texture.

Corean reached SeaStack just before dark. She sent Fensh up to man the ruptor turret; SeaStack was a dangerous place, even for folk in an armored airboat.

As they crossed the invisible border between the coastal plain with its manors and follies, into the thick air of Sea-Stack, they were hailed by a pirate gunboat, which swooped toward them out of the setting sun and ordered them to heave to.

Fuming at the delay, she told Lensh to comply.

The gunboat slid alongside, all its weapons banks aimed at their flank. The vid chimed and she punched the activate stud.

A scarred old face stared out at her. “Identify yourself,” the pirate said languidly.

“Corean Heiclaro and crew.” She stared back truculently — she had never before been interfered with on her infrequent trips to the pirate city.

“Business in SeaStack?”

“Business,” she snapped.

“Ah,” said the pirate, smiling a wintry smile. “Well, I see by my dataslate that you’re not unknown here in SeaStack — if you’re who you say you are. So you may pass.”

“How gracious of you.”

Now he laughed, as if she were a rude but not very bright child. “I must warn you, we cannot be so gracious if you attempt to leave SeaStack. Conditions are presently unsettled — all departing visitors are subject to brainpeel. Are you certain your business here is compellingly urgent, Corean Heiclaro?”

She snarled and clicked off the vid.

”Are we certain, Corean?” asked Marmo.

She didn’t bother to reply.

“Where shall we stay?” asked Lensh from the pilot’s seat.

“Take us to the Jolly Roger. We may as well plot our revenge in comfort.”

“Excellent choice!” exclaimed Lensh, licking his furry chops.

The Jolly Roger was a hostelry patronized by wealthy pirates and their offworld clients, who might include folk on Sook to ransom kidnapped loved ones, or mercantilists in SeaStack to buy pirated cargoes, or mediafolk there to interview famous marauders for the vid conglomerates. It had a reputation for reasonable safety, as long as patrons maintained their own stringent security.

They left the airboat in a locked, heavily hardened revetment. Corean ordered Fensh to remain on board, to his irritation — but she was taking no chances.

Their suite was satisfactory; with separate bedrooms for all of them, and a separate entryway where the Moc might be sealed away from sight and the worst of its odor.

After her shower, Corean felt a return of confidence and a slight lessening of urgency. She lounged on a large divan, wrapped in a warm robe, while Lensh expertly combed out her hair.

“What now?” asked Marmo.

“In the morning, we’ll visit the slave markets. Ruiz Aw will have sold the others by now; he’ll need cash, and they hamper his flexibility.”

Marmo made a skeptical sound. “Are you sure? When he took the boat, I got the very strong impression he valued the woman.” Marmo rubbed at his neck, as if remembering the touch of Ruiz’s knife.

“Nonsense. He’ll get rid of them — it’s what I’d do, and he’s not so different from me.”

Ruiz drove the boat at its highest speed, westward through the dark labyrinth at the heart of SeaStack. The night concealed him, and turned the waterways into dimly lit canyons, traveled only by other unlighted vessels. Several times Ruiz avoided collisions only at the last instant. He began to worry that his concentration was faltering.

He had hoped that in hiding the Pharaohans in as safe a place as he could find, he would feel a release from the weight of responsibility that had descended on him since he had arrived on Sook. But in fact he felt the burden more heavily than before. He could not completely clear his mind; he kept foreseeing dreadful possible futures. In his mind’s eye, he saw Nisa waiting in her cubicle as the days passed… until one day the guards came to take her to the market. He wondered if she would be angry with him, if he died before he could return for her. He hoped so — it would be easier for her if she could fix her bitterness on him.