The Emperor of Everything

Publius nodded at the false Yubere, who set his snifter aside and leaned forward, an earnest look on his unremarkable face. “I’ve concentrated the majority of my security forces in the upper and most accessible levels of the stronghold, as you might expect. They consist, as far as I know, of a half squad of SeedCorp-trained shock troops, a dozen or so killmechs manufactured recently by Violencia-Muramasa, and a semisapient surveillance network installed four years ago by Clearlight Robotics. The design of the upper level secured accesses is along conventional lines, so far as I know — top-level reception area with holosim negotiation facilities, state-of-the-art security locks, and cross-channeled baffled elevator shafts. Pretty much impregnable, without the use of heavy weapons — and of course the use of weapons heavy enough to breach my defenses would bring swift reaction from the Shards.”

“I only wish my own defenses were so formidable,” said Publius. “But continue.”

The puppet nodded. “Then on the second level are barracks for my troops and mechanisms. Below that, my living quarters — also heavily defended, though less rigorously than topside. Then a level of labs and holding areas where I do my work.”

“And what might that be?” asked Ruiz.

Before the false Yubere could answer, Publius spoke up. “No need to go into that, Alonzo.”

A spasm of mindlessness twitched over the puppet’s face, was almost instantly gone. Watching, Ruiz felt a mixture of horror and morbid curiosity. It was as if the puppet had suffered a tiny disconnection from the fabric of the moment, had briefly existed in another reality.

But he mustn’t allow himself to be distracted, Ruiz decided. “No. I need to know more than you’re telling me. Besides, won’t I see what he’s up to when I come up through that level. Your attitude worries me, Publius. It’s almost as though you don’t expect me to survive.”

Publius stared malevolently at Ruiz. Finally he spoke in a grudging voice. “Oh, as you wish. Tell him, Alonzo.”

The puppet smiled genially. “I make reliable people. Or to put it another way, I make people reliable.”

A long slow moment passed, while Ruiz’s brain processed this data, while his mind was painlessly blank — and then understanding roared in. Oh, no, thought Ruiz. This is where the Gencha are, this is where Corean was sending us. This is where the League wanted me to die. The death net groaned and shuddered in the blackness at the bottom of his mind — but this time he felt its crumbling structure rupture and tear. He was for a measureless time suspended between life and death, only dimly aware of the puppet chattering on, of Publius watching him with startled concern, of the chair that held him, of the air he could no longer breathe — of the essence of himself, slipping away. His inner voice shrieked wordless warnings; he swayed and his eyes rolled up, so that all he could see was a ruddy darkness, and the stars of experience shooting across that warm nothingness.

Then it was over, and Publius was pressing him back into his chair, holding an injector in one manicured hand.

“No!” shouted Ruiz. He shoved Publius away and the monster-maker, caught by surprise, went stumbling back. “I’m all right.”

Publius held the injector ready. “You had me worried — I thought Yubere had run a ringer in on me — beat me to the slice.” He still looked undecided. “That look you had… it speaks to me of Gencha work.”

“It was Gencha work,” Ruiz said. “A death net.” He wiped at the sudden sweat beaded on his brow. He looked into himself, waiting for the weight of the net, but it was gone.

And he was still alive.

Publius was looking at him as if he had just made a sour joke. “Of course,” he sneered. “So why-are you still alive?”

Ruiz laughed, a sound of shaky delight. “I wore it down, I guess. But enough of that — what lies under Yubere’s labs?”

The puppet answered as though nothing had happened. “My dungeons.”

“And below that?”

“Unknown,” interrupted Publius, before the puppet could speak. Ruiz had the definite impression that the puppet had been about to say something else, but it was pointless to press it. On the instant the puppet’s master had spoken, the puppet’s reality had changed — now the ringer believed what Publius had asserted. “In any case,” Publius continued, “the ingress you’ll use connects to the level of the dungeons, we think… so the unexplored depths of the stack are irrelevant to your mission.”

“So you say.”

“Yes, I do,” said Publius smugly.

“Let me get this straight. You intend that I should dive down — how many meters?”

“Six hundred and thirty-six,” said the puppet helpfully, eliciting a displeased glare from Publius.