The Pharoah Contract

“Hereditary enemies,” Bolard said with a chuckle. “The womb can mature a clone about every six weeks. These two will be matched against each other afresh, as long as the womb survives. The only time they’re happy is when they’re allowed to get on with the business of killing each other. It will be a long six weeks for those two.” Bolard laughed again. “I suppose the funniest part of it is that they consider themselves to be the luckiest of beings, blessed, immortal, better than we who come to see them die.”

There were more duels, for hours, and Bolard grew merrier as Ruiz sickened. But finally it was over, and robot strainers swept through the bloody soup that now filled the arena.

“Did you enjoy the entertainment, Scion?” asked Bolard.

Ruiz shook himself, and turned his eyes to the factor. “It was inventive at first, if you enjoy spectator sports.”

Bolard looked just the least bit uncertain. “Scion?”

“Does watching ever bore you, Factor? Don’t you long to dip your own hands in hot gore?” Ruiz fixed a bloodthirsty rictus on his face. “I do.”

Bolard had gone pale. “Lord Preall reserves that for himself and his closest cronies, I’m afraid, Scion. Er… are you among those?”

Ruiz said nothing, but Bolard must have seen something frightening in Ruiz’s eyes. “Well, it has been a great pleasure, Scion, but now I must be getting back to my ship. We lift for the Archplate at dawn.”

He stood, edging away. Ruiz got up and slid swiftly to the door. A long moment passed before Ruiz spoke. “I’ll walk along with you for a bit, Factor.”

Bolard gathered his dignity. “As you wish,” he said.

* * *

Marmo forgot his game. He activated the line to Corean’s quarters. “Corean,” Marmo said in his artificial voice, “he’s going to the landing zone with the merchant.”

Chapter 21

Ruiz kept a tight grip on Bolard’s plump arm as they left the box and followed a ring corridor built into the arena’s shell. As they walked, other departing guests joined them, until the corridor was crowded with weary revelers. They gave Ruiz no more than an occasional curious glance. Ruiz contained his disgust.

Ruiz saw that the merchant’s doubts were flourishing. Even a less astute observer might have developed reservations by this time. In any case, the merchant was still afraid of him, and that was the important thing, more important than shoring up the Macchias identity. The fear showed in Bolard’s rolling eye, in the sweat that beaded on his neck, in the way he hunched his shoulders, as if fearing the impact of a knife.

Ruiz decided to accelerate Bolard’s doubts and fears, and he adopted a different persona, that of a dangerous maniac. Now Ruiz began to roll his own eyes, and smiled wickedly — and, with the sort of antic enthusiasm favored by madmen, said things like “Bolard, I like you!” or “Aren’t we having a fine time?” And then he would clout Bolard on the back or give him a bone-cracking hug.

Bolard’s answering smile grew sicklier each time.

A hundred meters ahead, the ring corridor came to an end at a ramp, where the guests were stepping onto waiting freefloat platforms. These sank from sight, to be replaced by empties. At the ramp two large men waited. They wore matching tunics and trousers of a subtly military cut. Ruiz identified them immediately as security, and he tightened his grip on Bolard, who squeaked.

Ruiz’s leisurely pace, however, did not alter as they approached the guards. “Tell me of your ship,” he said to Bolard, giving Bolard’s arm another squeeze.

“It’s a Terratonic Personal, Scion. Not fancy, but it suits me. Another time perhaps, I can show you about, if you like, though there’s not that much to see.”

Ruiz cursed under his breath. The fat merchant’s boat was only an insystem runabout, not much good to Ruiz. It had doubtless been dropped from a stellar ferry. Even if Ruiz got the boat into the atmosphere, escape would be uncertain. He’d still have to find a friendly launch ring and convince Sook’s alien owners to permit him to wait aboard one of their platforms until a League vessel called. He wrenched his thoughts away from the problem and gave his attention to the immediate problem: the guards.

The guards were too well trained to oppress the guests with impolitely direct glances, but their eyes missed very little. Their body language betrayed a rising tension as he and Bolard approached the bubble ramp.

“Friend Bolard,” Ruiz spoke into the merchant’s ear. “Do you have anything to tell me? Think carefully!”

“Whatever do you mean, Scion?” Bolard’s voice cracked in alarm.

“I mean this: You would certainly want to help us avoid any trouble, would you not? After all, we’d surely face it together, eh? Two such comrades as we?”