He considered the potential sources of leverage.
Honorable folk could be bound by promises; Publius would promise him everything and it would mean nothing.
He was in no position to employ fear; Publius would laugh at his threats, and rightly so.
Could he somehow use the dribble of information Publius had divulged? The idea had possibilities, but he was morosely certain that Publius would never let him near a data-stream terminal — the one in his suite had been hurriedly removed by two of the monster-maker’s technicians. And to whom could he confide his damaging story, who would keep it safe until and unless Ruiz failed to return? His only friends on Sook were locked up in a slave pen. It occurred to him that he should have spent a little more time on devising a safe place for them to hide. But at the time, he had been sure that Corean would be hot on his trail — and the matter had seemed urgent.
Greed seemed the best possibility. How could he divert the torrent of Publius’s greed into a useful channel, use it to drive the turbines of Ruiz’s own purposes?
He shook his head, as if to shake loose the cobwebs of distraction. He sat down and stretched overly tight muscles. Now was a time for clear thinking, if ever there was one. He took a deep breath, composed himself.
First, what did Publius value? His reputation was evidently not as important to Publius as it once had been. His labs, of course, but Ruiz could see no way to hold that huge facility hostage without assistance. His monsters, his employees? No… Publius had often declared that no one in the universe is irreplaceable — except, of course, Publius.
What else, then? Was there some essential core to Publius’s business that Ruiz could affect single-handed?
He wondered: Did Publius own a Gench? The more he considered the idea, the more likely it seemed. The puppet Publius proposed to substitute for Alonzo Yubere had undergone deconstruction; had it happened in Publius’s own labs? Possibly. If so, was Publius sufficiently eager for Ruiz’s services to risk the Gench as a hostage? I suppose, Ruiz thought, it depends on how much of a gambler Publius is, and on how he rates my chances of success. Presumably Publius hoped to gain access to a larger number of Gencha, if he supplanted Yubere — but if Ruiz failed, Publius would have no Gencha at all. Maybe Publius owned two Gencha — he was probably wealthy enough.
If so, perhaps he would consent to risk one of them.
It didn’t seem enough. What else could he ask for, especially if, as was probable, Publius refused to give him a Gench?
Nothing came to him. He pounded his fists against his forehead, in panicky frustration. What could he do? There must be something; he refused to believe that he was no more than a tool that Publius could pick up, use, and discard. Besides, others depended on him, and on his resourcefulness.
Much as he tried to focus all his attention on the problem of controlling Publius, distracting thoughts kept creeping into his mind.
And all of them concerned Nisa.
Eventually, he dimmed the lights and lay on the bed and forced his body to relax. Perhaps he was too tired to be clever, he thought, and so he willed himself toward sleep.
Remint interrogated Corean to exhaustion, and the process revealed how little she really knew about Ruiz Aw. She found the process unpleasant, but Remint was relentless, and she could not order him to desist without blunting his effectiveness.
What in fact did she know about Ruiz Aw? She knew how he looked, how he moved, how he sounded. She knew that he was a skillful slayer, ruthlessly decisive. To some extent she understood the basis for his almost-pathological self-confidence — or what appeared to be self-confidence. She knew he could be charming. He was an excellent liar, and she was beginning to believe that he had lied to her under the probe… and that he was much more than a freelance slave poacher. How could anyone as effective as Ruiz Aw exist in such obscure circumstances?
Who was he, really… and why had he chosen to inflict himself on her?
The trend of Remint’s investigations veered to the matter of Ruiz Aw’s affiliations. Remint asked a hundred questions about Ruiz’s first escape attempt through the marinarium belonging to Corean’s neighbor, the Farelord Preall.
Eventually Corean grew impatient, and asked, “Do you think he had help? Do you think he’s part of a hostile organization?”
Remint sat back and did not answer immediately.
“Well?” she demanded.
“He had no help; such is my opinion, based on feeble data. He is simply very good, and very lucky.”
Corean looked at the slayer curiously. “You believe in luck? Strange. How can that be?”
Remint shrugged. “How else do you explain the hidden mechanisms of the universe? The fate that spared my brother and destroyed me?” He seemed uninterested in the matter; it was simply an illustrative example, and Corean felt a chilly unease. “In answer to your second question, I believe he was sent by some organization, though perhaps not one specifically hostile to you. He may be a League agent — since they own the world where you’ve been poaching slaves.”
Corean was horrified. “But, he carried no death net! How could he have been League.”
Remint assumed a didactic tone. “In the first place, not all League agents carry the net; this notion is a carefully nurtured myth, designed by the League to intimidate their enemies. In the second place, the nets can be successfully tampered with — not removed, but slowed. From your description of the events at the launch ring, I think it conceivable that Ruiz Aw suffered a partially triggered net at that time.
“But all this is beside the point. Ruiz Aw is presently operating without any outside assistance, in my opinion.
“Now,” said Remint, regaining that lambent intensity. “Tell me about the other slaves he escaped with.”
So she did. He allowed her no privacy, he wanted to know everything, including her plans for Ruiz and the Pharaohan woman Nisa. As she described what she now perceived as her mindless lust, Remint betrayed no sign of disapproval or scorn or titillation, which further reinforced his inhumanity.
Then he asked her about Flomel, and what the mage had told her of Ruiz Aw’s activities since the escape. Then he asked Marmo about Deepheart, and Marmo silently handed the slayer a charged dataslate showing the results of Marmo’s earlier search of the datastream.
Hours later, he abruptly stopped asking questions. He sat back and a veil seemed to fall over his face — it was as if he had stepped out of his body and gone elsewhere.
Corean waited with what equanimity she could summon, but another hour passed before Remint spoke again.
And all he said was: “I see.”
A vast annoyance filled Corean. “So what now, mighty Remint? What will you do with all the weighty conclusions you’ve reached?”
He looked at her, expressionless. “I’ve reached no conclusions,” he said.
“No? Well then, what’s your plan? Will you organize an attack on Deepheart?”
“Premature,” said Remint. “First I must interview your slave Flomel.”
“Why? I’ve told you everything he knows about Ruiz.”
“No, you’ve told me everything he told you about Ruiz. It’s unlikely that these are identical bodies of knowledge.”
“Go, then,” she said, getting up and moving toward her bedroom. “Lensh will take you to the pen.”
As it almost always was, Ruiz’s sleep was dreamless, but his mind must have continued to chew at the problem of controlling Publius, because when he woke, it was with a glimmer of a plan.