He tapped at the flatscreen communit; it came to life. One of Publius’s more subtle monsters appeared, a woman with a curiously elongated body. Her eyes had large violet pupils surrounded with glowing red sclera. It was Ruiz’s theory that each of Publius’s monsters contained an equal portion of grotesqueness; this one evidently carried most of her strangeness within.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’d like to see Publius now,” Ruiz said.
“I’ll send a guide. Publius left orders that you were to be brought to him without delay, whenever you requested it.”
The guide was an eel-thin woman with gray elastic skin and the face of a predatory fish. She wore a bubbler over her gills and spoke through a vocalizer. “Come with me,” she ordered, and said nothing else.
Publius was working in his personal lab, bent over a microsurgery unit. An infant lay anesthetized on a tray, the skin on one side of its face peeled back; Publius was carving at the baby’s facial musculature, using resonating laser pinbeams.
Ruiz choked back his revulsion and waited until Publius finished and turned the closing over to the machine.
“I do a little freehand work, from time to time,” said Publius. “It keeps me from becoming overly dependent on the tech, keeps my fingers bloody, so to speak.”
“Let’s talk about this job you want me to do,” said Ruiz.
“Certainly. Have you devised a way of reinforcing my promises?” Publius seemed vastly amused, as if he was certain that no matter how clever Ruiz was, Publius would be able to thwart him.
“Not a completely satisfactory one. But first, tell me how exactly you intend to get me offworld.”
Publius shrugged. “I’d intended to retain my flexibility, Ruiz. You know me, a creature of opportunity. I’ll do whatever seems best, at the time.”
Ruiz gave him a wry look. “Unsatisfactory. I must ask you to be more specific, Publius.”
Publius drummed his fingers impatiently on the infant’s gurney. “All right, all right, if you must be so compulsively suspicious, I’ll tell you what I had in mind — though I must say your attitude is rather unfriendly.”
Ruiz laughed sourly. What could he answer?
“When you return, Ruiz, crowned with success, I propose to cash in a favor owed to me by one of the pirate lords. He will transport you to one of the Shard platforms, where you can get commercial transport back to Dilvermoon.”
Ruiz frowned. “So, now I must trust not only you but some starpirate? I’m not reassured.”
Publius made an exasperated sound. “Really, you try my patience with your endless suspicions. Well then, if you cannot trust me, I will offer to wear madcollars with you, and accompany you up to the platform and into Shard jurisdiction.”
Ruiz had not expected Publius to make so bold a suggestion. Madcollars were a fairly effective trucial technology. Two persons forced to devise a way to trust each other for short periods would each don explosive collars, which could be activated by an impulse from the hand controllers each held. However, if one wearer lost his head or otherwise perished, the other’s collar would instantly explode. They were equipped with volitional filters, so that they could not be activated against the wearer’s will. Once the collars were locked on, they could only be removed by mutual consent. Their major limitation was that they were short-range devices; distance or the interposition of a suitably massive object rendered them useless.
“You would wear them with me now?” Ruiz asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have great faith in your skills — you know this — but you are after all undertaking a very dangerous piece of work.”
“Ah,” said Ruiz. “So the problem remains — how can I trust you until I’ve done the job?”
Publius shrugged. “It’s your problem, Ruiz. Didn’t your night of scheming birth any plans?”
“I’m not sure. Tell me, do you own a Gench?”
Publius’s face curdled slightly, as though he had bitten into an astringent fruit. “Yes. What of it?”
“More than one?”
“Yes, yes. Three, in fact, though one is almost moribund and one barely trained.”
“Ah. Excellent,” said Ruiz, feeling a slight degree of hope. “Then here is my proposaclass="underline" Allow one of your Gench to accompany me, wearing a madcollar with me. I’ll rely on your cupidity; even you aren’t rich enough to throw away a Gench. When we return, I’ll unlock the Gench as soon as you’re locked with me, and everyone will be safe and happy.”
“Absurd!” barked Publius. “Why would I risk so major a portion of my fortune?” His face filled with a snarling anger, but as Ruiz had hoped, a duplicitous gleam flickered behind his eyes.
“Because you have such great faith in my skills.”
Publius fumed and shouted for fifteen minutes, but in the end, he agreed to lend Ruiz his youngest and least valuable Gench.
And Ruiz was thankful that Publius’s vast arrogance had caused him to underestimate Ruiz’s subtlety.
When Lensh returned with Remint from their visit to Flomel in the pen, the pilot seemed to have gotten over his initial fear.
“Good news,” he called, bouncing into the suite. “Guess who we found?”
Remint stepped forward swiftly and took Lensh by the arm, gave him a shake that rattled his teeth. “Shut up, beast,” he said. “I will inform; this is how I choose to perform my duties.” There was no emotion in that pronouncement, just a cold intensity.
Corean shivered, but she kept her face as expressionless as Remint’s. “What did you find?”
“We found your other slaves,” said Remint. “I conclude that Ruiz Aw is no longer in Deepheart; your slave Flomel made statements that support this conclusion.”
Corean couldn’t help smiling. “Good news, indeed. And what did Flomel say?”
“He reports that the others are convinced that Ruiz Aw has abandoned them to the slave market. My assessment is that this is likely.”
“I was right,” Corean said to Marmo. “You see, he’s a lot like me… but I’m far more intelligent. How should we proceed?”
Remint regarded her stonily. “My hypothesis is that he is unlikely to return for his profits; no doubt he has made arrangements to receive his funds remotely, if at all. Unless I can obtain access to the others — so that I can put them under brainpeel — or unless we can coerce the pen into cooperation, the trail ends there.”
Corean sat on the couch and looked up at Remint. “I don’t think we can get the pen to help us — their business depends on their reputation for incorruptibility. So, we’ll take the others. Let’s buy them, though it galls me to pay out good money for things I already own.”
Remint gave his head a single negative shake. “Not possible. Ruiz Aw has placed a hold order on them for a week — I checked with the management.”
Marmo stirred. “Perhaps he intends to return for them, after all.”
“Unlikely,” said Remint. “Probably he hopes to thwart our investigations until the trail has grown cold.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Corean. “So, we must take them from the pen by force.”
Marmo floated forward and protested. “Corean! You’ll bring the pirate lords down on us. Your passion for revenge is out of hand; please, come to your senses!”
Corean turned to him and spoke in a deadly voice. “Marmo, you don’t understand the issues here. The matter has gone far beyond personal vengeance now; our survival is at stake. Remint, see to it.”
He nodded, and turned to leave. “Come, Lensh,” he said. “We must hire some firewood; we will need decoys.”
Lensh turned pleading eyes to Corean, but she looked back impassively. He hung his head and left.
Six hours later, Remint returned, leading the four dazed Pharaohans, who were chained together in a coffle. Flomel looked up with haunted eyes, recognized her, and cried out. “Lady Corean. I’m so happy to see you. Can you get me out of these chains. Your man was most disrespectful.”