“The Yellowleaf states: You have been briefly amusing, but now it’s time to get down to business. You are not Ruiz Aw, comfort boy with a high pain threshold. You are Ruiz Aw, once an unsuccessful emancipator, of late a slayer under contract to the Art League. Abandon all pretense; henceforward it will earn you nothing but pain that even you will be unable to endure.”
“Yes, Master,” said Ruiz numbly.
“The Yellowleaf informs you: We attempted to peel your mind, without significant success. We find certain aspects of your mind intriguing. It may be that you will find yourself serving Roderigo in an important capacity.”
Here Gejas paused, while The Yellowleaf continued to watch him with her dead eyes.
“Yes, Master,” Ruiz said.
“The Yellowleaf elaborates: A situation exists in Sea-Stack. Roderigo is interested. The Yellowleaf has recently been entrusted with the responsibility of clarifying this situation. The Yellowleaf asks: What do you know of the matter which has caused the Lords of SeaStack to destroy each other with such reckless ferocity?”
“Master, almost nothing.”
“The Yellowleaf states: This may be the truth. We could find no evidence of such knowledge in your peel. The Yellowleaf asks: Would you accept a contract from Roderigo to obtain this knowledge?”
Ruiz felt an absurd twinge of hope. “Yes, Master.” He would agree to anything, if it meant a chance to get away from Roderigo.
“The Yellowleaf laughs. The Yellowleaf states: The only way you will ever leave Roderigo’s control is as a mindwiped body, or on a hook in the freezerhold. But if you agree to attempt a job for us, your life, as long as you may live, will be easier and more comfortable. This is the best you can hope for. The Yellowleaf asks: Is this so negligible?”
“No, Master,” said Ruiz, sadly.
“The Yellowleaf elaborates: On the island of Dorn, there once existed a great library. Now nothing remains but ruins and a repository virtual, unfortunately damaged in whatever catastrophe destroyed the library. Roderigo has reason to believe that data pertaining to the SeaStack matter resides in this virtual. A number of submen such as Gejas have been sent to consult the virtual; all have been killed or mentally damaged. No useful data has been obtained. Recently a hetman was sent, The Redrock, a person of obdurate power. He returned in a nonfunctional condition, and we were forced to rusticate him to his dacha in the north mountains. He can almost feed himself.”
Gejas paused. Again Ruiz sensed the communication between tongue and hetman, a current that sparkled unseen beneath the surface.
Finally Gejas spoke again. “The Yellowleaf states: Your mind combines several uncommon features. It is so well protected by self-circuited traps and synaptic lockdowns as to be virtually impenetrable, barring destructive deconstruction. Yet you retain a remarkable flexibility; you have one of the highest adaptability indices our technicians have ever recorded. You are a valuable prize indeed. If you were not crippled by your unevolved ethical constructs, you could expect a bright future on Roderigo. Still, we must make the best possible use of your talents. We will get our use of you, one way or another.”
“Yes, Master,” Ruiz said uncertainly.
“The Yellowleaf emphasizes: Do not think to deceive us with a facade of cooperation. We understand that you would agree to anything that offered a chance of escape. No such chance will ever come to you.”
“No, Master.”
Gejas tore his attention away from the hetman with a grimace, as though the act caused him physical pain. He touched a control pad at his wrist, and the wall to Ruiz’s right opened. Inside a dark niche sat a restraint chair fitted with a crude holomnemonic probe.
Gejas seized Ruiz’s arm and thrust him down into the chair. In contrast to the hygienic purity of the room, the niche and chair were spattered with dried blood and other unpleasant substances. A thick crust covered the seat of the chair and scraped at Ruiz’s naked skin.
Cuffs snapped shut on his ankles and wrists, and the probe’s hood descended over his face. The stink of death was so strong in the hood that he gagged.
“The Yellowleaf asks: Will you accept this assignment: to be transported to Dorn and taken to the virtual, there to merge with it and seek the data we require, with no hope of later reward other than the treatment we accord any valuable property?”
The hood was like a grave, slimy with the juices of corruption. “Yes! Yes, Master. Yes!”
Ruiz felt himself to be smothering in the ghosts of all those the hetman had given to death in this place; he could barely breathe. It seemed a very long time before Gejas spoke again. “The Yellowleaf speaks with anger: You are insincere.”
“No! Master!” And in fact, Ruiz felt that he would do anything to get out of the terrible embrace of the probe.
“The Yellowleaf states: You have yet to realize the parameters of your situation. Were you an ordinary property, you would now become a carcass for the freezerhold. The Yellowleaf demonstrates flexibility: You are remanded to another job which exploits your unique skills, until such time as you gain an appreciation for your altered circumstances.”
Ruiz heard the hiss of a skinjector against his neck, and he fell down a long dark tunnel.
Chapter 6
Ruiz woke. At first he was blind, but gradually a low red glow illuminated his surroundings.
He sat in a cold metal chair, still naked. An armored cable connected the chair to a steel band welded around his waist. The band was so tight it cut into his ribs if he slumped even slightly. He straightened up and looked about.
The chair sat on a platform, perhaps three meters square, with a double railing on three sides. At the open end of the platform, a conveyor rail passed at waist height.
He could see nothing else. The conveyor came from darkness and disappeared into a deeper darkness.
A horrible smell hung in the silent air — fresh blood and old decay and excrement — a hideous abattoir stink.
He stood and went to the conveyor rail, pulling his cable behind him. It gave him just enough slack that he could stand beside the rail. A metal pier supported the rail at the platform; to this pier was riveted a box, from which the handle of a knife protruded. Ruiz jerked it out, examined it. The blade was thin and displayed the fine glitter of a monomol edge — a well-equipped butcher might own such a knife. The lid of the box had a catch; he turned it.
Inside was a curved piece of plastic, to which was attached a length of clear tubing. He drew it forth. Where had he seen a similar thing recently? He began to have a very bad feeling.
“Can you guess what it is, Ruiz Aw?” Gejas spoke from someplace close, startling Ruiz so that he almost dropped the knife.
Gejas clicked on his floater’s lights, revealing his presence only a few meters away. He wore a mirrorsuit, causing Ruiz to suppress his first wild impulse, which was to fling the knife.
Gejas seemed to sense his impulse; a throaty chuckle came from the faceless mask of the mirrorsuit. “Can you guess?” he asked again.
Ruiz looked at the plastic thing and a memory suddenly returned to him — Gejas cutting the throat of the cabin boy Svin and saving the blood. “Yes… Master,” he said, feeling a cold stomach-turning dread.
“You needn’t be so formal with me,” said Gejas cheerfully. “We’re just submen together, eh? Still, I have all the power, so perhaps it’s wise for you to show me as much respect as you can stomach.”
Ruiz was too busy examining the implications of his situation to answer. What “job” had The Yellowleaf assigned him?
As if reading his mind, Gejas said, “You’re our new knacker, Ruiz Aw. I’ll explain the procedure. The cattle come down the conveyor and pause by your station. You cut their throats — I’ll show you precisely how it’s done — and then you apply the leech. That’s all there is to it. The blood, by the way, is jellied and sold to the Blades as a condiment. Strange folk, the Blades. We could do the knackery much more efficiently; we have one of the finest automation systems in the pangalac worlds. But the cannibals want bled-out meat, done the old-fashioned way — and the customer’s always right. Right? Besides, they sometimes send inspectors.”