The Empire of Ruin

by Robert I. Katz

  “Ah,” he said. “Perhaps you can offer them as presents.”

  “Perhaps I can let somebody buy them who has a use for them, but thank you for the suggestion.” She walked away, shaking her head. The manager looked annoyed, probably wondering what the woman was doing here if she had no intention of buying. Browsing, Michael supposed. Some people just liked to look.

  The larger booths displayed the property in elegant clothing or lingerie or bathing gear. Some were posed unmoving with expressions of surprise on their faces or wide, welcoming smiles or inviting grins.

  Michael paused at one display with over twenty young people motionless on a stage. “How long did it take to train them?” he asked.

  The display manager gave him a big smile, sizing him up. “Not long at all. Their controls make them obedient.”

  “Obedient is good,” Michael said.

  “They’ll do anything you ask.” The manager was tall and thin, with an even tan and an expensive looking haircut. Michael hated him on sight. “Anything at all.”

  Michael frowned. “If I were to purchase one and order him to…oh, I don’t know…kill a few people at random, would he do it?”

  The manager frowned back. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No.”

  The manager nodded. “Yes, of course, he would do it. He would have to, but legally, the owner is the responsible party. It would be no different than if you had used a gun and pulled the trigger yourself. You’re the one who would be punished for the crime.”

  “What would happen to the property?”

  “It would be re-sold to somebody else.”

  “Sounds like an excellent system,” Michael said.

  “We think so.”

  Booth after booth, display after display, all of the merchandise physically fit and healthy; Some were destined for more intellectual pursuits than sex work or manual labor. A few were clerks or legal assistants, or corporate executives fallen on hard times. One was a physician.

  “What’s his story?” Michael asked.

  “Gambling.” The display manager shrugged. “An unfortunate vice. He had to sell himself. It was the only way to pay his debt.”

  The hapless physician stood alone on a small stage, wearing a surgical gown, his face white, looking miserable.

  “What do you think he’ll bring?” Michael asked.

  “Hard to say. I took him on consignment, so I’ll make a profit no matter what he goes for. I suspect that plenty of the nobility would like a personal physician on permanent call.”

  “He doesn’t look like he’s good for much, though, aside from doctoring, I mean.”

  The manager looked at the physician, now a piece of property, with a critical eye. The doctor did have a noticeable paunch. “They’ll probably put him on an exercise program, get him into shape.”

  “He’d certainly be more useful that way,” Michael said. “Maximize the value. He can shovel out the stables when nobody needs to be cured.”

  The manager shrugged and barely smiled. “Sometimes you get surprised. Sometimes prime merchandise goes begging and other times, a bidding war comes out of nowhere and the shoddiest stuff goes for big money. We’ll see.”

  The physician stood there on the podium, his eyes darting from Michael’s face to the manager’s, alone, forlorn and miserable. Poor fucker.

  “What does his family have to say?” Michael asked.

  “They’ve disowned him. Nobody wants to be responsible for another man’s obsessions. Or their debts.”

  “Makes sense,” Michael said. “That’s what I’d do.”

  Strange, how all the shoppers and browsers seemed to see nothing weird or repellant or discordant in the scene. They were out for an afternoon, free and happy and thinking about purchasing a few slaves. The slaves? Property. Just property. Where was the common humanity? The empathy? The compassion? It didn’t exist. Did none of them see a connection? Did none of them think that maybe, but for the grace of God, it could be me up there on that platform? Apparently not.

  The Imperium was not the average rinky-dink star empire. It wasn’t as large as the Second Empire but was strong enough to be approached with trepidation and respect. In the normal course of things, the Second Empire and the Imperium would be likely to collide sometime in the next century.

  Slavery changed things. The Second Empire would not tolerate slavery. They might not come in with guns blazing. They might pursue a little diplomacy and then maybe some covert action before letting the cold war turn hot, but in the end, the Imperium would change its ways or be destroyed. That was not up for negotiation.

  But this was not the normal course of events and the Second Empire was not going to wait a century, because the Imperium, or some entity apparently associated with it, was hijacking ships, taking slaves and blowing up military bases in the Second Empire.

  It was an often forgotten truism that it takes two to make peace but only one to make a war. If they’re kidnapping your people and attacking your installations, then you’re at war, whether you want to be or not.

  Chapter 27

  Richard Norlin had been looking forward to the evening, and so far, it had lived up to his expectations. For some reason, the twins and Lady Egidia seemed to have developed a special fondness for him.

  Richard, though his current circumstances didn’t show it, had been very, very wealthy for his entire life. He lacked the sharp, acquisitive gleam in the eye of the other guards. Maybe that was it. Oh, Egidia occasionally invited a few of the others into her bedroom, but none of them more than once. Egidia lived a happy life and she wanted the people around her to be happy, as well. To Egidia, happiness naturally tended to express itself in physical ways, but something about the other members of her security tended to put her off after a bit.

  Not Richard. Richard was just as easy-going and happy as Egidia and the twins. Strange to think, considering the life that Michael Glover had rescued him from and the things he had been involved in since that wondrous day, but since leaving Norlin, life had become so much more interesting with, from Richard’s point of view, no real worries at all.

  The other guards resented him, just a bit, but they were pros. The boss lady wanted to fuck Richard, the boss lady got to fuck Richard.

  And so here they were, at a party. It certainly wasn’t the first. Brett and Stephanie were there too, of course. Egidia went nowhere without her teenage treasures. They were amazing together, Richard thought, like three peas in a pod, giggling, laughing, hands all over each other. No inhibitions at all. Happy. Everyone noticed them, some with disdain, some with envy. Richard wasn’t quite a part of this inner circle, more like an electron orbiting close to the nucleus that the three of them comprised, but then, Richard still had a job, two jobs, really: security and spying. The spying part was pretty much pro forma, at this point. Nothing to spy on. Nothing to find. The security part was real but most of the time didn’t require much in the way of effort or thought.

  The party was at a large house owned by an old friend of Egidia’s, named Elise Montaigne. Elise had three grown daughters and a son, all well established with careers of their own. Her last husband had amicably left some years before and now Elise Montaigne amused herself.

  The theme for tonight was Versailles. Richard had never heard of Louis XIV prior to the announcement of the party but Egidia and the twins had enjoyed researching the period and dressing up in white, powdered wigs and low cut satin dresses with hoop skirts for the ladies, wigs and tight silk pantaloons for the men.

  Frankly, Richard thought the whole thing ridiculous but his was not to reason why. He smiled and went along. Certainly, no reason not to. So here he was, his pantaloons long since discarded, lying between the legs of a slim brunette, his head spinning after a bout of extremely vigorous sex. His partner still had her legs wrapped around his back, heels pressing into his rear-end and Richard was politely allowing her to decide when (or if) to let go.

  On the other si
de of the room, Stephanie moved her hips back and forth, a look of intent concentration on her face while sitting on top of a well built, otherwise naked man who looked faintly absurd in a long white wig. Egidia, also naked, perched on a couch (covered with a stain resistant velvet duvet: a smart precaution, considering), her legs crossed beneath her, sipping a glass of champagne and surveying the room with a pleased smile on her face.

  Brett was nowhere to be seen, presumably somewhere else in the spacious house, amusing and being amused by a few more of the guests.

  Servants circulated around the room, carefully avoiding random bodies strewn across the floor, offering drinks and succulent tidbits from polished, silver trays.

  A face hovered over Richard’s. “Drink, sir?” the face asked.

  Richard blinked. He shook his head, still mildly dazed. “Huh?”

  The face remained carefully blank but Richard imagined that he saw just a hint of condescension cross over it. “Champagne? Something to nibble on?”

  Richard stared at the face. “No,” he finally said. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  The servant gave a dignified nod, rose and went on to the next party-goer.

  The woman lying beneath Richard gave a long sigh and unwrapped her legs from around Richard’s ass. Dazed, Richard rolled off her, then stumbled to his feet.

  He shook his head and grinned in amazement and delight. He couldn’t help himself. Finally, after all this time, a real live clue. Who would have thought?

  The auction was just as long and revolting as Michael had imagined. Individuals, mostly. A few pairs and even a couple of small groups, family units being sold together. Most were dressed (costumed, rather) to display their best feature: beautiful face, wide shoulders, muscular chest, strong arms and legs, an exceptional pair of breasts. They paraded up to the stage and posed while the auctioneer worked the crowd.

  “How much am I offered, ladies and gentleman, for this fine young specimen? He’s seventeen years old, in perfect health, strong as an ox and certified for general manual labor…”

  Blah, blah, blah. The words were all the same and might as well be meaningless.

  Of course they were beautiful, excepting a rare few like the gambling obsessed physician. He would be too, once his new owners got through making him over, unless they decided to turn him into a grotesque, just for fun. Of course, they were all healthy and strong and, oh yes, obedient. Body sculpting, for those who wanted it, was not exactly cheap but wasn’t going to break the bank, either; and a little injection of a tiny genetic seed that would grow into an engulfing octopus around their brains made it all just as pleasant and easy and inexorable as could be.

  Household robots could have been manufactured cheaply enough, machines to take care of the housework and the gardening, even sexbots realistic and skilled enough to fool any except an expert in the field (cybernetics, that is. Sex was another field, but good enough to fool them, too). No. The Imperium didn’t want mechanical servants. It wanted the real thing. It wanted slaves, because it was so much fun to have other people under your control who would do absolutely anything you wanted them to do.

  Not much fun for the slaves, though, but who cared about them? Nobody who counted, that was for sure.

  Michael grimaced, revolted. The Second Empire did have a touch of the same disease, though, just a touch. The rich of Terra Nova and Reliance and all the other so-called civilized worlds of the Empire preferred human servants to robots. A mark of status, that they had real, live human beings to do the menial labor. But none of them were slaves. Michael clung to that thought. They could, if they wished (and if they could afford it, don’t forget that) tell the boss to take this job and shove it and plenty of them did.

  Joanna Granger sold for a very large sum. Unlike almost all the rest, Joanna showed some spirit. The bidding came down to two men, neither of whom appeared notable in any way. Finally, when one of them seemed to hesitate, she said, “Come on, I’m worth a lot more than that.” She stood up tall, thrust out her impressive chest and sent a dazzling smile into the crowd. She was a beautiful girl, Michael reflected. The bidder blinked and grinned, then shrugged and upped his bid, which inspired the opposing bidder to dig in his heels. She ultimately went for almost a thousand credits more than expected.

  The other six kept their mouths shut and sold for modest prices. Two went to large corporations who would presumably rent out their services, two to high ranking officers in the Imperium Navy, one, a pretty girl with a sweet, earnest face, to a member of the Imperium Parliament, which gave Michael some hope that this absurd venture might actually bear some fruit. The last, a small young girl with a figure too voluptuous for her age was sold to a family, presumably for domestic service or perhaps to give a child just entering his teenage years a body servant.

  The morning turned to afternoon and then dragged on into evening, while humanity’s forsaken stood upon the stage and the audience cheered and hollered, the hum of the crowd rising and falling with each purchase and sale. Michael didn’t stay for most of it. Once the seven that he and his crew had delivered to the Imperium had all been sold, he left. He was too disgusted to stay any longer.

  “Timothy Rice,” Arcturus said with amazement. “I wasn’t expecting to see him again.” He cracked a smile. “Not alive, at any rate.”

  “So where has he been?” Richard asked. “And where did he come from?”

  “He’s not a member of Elise Montaigne’s household. It was a large party. A few of her guests were asked to bring along some extra servants.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Richard said.

  Arcturus’ smile widened. “Linda Prescott Jones.”

  “Lydia’s daughter?”

  “Yes,” Arcturus said. “Apparently, she inherited more than just some credits and a share of the estate.”

  “I was under the impression that Lydia didn’t have much to do with her family.”

  “That was the impression that they gave. Perhaps it was wrong.”

  “Perhaps,” Richard said.

  Nothing happened for two days, then they received a transmission from Rachel Porter, the sweet-faced girl who had been sold to Addison Steele, member of Parliament. All of them listened to it, gathered together in the ship’s enormous lounge.

  Anson, used to working on a need-to-know basis, had objected at first to the way that Michael ran his operation. Curly, Rosanna and the rest had no business knowing the plans, much less participating in their formulation. Michael had curtly cut him off. “It’s my ship and my crew. I’ll run it the way I want. Get used to it.”

  It might be too much to say that Anson had gotten used to it, but he had at least stopped objecting.

  The transmission was a recording between Steele and Bertrand Petrosian, who happened to be a Sub-Minister for Defense as well as an old friend of Steele’s. They had been lounging together at the side of a heated pool while Steele’s latest purchase catered to their needs.

  “It’s going well,” Petrosian remarked. “Lenin once said, ‘When it comes time to hang the capitalists, they will be eager to sell us the rope.’ Amazing, how often history has shown that observation to be true.”

  “Didn’t he also make some comments regarding ‘useful idiots?’”

  “He did, didn’t he?” Petrosian grunted. “Not so hard, girl.”

  “Sorry, sir,” Rachel said.

  “It’s a brilliant plan,” Steele said. “Like Jiu-jitsu. Turn the enemy’s strengths into a weakness.”

  “An open society is a vulnerable society. The so-called ‘Second Empire’ should be more careful who they let into their territory.”

  Steele giggled. “More brandy?”

  “Please.” (A rustling sound as the bottle was passed.)

  “It won’t happen overnight,” Steele said.

  “No, but sooner or later, they will expand into the space that we control or we will expand into theirs. By the time that happens, we’re going to own them.”

  St
eele laughed softly. “I’ll drink to that,” he said.

  Petrosian moaned. “Yes,” he said. “There. Right there.”

  “When you’re done with him,” Steele said, “come over here, girl.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rachel said.

  Chapter 28

  They spent over a week in Dunbar, wandering through the city, attending plays and lectures, going to museums and galleries, listening to the crowds. They recorded everything that they saw and heard. The seven young people recently rescued and then sold as slaves all sent reports in, most of these innocuous, but all at least suggestive of what Rachel Porter’s data had already told them.

  However, the microbots they had released over the city proved almost useless. The police stations, government security offices and parliament buildings were all shielded. The bots could observe the comings and goings from outside but were unable to penetrate. A few scraps of conversation from ministers on their way in and out of the buildings were all that the bots could provide.

  “I think,” Michael said, “that we’re going to have to be a bit more direct. We need more. What we’ve uncovered so far is highly suggestive but probably not enough to convince the bureaucracy.”

  “I agree.” Anson gave him a brooding look. “Bureaucracy always has a vested interest in the status quo. Even with disaster staring them in the face, too many of them will always prefer to sit on their rear ends and do nothing.” He hesitated. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  Michael knew what he meant. Dunbar was a well-ordered, peaceful city. The streets were clean, the architecture impressive, the crime rate nearly zero. Not surprising, when even minor infractions could result in the guilty party being sold into indentured servitude for terms ranging from five years to (in most cases) life. Slavery was an integral part of their culture. Everyone wanted one. Nobody wanted to be one. They were like wolves, waiting to cannibalize the weakest members of the pack.

  Their course of action decided, they filed a flight plan for an Earth standard world a few light-years away and drifted upward on anti-gravity, reached the edges of the Dunbar system and vanished.