And yet he had done something unspeakable. Every glorious and noble act that he had ever committed, every kind and honourable deed, was built upon the foundations of a crime. The empire’s very existence hinged upon a single evil act.
So what if it happened thirty-two thousand years ago? Did that make it less of a crime than if it had happened ten thousand years ago, or last week? We were not dealing with murky deeds perpetrated by distant ancestors. The man who had murdered his brother was still alive; still in absolute command of his faculties. Knowing what I did, how could I permit him to live another day without being confronted with the horror of what he had done?
I grappled with these questions during my journey home. But always I came back to the same conclusion.
No crime can go unpunished.
Naturally, I signalled my imminent return long before I reached the Capital Nexus. The emperor was overjoyed to hear that I had survived my trip to Julact, and brimming with anticipation at the news I would bring.
I had no intention of disappointing him.
He was still on the same body as last time—no assassination attempt or accidental injury had befallen him. When he rose from his throne, it was with a sprightliness that belied his apparent age. He seemed, if anything, even younger than when I had departed.
“It’s good to have you back, Mercurio.”
“Good to be back,” I said.
“Do you have…news? You were reluctant to speak in detail over the superluminal link.”
“I have news,” I confirmed.
The body’s eyes looked to the cross-shaped seam in the ceiling. “News, doubtless, that would be better discussed in conditions of absolute privacy?”
“Actually,” I said, “there’ll be no need for that at all.”
He looked relieved. “But you do have something for me?”
“Very much so.”
“That thing in your hand,” he said, his attention snapping to my fingers. “It looks rather like the bullet you showed me before, the one with the inscription.”
“That’s what it is. Here—you may as well have it now.” Without waiting for his response, I tossed the bullet to him. The old body’s reflexes were still excellent, for he caught it easily.
“There’s no dust in it,” he said, peering at the glass-cased tip.
“No, not now.”
“Did you find out…?”
“Yes; I located the origin of the dust. And I tracked down the would-be assassin. You have my assurance that you won’t be hearing from him again.”
“You killed him?”
“No, he’s still much as he was.”
The ambiguity in my words must have registered with him, because there was an unease in his face. “This isn’t quite the outcome I was expecting, Mercurio—if you don’t mind my saying. I expected the perpetrator to be brought to justice, or at the very least executed. I expected a body, closure.” His eyes sharpened. “Are you quite sure you’re all right?”
“I’ve never felt better, sir.”
“I’m…troubled.”
“There’s no need.” I extended my hand, beckoning him to leave the throne. “Why don’t we take a walk? There’s nothing we can’t discuss outside.”
“You’ve never encouraged me to talk outside. Something’s wrong, Mercurio. You’re not your usual self.”
I sighed. “Then let me make things clear. We are now deep inside the Great House. Were I to detonate the powerplant inside my abdomen, you and I would cease to exist in a flash of light. Although I don’t contain antimatter, the resultant fusion blast would easily equal the damage that the assassin could have wrought, if he’d put a bomb inside that bullet. You’ll die—not just your puppet, but you, floating above us—and you’ll take most of the Great House with you.”
He blinked, struggling to process my words. After so many thousands of years of loyal service, I could only imagine how surprising they were.
“You’re malfunctioning, Mercurio.”
“No. The fact is, I’ve never functioned as well as I am functioning at this moment. Since my departure, I’ve regained access to memory layers I thought lost since the dawn of the empire. And I assure you that I will detonate, unless you comply with my exact demands. Now stand from the throne and walk outside. And don’t even think of calling for help, or expecting some security override to protect you. This is my realm you’re in now. And I can promise you that there is nothing you can do but obey my every word.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Make you pay,” I said.
We left the reception chamber. We walked the gilded hallways of the Great House, the emperor walking a few paces ahead of me. We passed officials and servants and mindless servitors. No one said or did anything except bow as their station demanded. All they saw was the emperor and his most trusted aide, going about their business.
We made our way to the koi ponds.
Whispering, I instructed the emperor to kneel in the same place where his earlier body had been killed. The clean-up crew had been thorough and there was no trace of the earlier bloodstain.
“You’re going to kill me now,” he said, speaking in a frightened hiss.
“Is that what you think?”
“Why bring me here, if not to kill me?”
“I could have killed you already, sir.”
“And taken the Great House with you? All those innocent lives? You may be malfunctioning, Mercurio, but I still don’t think you’d do something that barbaric.”
“Perhaps I would have done it, if I thought justice would be served. But here’s the thing. Even if justice would have been served, the greater good of the Radiant Commonwealth most certainly wouldn’t have been. Look up, emperor. Look into that clear blue sky.”
He bent his neck, as well as his old body allowed.
“There’s an empire out there,” I said. “Beyond the force screens and the sentry moons. Beyond the Capital Nexus. A billion teeming worlds, waiting on your every word. Depending on you for wisdom and balance in all things. Counting on your instinct for decency and forgiveness. If you were a bad ruler, this would be easy for me. But you’re a good man, and that’s the problem. You’re a good man who once did something so evil the shadow of it touched you across thirty-two thousand years. You killed your brother, emperor. You took him out into the Martian wilderness and murdered him in cold blood. And if you hadn’t, none of this would ever have happened.”
“I didn’t have…” he began, still in the same harsh whisper. His heart was racing. I could hear it drumming inside his ribs.
“I didn’t think I had a brother either. But I was wrong, and so are you. My brother’s called Fury. Yours—well, whatever name he had, the only person likely to remember is you. But I doubt that you can, can you? Not after all this time.”
He choked—I think it was fear more than sorrow or anguish. He still didn’t believe me, and I didn’t expect him to. But he did believe that I was capable of killing him, and only a lethal instant away from doing so.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it.”
“Do you still have the bullet, sir?”
His eyes flashed childlike terror. “What about the bullet?”
“Show it to me.”
He opened his hand, the glass-nosed bullet still pinched between thumb and forefinger.
“There’s no bomb in it. I’d see if there was a bomb in it. It’s empty now.” In his voice was something between relief and dizzy incomprehension.
What could be worse than a bomb?
“No, it’s not empty.” Gently, I took his hand in mine and guided it out until it was poised over the open water of the koi pond. “In a few moments, emperor, you and I are going to walk back inside the Great House. You’ll return to your throne, and I’ll return to my duties. I’ll always be there for you, from now until the day I stop functioning. There’ll never be a moment when I’m not looking after you, protecting you against those who would do you harm. You’ll
never need to question my loyalty; my unswerving dedication to that task. This…incident…is something we’ll never speak of again. To all intents and purposes, nothing will have changed in our relationship. Ask me about your brother, ask me about mine, and I will feign ignorance. From now until the end of my existence. But I won’t ever forget, and neither will you. Now break the glass.”
He glanced at me, as if he hadn’t quite understood the words. “I’m sorry?”
“Break the glass. It’ll shatter easily between your fingers. Break the glass and let the contents drain into the pond. Then get up and walk away.”
I stood up, leaving the emperor kneeling by the side of the pathway, his hand extended out over the water. I took a few paces in the direction of the Great House. Already I was clearing my mind, readying myself to engage with the many tasks that were my responsibility. Would he get rid of me, or try to have me destroyed? Quite possibly. But the emperor was nothing if not a shrewd man. I had served him well until now. If we could both agree to put this little aberration behind us, there was no reason why we couldn’t continue to enjoy a fruitful relationship.
Behind me I heard the tiniest crack. Then sobbing.
I kept on walking.
THE STAR SURGEON’S APPRENTICE
THROUGH THE bar’s windows Juntura Spaceport was an endless grid of holding berths, launch gantries and radiator fins, coiling in its own pollution under a smeared pink sky. The air crackled with radiation from unshielded drives. It was no place to visit, let alone stay.
“I need to get out of here,” I said.
The shipmaster sneered at my remaining credit. “That won’t get you to the Napier Belt, kid, let alone Frolovo.”
“It’s all I’ve got.”
“Then maybe you should spend a few months working in the port, until you can pay for a ride.”
The shipmaster—he was a cyborg, like most of them—turned away with a whine of his servo-driven exoskeleton.
“Wait,” I said. “Please…just a moment. Maybe this makes a difference.”
I pulled a black bundle from inside my jacket, peeling back enough of the cloth to let him see the weapon. The shipmaster—his name was Master Khorog—reached out one iron gauntlet and hefted the prize. His eye-goggle clicked and whirred into focus.
“Very nasty,” he said appreciatively. “I heard someone used one of these against Happy Jack.” The eye swivelled sharply onto me. “Maybe you know something about that?”
“Nothing,” I said easily. “It’s just an heirloom.”
The heirloom was a bone gun: Kalarash Empire tech: very old, very difficult to pick up in security scans. Not much of it around any more, which is why the gun cost me so much. It employed a sonic effect to shatter human bone, turning it into something resembling sugar. Three seconds was all it needed to do its work. By then the victim no longer had anything much resembling a skeletal structure.
You couldn’t live long like that, of course. But you didn’t die instantly either.
“The trick—so they say—is not to dwell on the skull,” Khorog mused. “Leave enough cranial structure for the victim to retain consciousness. And the ability to hear, if you want to taunt them. There are three small bones in the ear. People usually forget those.”
“Will you take the gun or not?”
“I could get into trouble just looking at it.” He put the gun back onto the cloth. “But it’s a nice piece. Warm, too. It might make a difference. There used to be a good market for antique weapons on Jelgava. Maybe there still is.”
I brightened. “Then you can give me a berth?”
“I only said it makes a difference, kid. Enough that you can pay off the rest aboard the Iron Lady.”
I could already feel Happy Jack’s button men, pushing their way through the port, asking urgent questions. Only a matter of time before they hit this bar and found me.
“If you can get me to the Frolovo Hub, I’ll take it.”
“Maybe we’re not going to Frolovo. Maybe we’re going to the Bafq Gap, or the Belterra Sphere.”
“Somewhere nearby, then. Another hub. It doesn’t matter. I just have to get off Mokmer.”
“Show us your mitts.” Before I could say yes, Khorog’s metal hands were examining my skin and bone ones, splaying the fingers with surprising gentleness. “Never done a hard day’s work in your life, have you? But you have good fingers. Hand to eye coordination OK? No neuromotor complications? Palsy?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “And whatever it is you want me to do, I can learn.”
“Mister Zeal—our surgeon—needs an assistant. It’s manual labour, mostly. Think you can handle it?”
Jack’s men, closer now. “Yes,” I said. By then I’d have said anything to get off Mokmer.
“There’ll be no freezer berth: the Iron Lady doesn’t run to them. You’ll be warm the whole trip. Two and half years subjective, maybe three, ’til we make the next orbitfall. And once Zeal’s trained you up, he won’t want you leaving his service at the first port of call. You’ll be looking at four or five years aboard the Lady; maybe longer if he can’t find another pair of hands. Doesn’t sound so sweet now, does it?”
No, I thought: but then neither did the alternative.
“I’m still willing.”
“Then be at shuttle dock nine in twenty minutes. That’s when we lift for orbit.”
WE LIFTED ON time.
I didn’t see much of the ship from the shuttle: just enough to tell that the Iron Lady looked much the same as all the other ramscoops parked in orbit around Mokmer: a brutalist grey cylinder, swelling to the armoured mouth of the magnetic field intake at the front, tapering to the drive assembly at the back. Comms gear, radiators, docking mechanisms and modular cargo containers ringed the ship around its gently in-curving waist. It was bruised and battered from endless near-light transits, with great scorch marks and impact craters marring much of the hull.
The shuttle docked with just Khorog and me aboard. Even before I had been introduced to the rest of the crew—or at least the surgeon—the Iron Lady was moving.
“Sooner than I expected,” I said.
“Complaining?” Khorog asked. “I thought you wanted to get away from Mokmer as soon as possible.”
“No,” I said. “I’m glad we’re underway.” I brushed a wall panel as we walked. “It’s very smooth. I expected it to feel different.”
“That’s because we’re only on in-system motors at the moment.”
“There’s a problem with the ramscoop?”
“We don’t switch on the scoop until we’re well beyond Mokmer—or any planet, for that matter. We’re safe in the ship—life quarters are well shielded—but outside, you’re looking at the strongest magnetic field this side of the Crab pulsar. Doesn’t hurt wetheads like you all that much… but us, that’s different.” He knuckled his fist against his plated cranium. “Cyborgs like me…cyborgs like everyone else you’ll meet aboard this ship, or in any kind of space environment—we feel it. Get within a thousand kilometers of a ship like this…it warms up the metal in our bodies. Inductive heating: we fry from the inside. That’s why we don’t light the scoop: it ain’t neighbourly.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, realising that I’d touched the cyborg equivalent of a nerve.
“We’ll light in good time.” Khorog hammered one of the wall plates. “Then you’ll feel the old girl shiver her timbers.”
On the way to the surgeon we passed other members of the Iron Lady’s redoubtable crew, none of whom Khorog saw fit to introduce. They were a carnival of grotesques, even by the standards of the cyborgs I’d seen around the spaceport. One man consisted of a grinning, cackling, gaptoothed head plugged into a trundling life-support mechanism that had apparently originated as a cleaning robot: in place of wheels, or legs, he moved on multiple spinning brushes, polishing the deck plates behind him. A woman glanced haughtily at me as she passed: normal enough except that the upper hemisphere of her skull was a glass dome, in which
resided a kind of ticking orrery: luminous planetary beads orbiting the bright lamp of a star. As she walked she rubbed a hand over the swell of her belly and I understood—as I was surely meant to—that her brain had been relocated there for safekeeping. Another man moved in a similar exoskeleton to the one Khorog wore, but in this case there was very little man left inside the powered frame: just a dessicated whisp, like something that had dried out in the sun. His limbs were like strands of rope, his head a piece of shrivelled, stepped-on fruit. “You’ll be the new mate, then,” he said, in a voice that sounded as if he was trying to speak while being strangled.
“If Zeal agrees to it,” Khorog said back. “Only then.”
“What if Mister Zeal doesn’t agree to it?” I asked, when we were safely out of earshot.
“Then we’ll find you something else to do,” Khorog replied. “Always plenty of jobs on the…” And then he halted, as if he’d been meaning to say something else, but had caught himself in time.
By then we’d reached the surgeon.
Mister Zeal occupied a windowless chamber near the middle of the ship. He was working on one of his patients when Khorog showed me in. Hulking surgical machines loomed over the operating table, carrying lights, manipulators and barbed, savage-looking cutting tools.
“This is the new assistant,” Khorog said. “Has a good pair of hands on him, so try and make this one last.”
Zeal looked up from his work. He was a huge, bald, thick-necked man with a powerful jaw. There was nothing obviously mechanical about him: even the close-up goggle he wore over his left eye was strapped into place, rather than implanted. He wore a stiff leather apron over his bare, muscular chest, and he glistened with sweat and oil.
Beyond the Aquila Rift: The Best of Alastair Reynolds Page 30