The Collapsing Empire

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Good.”

  “But there’s a problem.”

  “Captain Blinnikka, I regret to inform you that if the ‘problem’ is Claremont is also in small pieces, I’m going to be required to do the same to your ship.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means that I either get Claremont alive, or make the Yes, Sir dead. Those are your options.”

  “We would take you with us,” Blinnikka said.

  “No, you wouldn’t. Now, what is the problem with Claremont?”

  “He’s not dead. But he is currently in a medically induced coma.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was in the corridor with your ‘associate’ when the bomb went off. He and several other crew members were trying to interrupt your friend. He survived. Two other crew members didn’t.”

  “Condolences, Captain.”

  “You just threatened to destroy my ship and kill my entire crew, Captain. Your condolences are hollow.”

  “Understood. Can Claremont travel?”

  “We can hand him off to you alive and stable. Everything else is up to you.”

  “Agreed. We will come alongside in three and a half hours. We’ll have a shuttle ready to transfer him.”

  “No. We’ll send a shuttle to you.”

  “Captain—”

  “None of you are setting foot on my ship. You want him, fine. I’ll give him to you. But we’re coming to you.”

  “Then I want you on the shuttle for the handoff. As assurance you’re not sending a shuttle-sized bomb.”

  “Not me,” Blinnikka said. “I’ll send the owner’s representative instead. That will suit your purpose. And a medical staffer. They stay on the shuttle, you send in your own people to take Claremont out of it. Everything done in ten minutes maximum. Any longer and we’re going down together, whether you believe it or not.”

  “Done. We’ll inform you when we’re ready to receive you. Red Rose out.” The connection was cut.

  “Thanks for volunteering me, asshole,” Kiva said, as soon as the connection was wiped.

  “The ship is underway,” Blinnikka said. “I’m in command now, Lady Kiva. And I need you to do this thing. So shut up and do it, ma’am.”

  “Fine.” She pointed at Marce. “And you’re coming with me. Congratulations, you just got promoted to the medical staff.” She looked over at Blinnikka. “Okay?” Blinnikka nodded.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Marce said.

  “You don’t get a vote. And you also told Pinton you were willing to help. Stop whining like a fucking child.”

  “You could have just said, ‘I need your help.’”

  “All right. I need your help. Stop whining like a fucking child.”

  “That’s not better.”

  “Where is your Kristian costume?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “Well, go dig it out. And then go to the medical bay. We have things to do.”

  * * *

  “Hold out your thumb,” the Red Rose medical technician said to Kiva.

  “The fuck you say,” Kiva replied.

  The technician sighed, turned away, and called out the open ramp of the shuttle. A Red Rose crew member with a bolt thrower strode on the shuttle ramp.

  “Hold out your thumb, or Sax here will blow your head off,” the medical technician said.

  Kiva held out her thumb; the technician jabbed it. Then she did a retinal scan. “You’re Lady Kiva Lagos,” she said.

  “How the fuck did you get our personnel database?” Kiva asked the technician.

  The technician ignored her and went over to Marce. “Thumb,” she said. Marce offered it.

  “Gusteen Obrecht,” she said. She went over to the body on the medical gurney. For that one, she checked the thumb, and the retina, and drew blood from a vein in the right arm. Marce watched that final test, and waited for the result.

  “Marce Claremont,” she confirmed, and then Sax called to another Red Rose crewperson, who came on board and whisked the gurney away. The medical technician nodded to Kiva and Marce, and turned.

  “Hey,” Kiva said. The technician turned back, and Kiva reached over and grabbed a small rucksack—the rucksack Marce brought on to the Yes, Sir, in fact—and held it out to the technician.

  “What is that?” the technician asked.

  “What he brought onto the ship with him. Some toiletries and sundries.”

  “He might want to shave once he regains consciousness,” Marce added.

  The technician took the rucksack, nodded to the two of them, and then walked out of the shuttle.

  “Let’s button this thing up and get the fuck out of here,” Kiva said.

  “Agreed,” Marce said. Kiva pounded on the door of the pilot compartment to signal the transfer had been made.

  “Were you nervous?” Marce asked Kiva, as the shuttle headed back to the Yes, Sir.

  “About what?”

  “About the transfer. About them checking Chat’s body for my genetics.”

  “No,” Kiva said. “The thumb pad and the contacts we made from your scrapings are the same quality as we get for our fake identities. Our medical facilities are top notch like that.”

  Marce nodded and then winced a little bit, remembering the corneal scraping he endured to get the seed material for the contacts overlaid onto Chat’s eyes. The contacts were fast-grown, as was the thumb pad, which ran the risk of genetic anomalies that would give them away. They got lucky. “I was thinking of the blood draw.”

  Kiva shrugged. “It was your blood. Sucked it out of you, clipped off the major vessels in his arms, drained that blood, put yours in. It’s not complicated.”

  “I didn’t know if the shunts would hold.”

  “They’ll dissolve soon and his normal blood flow will come back. If he’s lucky his muscles won’t be necrotic and he’ll be able to keep his arms.”

  “And if he’s not lucky?”

  “If he’s not lucky, then fuck him, he tried to put a bomb in my ship.”

  “And kill me,” Marce reminded her.

  “Right,” Kiva said.

  “What if it hadn’t worked?”

  “You mean, what if they figured out that was Chat on the gurney while we were still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had a backup plan.”

  “What? Run?”

  “No. I’d give them you.”

  “What?” Marce looked at Kiva, shocked.

  Kiva looked back. “Don’t look at me like that. Why do you think I had you go? Because I like your company?”

  “I thought I was one of your people now.”

  “Yeah, but you’re new,” Kiva said. “And there were a whole lot of other people to think about.”

  Marce didn’t say anything else to Kiva for the short remainder of the journey.

  As they exited the shuttle on the Yes, Sir and the ship accelerated away from the Red Rose, Marce received a ping on his tablet: a forwarded message from Vrenna.

  Tracked down that thing you asked. Sjo Tinnuin heard the rumor from a friend who works for the House of Nohamapetan. Says the Nohamapetans have been paying for navigational data from ships for the last couple of years.

  It sounds like maybe they’re seeing some of the same things we see. I don’t know what that means for us, but I don’t think it means anything good.

  Be careful out there. Miss you already.

  —V

  Kiva tapped Marce on the shoulder. He looked up from his tablet. “Come with me,” she said.

  “I’m tired,” Marce said, putting his tablet away.

  “Do you honestly think you’re going to sleep until we’re in the Flow and these pirates are well fucking behind us? Come on.” She walked out of the shuttle bay. Marce stared after her and followed.

  Presently they came to Kiva’s cabin. Marce entered and was immediately jealous. “You have a room the size of a room,” he said to Kiva
, who had entered the room behind him. He stared at the immense expanse of the wall in front of him, which featured schedules, notes, and personal photos.

  “Of course I do,” Kiva said. “My family owns the ship. I’m the owner’s representative. You think they’re going to put me in a fucking bunk?”

  “No, I suppose not. It’s just funny.”

  “It’s not that funny.”

  “Says the woman who doesn’t sleep in a bunk the size of a coffin.”

  “Well, you won’t be sleeping there tonight, anyway.”

  “What?” Marce turned and Kiva was entirely undressed.

  “Let’s get laid,” she said, to Marce.

  “Uh, okay,” Marce said, and then paused. “No, hold on. I’m confused.”

  “You’ve had sex before, yes?” Marce nodded. “With women?” He nodded again. “And you liked it.”

  “Yes—”

  “Then what’s to be confused about?” she asked, coming up to him.

  “I don’t think you actually like me,” Marce said.

  “I like you just fine.” She grabbed his waistband, and worked the uniform tab there.

  “You were willing to give me up to the pirates if you had to. Ten minutes ago.”

  “Yes. And?”

  “You tell me to shut the fuck up nearly every time we talk.”

  “I tell everyone that.”

  “I mean—”

  “Look, we’ve both had a stressful day,” Kiva said, and pulled down his uniform trousers. “Now, you could stand around trying to talk to me about all the things that didn’t happen, in which case I toss your ass out and you go back to your tiny bunk and smell your own farts until you fall asleep, or you can shut the fuck up, get naked with me, and then we bang each other until we collapse from exhaustion. It’s your choice, but if I were you I know what I would rather do. So, are we going to fuck or what?”

  “This is your idea of romance, isn’t it?” Marce asked Kiva.

  “Basically,” Kiva said, and then dragged him onto the bed.

  A few hours later, as Marce dozed with Kiva nestled up against him, a long mellow ping reverberated throughout the ship.

  “Hmmmm,” Kiva said and opened up her eyes.

  “What was that?” Marce asked.

  “It’s the signal that we’ve entered the Flow.”

  “So we’re safe.”

  “Nothing is safe in the Flow. If our bubble collapses, we cease to exist.”

  “I mean we don’t have to worry about pirates or Ghreni Nohamapetan,” Marce said. He was aware of Kiva’s body next to his and felt an erection pop up almost instantly.

  Kiva felt it too and shifted her body on top of his, reached down to position Marce where she wanted him, and then pushed herself onto him. “No, you don’t have to worry about pirates, or the fucking Nohamapetans,” she said, working herself on him. “You might have to worry about me, though.”

  Marce smiled at this. “If this is what I have to worry about, I think I can handle it.”

  “This isn’t what you have to worry about.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about whatever it is that Ghreni Nohamapetan was fucking willing to kill you over, Marce.”

  “Wait,” Marce said. “Are we having an actual conversation? Now?” He started to prop himself up.

  Kiva pushed him back down. “Yes, we’re having an actual conversation right now,” she said, increasing her pace. “I can fucking do both. Here’s the thing. You’re going to tell me whatever it is you’re not telling me. You’re going to tell me why you’re on the ship. You’re going to tell me why you’re going to Hub. You’re going to tell me why Ghreni Nohamapetan wants you dead. You’re going to tell me, or I’m going to rip out your fucking heart.”

  “When did you want me to tell you?” Marce asked.

  “Give me just a minute,” Kiva said.

  INTERLUDE

  Ghreni Nohamapetan was not having a very good day.

  Point one: The Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby had managed to make it into the Flow, despite reporting damage to its engineering systems from the bomb Chat Ubdal had by all reports successfully planted, also allegedly blowing himself up in the process. Reports of Chat’s demise had given Ghreni a slight twinge. Chat had been one of his more useful people, which is why Ghreni had used him for this particular and delicate mission. On the other hand, now Ghreni wouldn’t have to pay out Chat’s completion bonus, which would have been considerable. So that was the one silver lining on this particular mess.

  Point two: Not that Chat would have gotten that bonus anyway, come to think of it, because he failed to do what he was supposed to: deliver or kill Marce Claremont. Ghreni had thought he’d managed the latter, despite blowing himself up, when the Red Rose messaged that they had taken delivery of Claremont, albeit in a damaged state, and that various tests confirmed Claremont’s identity.

  But then, more than an hour later, a message from the Red Rose:

  Claremont out of coma and screaming that he is not Claremont but your lieutenant Chat Ubdal. Is in considerable pain, particularly in his limbs

  Followed by

  Confirmed Claremont is in fact not Claremont but Ubdal. Tricked our scans with contacts and thumb pad and blood replacement in arms. Last serious, may cause permanent damage

  Followed by

  Ubdal mostly not coherent but says did not plant the bomb and Yes, Sir is fully operational. Moving to intercept and destroy per agreement

  Followed by

  fucking hell those assholes took your fucking bomb and got it on our fucking ship what the actual fuck

  Followed, rather some time later, by

  Bomb Ubdal was to plant on Yes, Sir exploded on our ship, causing operational damage. Could not move to intercept and destroy. Captain Wimson unhappy Ubdal’s bomb came onto our ship. Sent Ubdal out the airlock in his medical gurney. Specific message for you from captain: You owe us double for damages and triple for guns now. You pay off damages first. Also says fuck you and your incompetent fucking minions

  Point three: Ghreni now didn’t have the weapons he wanted, which annoyed him.

  The weapons were part of a shipment authorized by the parliament and the emperox, to help the duke fight his little rebellion. The House of Nohamapetan had been instrumental in helping get the resolution for the weapons passed in parliament; Ghreni had been instrumental in arranging for the weapons to be pirated. That part at least went to plan.

  But then Captain Wimson decided to hold on to the weapons, and told Ghreni to pay more to take delivery. This was upsetting to Ghreni, as aside from the principle of the thing, he’d already funded their acquisition out of House of Nohamapetan funds and found himself rather unfortunately illiquid. His plan to fund their reacquisition out of imperial funds hit a snag when the Count of Claremont decided to have ethics, then hit another snag when Marce Claremont’s kidnapping also failed to produce results.

  The new plan had been to reacquire Marce Claremont or destroy the Yes, Sir. The former would optimally yield the Count of Claremont’s cooperation; the latter, while far less optimal because it would exacerbate the already-bad blood between the houses of Nohamapetan and Lagos if his hand in it ever came to light, would allow Ghreni to convince the duke to acquire the substantial funds the local Lagos offices would receive from local offices of the House of Aiello, who held the monopoly on insurance. From there he’d skim enough to cover the weapons.

  But now the Yes, Sir was gone, and Marce Claremont with it, and the price of the weapons had not only gone up but now there was another debt in front of it he’d have to deal with.

  Point four: And while at one point maybe Ghreni could have stiffed the Red Rose on the weapons—they were the ones who reneged on the original deal, that was their risk—there was no way he couldn’t repay the damages to the pirate ship. They’d fucking kill him, and slowly. Neither his noble title nor his proximity to the duke, nor his own security people, would k
eep them from coming to get him. So he’d at least need to get the money for that, soon.

  Ghreni briefly considered trying to track down Vrenna Claremont for her hostage value but then just as quickly dismissed it out of his mind because

  Point five: Vrenna Claremont was utterly impossible to find. She’d gone to ground—but not before sending Ghreni a note from her personal address, which read, in its entirety:

  Don’t sleep in the same bed twice.

  Ghreni had read Vrenna Claremont’s service history. He was aware this was not at all an idle threat.

  Which brought him to

  Point six: The call he’d gotten from Sir Ontain Mount, operations chief of End’s Imperial Station, which started, without preamble, “What the hell is this I’m hearing about you kidnapping Marce Claremont?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghreni said.

  “Really.”

  “Of course. That’s a very serious allegation. I’d like to know who is slandering me.”

  “Reputable sources, Lord Ghreni.”

  “It’s ludicrous. For one thing, as I understand it Marce Claremont has left End. On the Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby.”

  “This would be the ship my marines tell me was tracked and almost attacked by a privateer just a few hours ago,” Mount said.

  “I couldn’t say,” Ghreni replied. “I have no knowledge of these things. We’re rather busy enough down here, sir.”

  “Your duke’s not doing very well at the moment, is he?”

  “We’ve had setbacks, but nothing we can’t handle.”

  “You’re not making a convincing case for the last part, Lord Ghreni,” Mount said.

  “The assistance of the emperox’s marines would be appreciated,” Ghreni suggested.

  “I’ll repeat what I tell you every time you hint, which is that the Interdependency considers this an entirely local matter.”

  “Excepting the arms parliament authorized.”

  “For use by the duke’s troops, not mine.”

  “A distinction perhaps without a difference.”