by J. D. Moyer
“I do have some good news for you, Tem,” Mèng said. She rose, retrieved a pale green envelope from her desk, and handed it to him. “The names you asked for, as well as a few recommendations for artists who might want to take on the project.”
“Thank you.”
“Be careful how you approach this – it could backfire.”
“I know, and I will be.”
“And please make sure it can’t be traced back to me.”
“What’s this?” Regis asked.
“Probably a terrible idea,” Tem said. “But one I can’t talk about for now. If it works, I’ll tell you everything. If not, I’ll tell you everything the next time I see you in Ilium, if I’m still alive.”
Regis laughed. “Well, good luck.”
They talked for a while longer, discussing how the interests of the Stanford and Ilium could be advanced at the next Ringstation Coalition meeting, and how the Liu Hui might react if Jana’s plan was unsuccessful. The Iarudi was too valuable a prize to leave in the hands of a potential enemy. If diplomatic solutions failed, the Ju¯nshì security force might take action, perhaps intercepting the Iarudi before it reached the Michelangelo.
“You need to make peace with them,” Katja stated. “War is too costly, even when fought with spears, blades, and arrows. With your weapons the price is so much higher.”
“You’re right, of course,” said Regis, “but how are we supposed to negotiate with them if they won’t even acknowledge us?”
“There must be reasonable people on the Michelangelo,” Mèng pointed out. “They can’t all be crazy. When we were serving under Umana, we were too scared to speak up.”
Regis nodded. “She was terrifying.”
“Maro is different than Umana,” Katja said. “He doesn’t rule by fear. He uses love – or something like love – as a weapon. He makes others feel special and important. And they become addicted to his feigned admiration.”
“A charismatic narcissist,” said Mèng. “The most dangerous kind of tyrant. No empathy, no sense of service to others. Other people aren’t fully real to him.”
“So what’s his weakness?” Regis asked.
“Vanity,” Tem said. “Maro sounds like Adrian, my mother’s academic advisor, who ultimately tried to kill her. When she lost her adulation for him and started making her own decisions, he became infuriated that he could no longer control her. That’s when he lost it.”
“Jana will use that against him,” Katja said.
“I hope she succeeds,” said Mèng.
“She will,” Katja said, not sounding completely confident.
“You could have gone with her,” Tem said. “You didn’t need to stay behind to care for me.”
Katja patted his head – a gesture he would have found infuriating from anyone else. “I know. But I belong here with my brother’s son.”
Tem and Katja walked back to their shared quarters through the lush botanical gardens. “So what’s in the envelope?” Katja asked.
“Revenge, hopefully. But my way, not Father’s way.”
“Sometimes it’s better to forgive people. You can poison yourself with hatred.”
His aunt was right. Despite her hotheadedness and impulsive behavior, Katja had gleaned some wisdom over the years. And later, he would try to forgive Manning.
But first, he would ruin him.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As Aina rubbed the tension out of his oiled back and shoulders, Maro considered the hands he’d been dealt and how he’d played them. He’d done exceptionally well, considering what had been a string of terribly unlucky events. He’d faced enemies in the Senate, murderers in Bosa, and psychopathic killers in Kaldbrek. And yet each time he’d emerged unscathed and positionally stronger. He’d successfully dispatched Cassia; his election as emperor was all but secured; and Ancestral Realism was proceeding brilliantly.
“A little lower, Aina. That’s it. No need to be gentle.”
His life was close to perfection and he was immensely enjoying the ride. The only thing that saddened him was the knowledge of his own mortality. Even with rejuvenations and surgeries, his physical body would eventually deteriorate and expire. What a loss that would be, not only personally for the Michelangelo. His inevitable death would be a loss for civilization, for humanity!
“Massage my buttocks, Aina. I have some tension around my tailbone.”
Except, what if it didn’t have to be? Jana had presented him with a tantalizing possibility. What if the Crucible were the key to immortality? The Crucible could extend his corporeal life for another century. And as for his mind – his consciousness – that would be virtualized as a living system, not some static engram. He would be able to hop from body to body, taking hosts as it pleased him. He could live for centuries or even millennia, long enough to witness the expansion of humanity to nearby star systems and eventually the entire galaxy. Perhaps even beyond.
He would be godlike in his powers and perspective.
“On to my legs now, Aina. Give my inner thighs some extra attention – I still have some soreness from all that ridiculous horse riding.”
“Ridiculous indeed,” Aina said, in a tone that almost sounded mocking. If Maro didn’t know better, it might seem as if Aina had recently developed an attitude.
What to do about the Liu Hui, the Stanford, and the other ringstations? Maro had half a mind to blow them all into oblivion. Such flagrant violence would cost him in the Senate, though once he was emperor he would be able to act with impunity.
But no, there were better ways to handle the ‘Coalition’, as they called themselves. Already he wielded a great deal of influence on the Liu Hui; one of their spies had risen in the ranks and now held a position on their Coalition committee. Maro would expand his intelligence network and control each ringstation from within. It was the wiser, more civilized path. After all, each ringstation had preserved its own unique cultural identity, as well as many works of ancient art that the Michelangelo’s founders hadn’t been able to procure, despite their Herculean efforts.
There was no need for destruction. Soon enough, he would preside over Earth’s historical treasures in their entirety.
***
“Well, is it possible?” Maro asked.
Maro had escorted Jana to a lower-level medical facility. She lay encased in a full-body scanner. Maro and the medic examined her innards from an adjacent viewing chamber.
“It depends on what you mean by possible,” the medic replied. “Certainly I can extract the object and repair the surrounding tissues. But what effect the extraction will have on her physiology, I have no idea. The object is at the center of a foreign, invasive network of biologically active exotic material.”
“But the object – you can extract it without damaging it?”
“I am confident that I could extract it intact. But once again, I can’t predict the results of severing the object from its network. To me it appears to be some sort of parasite. Perhaps it derives nutrition from its host. Can it survive externally? I have no idea. Tell me again what you know about it.”
Maro repeated his cursory description of how the Crucible operated, leaving out anything he didn’t think the medic needed to know. He referred to the Crucible as ‘a probable health enhancement implant’, omitting its actual name, history, or any mention of its brain virtualization capabilities. If he revealed too much, someone else could easily look up its origins, just as he had. And others on the Michelangelo might also be tempted by the potential of immortality.
“Why do you want to remove it?” the medic asked. “The subject appears well. The exotic material doesn’t appear to be negatively impacting her metabolism or cognition. Her indicators are all within range – she’s quite healthy.”
“The object is potentially a historical artifact, one that should be preserved and protected.”
“How did it get in her body in the first place?”
“I am unsure. The subject is an Earth native from the Mediterranean region. Perhaps a closer examination would reveal its origins and maker.”
“The Sardinian woman – yes, I heard about her.”
“Well, are you willing to perform the procedure?”
“Has the subject given her consent?”
“Yes, but please ask her yourself. Considering that I am a senator…I would like to be sure she was not unduly influenced by my position.”
Jana had, in fact, given her consent. The conversation had gone more smoothly than expected. Jana had confessed her discontent with her consorteria, as she called it, the group of previous hosts – all women – who shared a virtual world. It was a limited sim, an approximation of Bosa with a few fantastical elements. But Jana had complained that the women bickered incessantly and ceaselessly harangued her. She was done with the Crucible and wished to be completely rid of it.
“The others won’t be happy to see you,” Jana had warned. “There has never been a male host, and they like it that way.”
He’d reassured her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll charm them to death.”
“But Sperancia tried to kill you.”
“So did you,” he’d reminded her. “And yet here we are, breaking bread and drinking wine like old friends.”
***
The procedure, aided by a precise robotic surgeon, went smoothly. Immediately afterward the medic presented Maro with an opaque medical container.
“It’s been rinsed and UV sterilized, but otherwise untouched. Are you sure you don’t want me to refrigerate it for now?”
“No, this is fine. Is Jana conscious?”
“Yes. She asked to remain conscious throughout the procedure, and we honored that request. Her voice will be hoarse, and she needs to rest. Pease keep your visit short.”
“Of course. I have some sensitive matters to discuss with her. Please deactivate the room feeds.”
“That’s against protocol.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to violate protocol this once. Did you forget who I am?”
“You’re invoking senatorial privilege?”
“Yes.”
The medic looked irritated but agreed. Maro did not appreciate her insolence, but ultimately she’d proven helpful. He would not punish her.
In Jana’s recovery room Maro performed a brief scan with his ocular implant. The feeds had been deactivated as agreed. He was alone with Jana and the Crucible.
“Maro,” Jana croaked. “Thank you. You have done me a great service.”
He sat and took her hand, which was warm and clammy. But he held it tenderly, despite his sense of revulsion. Jana was pale and looked exhausted, uglier than ever. She could fix that, if she was so inclined. It was trivial to become beautiful on the Michelangelo. And yet his eyes were drawn to her face in a way that he could not quite explain.
“Is it in there?” Jana asked, looking at the medical container.
“Yes. Do you want to see it?”
“I don’t need to. I’ve already seen it, just as you have. What will you do with it?”
“I intend to become the next host.”
Jana shook her head. “You shouldn’t. You don’t know what will happen.”
“I’m not worried about your consorteria. I am Senator Maro Decimus, soon to be emperor of the Michelangelo. Why should I be worried about a few old women?”
“They’re powerful. It’s their world you’d be entering. You’ll be helpless there.”
“Maybe at first. But I’ll learn, I’ll get stronger within the sim, in their version of Bosa. And it will still be my body, to do with as I please, in reality. Ultimately I’ll be in control. Perhaps you were too yielding, as a host.”
“Perhaps.”
Her face was full of worry. And maybe there was some truth to her warning. He was well aware of his own reckless streak. But it had served him. He had clawed his way to power in the Senate. He had mingled with Earth natives – barbarians – and lived to tell the tale. And now he would conquer the Crucible. He opened the container, holding it so that Jana could not see within.
“Maro, don’t.”
It was touching, how Jana cared for him. He put his palm on the black egg. It was warm and smooth, having already reabsorbed the stubs from its severed tendrils. And small, with the potential to replicate life for infinite cycles, like a real egg.
He placed it in his mouth and swallowed it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
For several days Maro drifted in and out of consciousness. Livia came to visit him, confused as to what had happened. He told her he was fine; he would explain everything in time. She left, nonplussed, to attend to her own affairs. Maro had heard she’d taken another lover. Probably just a distraction, he reasoned. He would deal with the interloper in due course. For now his own recovery, his physiological integration with the Crucible, took priority.
Aina stayed by his side tirelessly, attending to his every need, fetching him water and wine and what little food he had an appetite for.
“You are so faithful, my dear Aina.”
“Of course, Maro. I live to serve you.”
“And you are content in that role?” He felt a tenderness toward the cybrid, caring for him so diligently as she was. Perhaps he’d been wrong to think of her only as a machine. Even if she was not fully sentient, she was capable of sensation. And she had a spirited personality.
“More than content. I am happy.”
He listened for the voices of the consorteria. Jana had told him that would be the first sign that the Crucible was interfacing with his nervous system. But the women were silent. Shy perhaps, or maybe angry that he had taken over Jana’s role.
It didn’t matter that they refused to speak. There were other signs the integration had begun. He felt the warmth of the core in his throat and chest. His entire body tingled with electric potential.
Livia returned to give him an update on the Iarudi. The cybrids from the Falcon had boarded the starship and found it in near-perfect working order, but filled with floating desiccated corpses, all of them laced through with black rootlike tendrils feeding back to a large ovoid mass in the center of the bridge.
“Did the ship stumble across an alien parasite in its travels?” Maro asked.
“The Engineers don’t think so. The initial analysis of the tendril material doesn’t indicate alien origins, or even that it’s a lifeform. There’s an artificial cell structure with design elements that match Corporate Age templates and processes….”
“It’s an ancient machine?”
“Possibly. The boarding crew discovered a large cybernetic tentacle extending from the ovoid mass which identifies it as the probable remains of Commander Umana. The prevailing hypothesis is that the black tendrils are extending from her body, the growth of some implant gone awry.”
An implant gone awry. The words echoed unpleasantly in Maro’s mind.
“Any survivors?”
“There are weak signs of life from one of the stasis pods. Probably Shane Jaecks, the last known survivor. That would match the narrative of a transmission intercepted by the Defenders. The cybrid crew is still reviewing the Iarudi logs, but it seems the ship has no official record of him. He was either a stowaway or an unregistered prisoner.”
“Commander Umana had a psychotic break, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but it was Jaecks who programmed the Iarudi to take the extended scientific survey of nearby star systems. The ship collected an enormous amount of astronomical and planetary data.”
“And this Shane fellow – he’s alive?”
Livia shrugged. “Probably brain-dead. The cold stasis pods weren’t designed to be used for decades. But technically, yes, he’s still alive.”
/> Livia looked as beautiful as ever. She had darkened her skin to a deep bronze and colored her eyes to an emerald green, giving her an otherworldly, preternatural look, a wild sprite in the guise of a human.
“I have great things planned for us,” he said.
“You’re looking better. You have some color back in your face. I was worried about you the other day. Are you sure you won’t let me fetch you a medic?”
“I underwent a procedure, a new implant. I’m feeling quite well.”
“Ah, so nothing serious. The Senate vote is tomorrow – you’ll be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there, my love.”
***
He slept long and deep that night, a dreamless sleep. When he awoke and stretched his limbs, he realized his recovery was complete. He felt energetic, with no lingering soreness or discomfort. Aina served him a hearty breakfast of boiled eggs, coarse wheat bread, dates, honey, and olive oil.
“You look so handsome this morning. Would you like to have sex?”
“Perhaps later. I must dress for the Senate. Bring me my finest silks.”
After Aina had oiled his skin and hair and adjusted his toga, she held a mirror so that he could admire his own reflection. He was so overcome with his own splendid appearance that he became aroused, and just as quickly his toga was on the floor and he was inside of Aina, pressing her against the wall, biting her shoulder as he thrust into her from behind. She moaned with pleasure, but he didn’t care what she felt. Sensual intimacy and reciprocation were things he shared with Livia, but Aina’s body was built for ravaging. He could be as rough as he liked without any fear of damaging her (and even as he threw her to the ground and mounted her, the image of the villager’s face caved in by her fist rushed into his mind, arousing him further). As he manipulated and used Aina’s body for his own pleasure, creatively and with utter depravity, he realized he would be late for the Senate. But that didn’t matter. They could wait for Maro. They could wait for Emperor Decimus.
