The final object was a threadbare stuffed pig named Giggy, bought for Marce on his first birthday by his mother, who had given Vrenna a stuffed bear named Howie at the same time. Howie had disappeared years before—there was reason to believe Vrenna may have launched him into the sky using a homemade rocket—but Giggy survived and accompanied Marce to every new home. Fiction would dictate that Giggy was the sole remaining gift Marce had from his now-departed mother, but in real life Marce had many gifts and owned many things that were either from her or reminded him of her. Giggy was simply his good-luck charm.
Marce stuffed all four objects in a small rucksack, and then considered the rucksack. Not a lot to leave a world with, he thought. Marce had been doing his best not to think too much about the fact that he was leaving the planet to go to a place where he knew no one and where he would likely spend all the rest of his life. The Flow stream to End would last longer than the one going out from it; it might be open for years yet. Theoretically it was possible at this point that he could make it back. It was just deeply unlikely. Marce’s way of dealing with the fact he’d never see his father or sister or any of the people he’d ever known in his lifetime was to think about the practical issues of leaving the planet.
Which he had attended to; the day before he’d met with Gazson Magnut, the chief purser of a ship called Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby, and arranged passage. It hadn’t been cheap—it had in fact cost more money than Marce figured he’d ever spent on everything else he’d ever bought in his life up to that point—and Magnut had tried to upsell him on several other things, including a faked set of travel documents. Marce noted Magnut seemed mildly disappointed when he pointed out his travel documents were in order. With that taken care of, all that remained was to set up resignation and farewell letters, all of which would be sent after the Yes, Sir was in the Flow.
And this, the collecting of important objects. Everything else in the apartment could be collected by Claremont staff later.
Marce swung the rucksack over his shoulder, took a last look at the apartment, and decided that he would not miss it at all. It was, like nearly every academic institutional residence, entirely forgettable in every way. Then he headed down the stairs and out of the dormitory, down a street that was almost entirely empty except for a couple of people far down the road, and the van, which drove up to where Marce was, and opened up to reveal a couple of very large men.
The van then took off again, Marce in it, because the very large men had jumped out and dragged him into it before he really knew what was going on. The rucksack with all the sentimental objects stayed behind on the sidewalk, because sometimes that happens when you get kidnapped.
*
Ghreni Nohamapetan smiled at Marce Claremont across a small table. “Lord Marce. So good to see you again. I’m glad we could have this meeting on short notice.”
“Lord Ghreni,” Marce said. “Since you had me kidnapped to be here, I don’t think it was something I could really refuse.”
The two of them were sitting in a windowless room that looked like it had been made out of a storage container—which meant it probably was a storage container, repurposed. Marce had no idea of its location. He’d been in the room all of ten minutes, placed there by the thugs who had grabbed him, before Ghreni arrived.
“I don’t like the word ‘kidnapped,’” Ghreni said.
“With all due respect, Lord Ghreni, at the moment I don’t really give a damn what you like.”
“Fair enough.” Ghreni leaned back in his chair and considered Marce. “Rumor is that you’re planning to leave End behind.”
“If I were, I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”
“Well, see. There’s a war on, and the duke has noticed that several of his nobles—or their children, adult or otherwise—are now suddenly trying to book passage off the planet.”
“That will happen when there’s a war.”
“I suppose it might,” Ghreni agreed. “The duke doesn’t see it as a vote of confidence in his leadership skills, however, so he’s been inviting those who are interested in leaving to stay.”
“I don’t think you’ve kidnapped me to extend me this invitation, Lord Ghreni,” Marce said.
“No, I suppose that would be going the long way around to do it. You’re correct. I’ve invited you here for other reasons entirely. You’ll recall the other day when I asked your father to assist the duke with the release of imperial funds.”
“I recall him telling you ‘maybe.’”
“He did—which I took to mean ‘no, but politely.’ And to be clear, if that really was his answer, his reasons were both ethically and legally sound. It was a good choice for him to make, for those reasons.”
“I’ll tell him you said that.”
“I don’t doubt that you would,” Ghreni said. “Just not yet. The problem with your father’s answer, legally and ethically admirable as it might be, is that right now the duke really needs that money, because he really needs those weapons. And even ‘maybe’ doesn’t work with the time frame we’re under. So where persuasion didn’t work, compulsion might.”
“You’re holding me for ransom.”
“Yes. And I do apologize for that. Your father isn’t susceptible to other … blandishments that I or the duke might offer. He doesn’t seem interested in money or power or anything else tangible. And he has no patriotism for End or loyalty to the duke. But there’s no doubt that he loves both you and your sister. From there it was just the matter of choosing which of the two of you to pick. We considered your sister…”
Marce laughed at this, and Ghreni as gracefully as possible acknowledged the laugh.
“… but she presented problems in terms of acquisition.”
“You mean that she would have gutted the thugs you sent after her, and then would have come after you next, after they gave you up.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. You were, and I mean this with no disrespect whatsoever, the softer target.”
Marce nodded at this. It was true enough. He was a scientist, and Vrenna was a soldier, or had been before she had taken over Claremont’s constabulary. Of the two of them, he was much more likely to be taken by surprise, and rather less likely to snap anyone’s neck.
“There is also the matter that you are intended to leave the planet, and she’s not.”
“So?”
“You’ve never left End before. You’ve never even gone to the imperial station, even when your sister was in the marines. Your leaving now is interesting.”
“You mentioned there was a war going on.”
“Yes, but I don’t think that’s why you’re leaving. If you were leaving because of the war, it wouldn’t just be you. Your sister and father would be leaving as well, or at least trying to. But it’s just you.” Ghreni reached into his pocket and pulled out a data crypt, laid it on the table. “And by this, at least, you’re not leaving with the family inheritance.”
Marce stared at the data crypt. It had been taken from him when he’d been kidnapped, along with the other personal items that were on his body rather than in the now-missing rucksack.
Ghreni pushed it over to him. “Take it.”
Marce took it, put it in his pocket. “Is it empty?”
“No. I don’t need your pictures and music, and I’m afraid the duke needs more than a hundred thousand marks from your family. Until and unless your father helps us, it’s not as if you’re going anywhere anyway. And because I think he wants you to go, now, I think we’ll get what we want from him.”
“And if you don’t?”
Ghreni shrugged. “For starters, you’re not leaving the planet.”
“‘For starters.’”
“The duke really needs access to that money.”
“Enough to kill me?”
“He wouldn’t be killing you himself. But now that you mention it, at the moment, hundreds and possibly thousands of people are dying daily in this stupid rebellion. If placing one life in the balance—yours—means thousands more will live, isn’t that a risk worth taking?”
“You really just attempted to morally justify kidnapping me.”
Ghreni shrugged again. “It’s certainly an argument I can see the duke making to ease his conscience. Whether it holds water is not something I think he’ll trouble himself with. The duke is many things, but a great thinker is not one of them.”