“The survival of humanity was the point of the Interdependency!” Cardenia shouted, at the computer simulation of her father.
And this is where, in her dream, both Attavio VI and Grayland I laughed in her face.
“My child, that’s never been the point of the Interdependency,” Attavio VI said.
“It’s just the excuse we gave for it,” Grayland I affirmed, nodding.
“Then what is the point?” Cardenia asked, still shouting. “What is the Interdependency?”
And here there was another shimmer, and another figure walked toward Cardenia, a figure that Cardenia knew was meant to be Rachela I, prophet-emperox, the legendary founder of the Interdependency. It was meant to be Rachela I but looked like Naffa, Naffa who had been caught in the explosion of the presentation balcony, Naffa, the last sight of whom that Cardenia would ever have was her being torn apart by the blast, Naffa, covered in blood, who stood in front of Cardenia now, as Rachela I, to tell her what the Interdependency was and is.
“It’s a scam,” she said.
And then Cardenia, who even dreaming could no longer pretend not to know what had happened, willed herself awake, to find herself in a bed in her own very small, very secure private hospital, surrounded by imperial bodyguards, a phalanx of doctors led by Qui Drinin, and a small contingent of imperial guards, including the one, right there, who would tell her what she already knew, that her friend Naffa Dolg was dead.
PART TWO
Chapter
7
The fighting near the University of Opole had subsided enough that Marce Claremont had been able to return to his apartment in graduate housing to pack for a trip from which he would likely never return.
Which did bring up the question: If you are leaving forever, what do you take with you?
Marce’s triage was helped by certain factors. With regard to clothing, Marce was already packed; he had enough clothes at home in Claremont that he didn’t need any from his apartment in Opole. The only thing his apartment had to offer in that regard were some casual shirts with clever astrophysics comments silkscreened on them. Marce was reasonably sure he could leave those behind. The clothing he did pack was mostly neutral in color and design. His father pointed out that fashion on Hub would be so dramatically different that he would have to restock anyway.
All the music, books, pictures, entertainment, and much of the personal communication that Marce treasured was stored in a thumb-sized data crypt, along with what appeared to be close to one hundred thousand marks of spending money, the latter accessible only through Marce’s biometrics, theoretically. Marce wouldn’t have to waste space on any of those.
That left things—objects of sentimental value. The large majority of these sorts of objects also resided in Claremont Palace, both because that’s where Marce had lived most of his life, and also because the apartment in graduate housing was ridiculously small. Of the objects that were at the apartment, Marce chose four. Two were books, given to him by his father, one on his thirteenth standard birthday, and one when he received his doctorate.
The third was an obsolete music player given to him by Vrenna, who took the player to a Green Gods concert and managed to get it signed by three of the four members of the band. The player didn’t work anymore and the Green Gods had broken up years ago, members dispersing into oblivion and/or ill-advised solo careers. But he kept it to remember that time in his life, and to remind him that Vrenna, despite often being a pain in his ass as they grew up, was occasionally capable of being thoughtful and kind.
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.”