The Collapsing Empire (The Interdependency #1)(50)

“Well, I had the thing, and it wasn’t a vision. It was a dream.”

“It was a dream that made you think. A dream that caused you to search for wisdom. A dream that made you consult me, the Prophet. Sounds like a vision to me.”

Cardenia gawked at Rachela I. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I worked in marketing,” Rachela I said. “Before I was a prophet. After, too, but we didn’t call it that after that point.”

“I’m having a hard time believing what you’re telling me.”

Rachela I nodded. “That’s not unusual. Sooner or later every emperox activates me to have a conversation like this. Most of them respond like you do.”

“Most of them? What about the others?”

“They feel happy they guessed it correctly.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t feel anything about it. I’m not alive. Strictly speaking, I’m not here.”

“‘You’re always alone in the Memory Room, and never alone in the Memory Room.’”

Rachela I nodded again. “I said that. Or something close enough to it, anyway.”

“Is the Interdependency a scam?” Cardenia asked, directly.

“The answer to that is complicated.”

“Give me the short version.”

“The short version is ‘Yes, but.’ The slightly longer version is ‘No, and.’ Which version would you like?”

Cardenia stared at Rachela I for a moment. Then she went to the bench in the Memory Room and sat.

“Tell me everything,” she said.





Chapter

10

“I have an itch,” Marce Claremont said to his sister.

“Where?” Vrenna asked.

“My entire head,” Marce replied.

As required, Marce had shaved his entire head short of eyebrows and eyelashes, and had been fitted with cultivated hair and a beard, each embedded in an epidermis-thin substrate of actual skin, which had been secured to his own with the use of a glue made from, or so the person applying it to his face told him, real human collagens. Next came the thumb pad, which made Marce feel like he had tape on his hand, against which he had to mightily fight the urge to pick it off. Then the contacts which changed his eye color and iris pattern, and which included holographic fake corneas that would give the illusion of depth to the fake retinal pattern.

“I can barely see out of these contacts, either.”

“It’s not a bad eye color for you, though,” Vrenna observed. “Maybe keep those in after you get on the ship.”

“You’re funny.”

The two of them were waiting on the elevator that would take Marce down to the lobby. The newly hired crew for the Yes, Sir were told to collect there in order for their papers to be processed and then to be bussed to port, to head to the ship. That was convenient for Marce, who could blend in with the rest of the new crew.

But it also meant that these were literally the last moments he would spend with his sister, possibly in his entire life.

“Tell Dad I’m sorry I didn’t get to say good-bye,” he said, to Vrenna.

“I will. He’ll understand. He won’t be happy, but he’ll understand. He’ll be okay.”

“And how about you? Are you going to be okay?”

Vrenna smiled. “I’m pretty good at being okay. If nothing else, I’m good at keeping busy. And the thing is, rumor has it that no matter what, everyone on End is going to be really busy soon. I have an agenda, anyway.”

“What’s on the agenda?”

“The first thing is to dangle Ghreni Nohamapetan off a building for kidnapping my brother.”

Marce laughed at this, and then the elevator bell dinged and the door opened.

Vrenna grabbed her brother in a fierce hug, gave him a peck on the cheek, and then pushed him, gently, into the elevator. “Go on,” she said. “Go tell the emperox everything. Save everyone if you can. And then come back.”

“I’ll try.”

“Love you, Marce,” Vrenna said, as the door started to close.

“Love you, Vrenna,” Marce said, just before it did.

Marce had twenty floors to get his emotions in check.

The elevator opened up to a couple dozen people milling about and three people in official House of Lagos crew uniforms. One of them looked over to Marce as the elevator opened up. “What the hell are you doing in the elevator?” she asked.

“I was looking for a bathroom,” Marce said.

“Well, there’s not one in there. Get out of that.”

Marce got out. The crew member held out her hand for his papers; he handed them over.

“Kristian Jansen,” she said, looking at them.

“That’s me.”

“Any relation to Knud Jansen?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I shipped with him once. He was from End, too.”

“There’s a lot of Jansens.”

The crew member nodded, and then held up her tablet. “Thumb.” Marce pressed his fake thumb on the tablet, which scanned the print on it. The crew member then held up the tablet close to Marce’s eyes. “Don’t blink.” The camera on the back of the tablet scanned Marce’s contacts.