The Collapsing Empire (The Interdependency #1)(70)

“I am.” The report would go out on a mail drone, a small unmanned craft that floated in space right outside a Flow shoal, onto which electronic communication—personal letters and pictures, business communications, reports, intellectual property that could be digitized—was recorded. Once a day one of these drones headed into the Flow with its stash of information; once a day a drone appeared out of the Flow, with letters, communication, IP, and so on to transmit to End. The mail was always late, because End was far away from everything. But it always arrived.

Claremont nodded again. “File your report. Send it. And then when it happens, you come back to me, and I’ll tell you my terms.”

“When what happens?”

“You’ll know it.”

“And what terms do you think you’ll be able to dictate?”

“I’d like not to have a murder on my record, for starters. After that, we’ll see. But I’ll tell you this, Lord Ghreni, you have this all wrong. I don’t need you. You, on the other hand, might need me. More than you know. So go write your report. I’ll stay quiet until you get back.”

Claremont actually made shooing motions, dismissing Ghreni. More out of bemusement than anything, he left.

*

Ghreni went to his office at the House of Nohamapetan building—it would take a while to move his concerns into the ducal palace, a thought that sent a thrill down his spine—and composed his report to Nadashe. The report was both in code and encrypted. Then he sent it on a secure beam to the mail drone, and waited for a receipt that it had been. The receipt came minutes later, along with the timer for the departure of the drone, which would be on its way in under half an hour. Ghreni noted the receipt and then busied himself with other work, primarily fielding reports from the team writing up the truce with the rebels.

This was involved enough that it wasn’t until three hours later that he noticed he’d received an additional note from the mail service, informing him that his mail would not be delivered on time. The reason was “drone failure,” which meant the drone was defective in some way. The information in the drone, including his report, would be transferred to a different drone (there were dozens parked out near the Flow shoal) and then sent through.

Ghreni noted this and was about to click through when he noticed two other reports of delays due to material failure. As he read the third one a fourth entered into his queue.

Ghreni pinged his assistant. “What’s going on with the mail drones?” he said.

“I don’t know, sir,” was the reply. “Everyone’s complaining about it. All the mail is bouncing from one drone to another.”

Before Ghreni could respond to this his tablet pinged to let him know Sir Ontain Mount was trying to reach him. He disconnected from his assistant without acknowledgement and hailed Mount.

“We seem to have a problem,” Mount said.

“With the treaty discussions?” Ghreni asked.

“No, something else. A fiver named Because I Said So just reported in to Imperial Station. It was about to translate into the Flow.”

“Is there a problem with the ship?”

“This ship is fine. It’s the Flow shoal.”

“What about it?”

“It isn’t there, Lord Ghreni. It’s entirely gone.”

Several hours and a number of semi-frantic meetings later Ghreni returned to the hospital and to the Count of Claremont’s room.

“Oh good, you’re back,” Claremont said. He pointed at the Imperial Marines. “I’ve been told I’m fine and they’re going to release me now. They’re about to hand me over to the local authorities, which I suppose are your people now. I’m going to jail, apparently.”

“I need the room,” Ghreni said, to everyone who was not the count. The room cleared out. Ghreni turned his attention back to Claremont. “You knew. About the Flow.”

Claremont nodded. “It was possible that it hadn’t collapsed yet when you sent along your report, in which case this would be a different conversation. For now, at least. But if it hadn’t collapsed today, it would have been tomorrow, or the next day. Within a week, in any event. And we’d be having this conversation then.”

“If the Flow stream collapsed then you sent your son to his death.”

“No. I predicted this stream is collapsing from the entrance shoal. The exit shoal will be open for months yet. Not that it will matter. Nothing else can get into it, so for all purposes once the stream empties of ships currently in it, it’s gone. Everyone who’s on End will be here for the duration.”

“And how long is that? How long is ‘the duration’?”

“Why, Lord Ghreni. That’s forever, of course.”

Ghreni had nothing to say to this.

“There is one thing,” Claremont said.

“What is it?”

“The Flow stream out from End is closed. But I predict the Flow stream to End will stay open for several years yet. It’s already showing some signs of decay. But it should hold for a while. It might even be the last Flow stream in the Interdependency to collapse entirely.”

“What does that mean?” Ghreni asked.

“It means we should be getting ready for visitors.”

“Visitors.”

“Yes.”