As plans went, it struck Venera as eminently practical—but this was not a good time to be smiling and nodding.

She thought for a while. All she could hear was the slow drip drip of water from rusted ceiling pipes; doubtless no one would hear any cries for help. “I suppose you’ve been following my story,” she said eventually. “Do you believe that I’m Amandera Thrace-Guiles, heir of Buridan?”

He waved a hand negligently. “Couldn’t care less. Actually, I think you are an imposter, but why does it matter? You’ll soon be out of the picture.”

“But what if I am an imposter?” She watched his face closely as she spoke. “Where do you suppose I came from?”

Now he looked puzzled. “Here… but your accent is foreign. Are you from outside Spyre?”

She nodded. “Outside Spyre, and consequently I have no loyalty for any of the factions here. But I do have one thing—I’ve come into a great deal of money and influence, using my own wits.”

He leaned back, laughing. “So what are you saying?” he asked. “That you’re a sympathizer? More like an opportunist; so why should I have anything but contempt for that?”

“Because this power… is only a means to an end,” she said. “I’m not interested in who governs or even who ends up with the money I’ve gained. I have my own agenda.”

He snorted. “How vague and intriguing. Well, I’m sure I can’t help you with this ill-defined ‘agenda.’ We’re only interested in people who believe. People who know that there’s another way to govern than the tyrannies we have here. I’m talking about emergent government, which you as a barbarian have probably never even heard of.”

“Emergent?” Now it was Venera’s turn to be startled. “That’s just a myth. Government emerging spontaneously as a property of people’s interactions… it doesn’t work.”

“Oh, but it does.” He fished inside his jacket and came out with a small, heavily worn black book. “This is the proof. And the key to bringing it back.” He held the book up for her to see; with her limited mobility, Venera could just make out the title: Rights Currencies, 29th Edition.

“It’s the manual,” he said. “The original manual, taken from the secret libraries of one of the great nations. This book explains how currency-based emergent government works, and provides an example.” He opened the book and withdrew several tightly folded bills. These he unfolded on the table where she could see them. “People have always had codes of conduct,” said Bryce as he stared lovingly at the money, “but they were originally put together hit or miss, with anecdotal evidence to back them up, and using armies and policemen to enforce them. This is a system based on the human habit of buying and selling—only you can’t use this money to buy things. Each bill stands for a particular right.”

She leaned over to see. One pink rectangle had the word JUDGEMENT printed on it above two columns of tiny words. “The text shows which other bills you can trade this one for,” said Bryce helpfully. “On the flip side is a description of what you can do if you’ve got it. This one lets you try court cases if you’ve also got some other types of bill, but you have to trade this one to judge a trial. The idea is you can only sell it to someone who doesn’t have the correct combination to judge and hopefully whoever they sell it to sells it back to you. So the system’s not static, it has to be sustained through continual transactions.”

She looked at another bill. It said GET OUT OF JAIL FREE. The book Bryce was holding, if it was genuine, was priceless. People had been looking for these lost principles for longer than they’d been trying to find the last key to Candesce. Venera had never believed they really existed.

Pointedly, she shrugged. “So?”

The young revolutionary snatched up the bills. “Currencies like this can’t just be made,” he proclaimed, exhibiting a certain youthful zeal that she would have found endearing in other circumstances. “The rights, the classifications, number of denominations, who you can trade to—all of those details have to be calculated with the use of massive simulations of whole human societies. Simulate the society in a computing machine, and test different interactions… then compile a list of ratios and relations between the bills. Put them in circulation, and an ordered society emerges from the transactions—without institutions getting in the way. Simple.”

“Right,” said Venera, “And I’m betting that this book wasn’t designed for a world like Virga, was it? Isn’t this a set of rules for people who live on a flat-world—a ‘planet’? The legend says that’s why the emergent systems were lost—because their rules didn’t apply here.”

“Not the old ratios, it’s true,” he admitted. “But the core bills… they’re sound. You can at least use them to minimize your institutions even if you can’t eliminate them completely. We intend to prove it, starting here.”

“Well, that’s very ambitious.” Venera suddenly noticed the way he was looking at her. She was tied with her arms back and her breasts thrust at this young man and he was obviously enjoying her predicament. For the first time since being brought down here, she found herself genuinely off balance.

She struggled to regain her line of thought. “Anyway, this is all beside the point. Which is, that I am in a greater position to help you as a free woman than as a social pariah—or dead. After all, this civil war of yours probably won’t happen. As you say, the great nations have too big a stake in stability. And if it doesn’t happen, then what? It’s back to the drawing board, minus one hideout for you. Back to bombing and other ineffectual terrorist tactics.”

Bryce closed the book and restored it to his jacket. “What of it? We’ve already lost this place. If the war doesn’t happen there’s no downside.”

“But consider what you could do if you had an ally—a patroness—with wealth and resources, and more experience than you in covert activities?” She looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve killed a number of men in my time. I’ve built and run my own spy organization—no, I’m not Amandera Thrace-Guiles. I’m someone infinitely more capable than a mere heir to a backwards nation on this backwards little wheel. And with power, and wealth, and influence… I can help you.”

“No deal.” He stood up and gestured to the others to follow him as he walked to the metal door.

“A printing press!” she called after him. He looked back, puzzled. “In order for that money to work,” she continued, “don’t you need to mint thousands of copies of the bills and put them into circulation? It has to be used by everybody to work, right? So where’s your printing press?”

He glanced at his people. “It’ll happen.”

“Oh? What if I offered you your own mint—delivery of the presses in a month—as well as a solid budget to print your money?”

Bryce appeared to think about it, then reached for the door handle.

“And what if you had an impregnable place to house the press?” she called, frantically reaching for the only other thing she could think to offer. “What if Buridan tower was yours?”

One of his lieutenants put a hand on Bryce’s arm. He glared at the man, then made a sour face and turned. “Why on Spyre would we trust you to keep your end of the bargain?”

“The tower contains proof that I’m an imposter,” she said quickly. “The council is going to want to visit it, I’m sure of it—but how can I clean it up and make it presentable? None of my new servants could be trusted with the secret. But you could—and you could take photographs, do what you need to do to assemble proof that I’m not the heir. So you’ll have that to hold over me. You’ll have the tower, you’ll have money, and as much influence as I can spare for you.”

He was thinking about it, she could tell—and the others were impressed as well. “Best of all,” she added before he could change his mind, “if my deception is ultimately revealed, you may get your civil war anyway. What could be better?”