“Remember to stay in touch.”
(“A clipper’s ready to take you to Polo Halau. Departing in twenty minutes”)
“I have to go. Best of luck to you all.” A last bow, and she left.
Dilma á Juliano Ramos was usually grateful for an excuse to leave her office, but not this time. Artur Herrera's workshop was clear across town, and reeked of pungent chemical mixtures that would stay in her hair and clothes the rest of the day. And while Artur was a pleasant enough fellow on the phone, face-to-face meetings unsettled her.
No help for it, though. Her mobile assured her that Artur was in, and his workshop door, as always, was open. She didn't bother knocking.
She found him perched on a stool at a workbench, tinkering with a large bank of circuits. His dark hair was tangled and unkempt. The right half of his face was obscured by a set of ungainly lenses, and his right arm—a slender prosthetic of dull gunmetal—branched into a forest of micromanipulators that danced in intricate patterns over the circuits.
Dilma cleared her throat; Artur looked up. “Three seconds,” he said, and finished whatever he was doing to the circuit board. The manipulators ceased their motion, and Artur gave her a grin. “What can I do for you, Governor?”
The stacked lenses, she discovered, were actually less disturbing than the prosthetic eye he normally wore. That one, a protruding mechanism that carried within its depths a hologram of a lifelike eyeball, always made Dilma fear it was looking directly into the recesses of her brain.
“Artur, I've been calling you for days. Why didn't you call me back?”
He shrugged, the mechanical right shoulder a perfect mirror-image of his natural left one. “I keep meaning to. Things come up. Like this gizmo here. It lets us tie into cargo reports from multi-planar ships.”
Dilma frowned. “How is that useful?”
“First of all, it's an interesting hack. Second, if we know what ships are carrying, we can figure out what's most in demand on other Planes. So we can make better decisions about what to grow.”
“Yeah, I see it.” Obviously Artur had still not forgotten the spelt-7 debacle five years ago, megatons of unwanted grain rotting in a thousand silos. Well, she hadn't forgotten either. None of the settlers on Coquimbo had. She shook her head. “Don't distract me. What I need to know is, what's the status of the heat shield?”
“You're kidding me, right?”
“No.”Her voice fell. “How much longer can you keep it running?”
Artur removed the lenses from his left eye, leaving an empty metal socket. “I've got that thing held together with wattle and daub as it is. I thought you were getting us a replacement.” Without the heat shield, the planet's temperature would begin to creep upward—and the recent chain of volcanic eruptions on the western continent hadn't improved the outlook. Coquimbo was a new colony, always on the edge; they couldn't afford more crop failures.
“We've had a setback,”Dilma said.
“Another one?”
“It's not anyone's fault that our first request didn't get through.”
“Other than the pirates who took the mail ship, no.” The branching manipulators of his metal arm interlaced like fingers intertwining. “Go on, what was it this time?”
“Our request reached the First Plane.”She swallowed. “It was denied.”
“Why?”
She looked at the floor. “Best we can figure, someone down there transposed letters in our planetary code.” Before he could explode, she held up a hand to silence him. “First we knew of it was when we got a call from the Governor's office on 3-3CBV5—CBV, you see, not BCV. They were wondering why they got a denial for an order they never placed, and some bright character got the idea of contacting planets with similar codes.”
For a space of several heartbeats, Artur stared with his one good eye unblinking. Than it closed, reopened. “You're telling me we're back to the beginning? No, not even that, there's eight months more wear on the shield generator, two repairs that I don't even understand why they worked, complete system failure imminent...”
“How imminent? We've resubmitted the request, it should take only a few months this time.”
A hundred tiny tools drummed on the workbench like a squall of hail on a roof. “I'd be surprised if the shield lasts another 25 days. We're already planting in the southern latitudes. Less than a month after the thing goes, we'll see drought all through the mideast. It'll just get worse. Without the shield, this planet's equilibrium temperature is 13 degrees higher.”
“I know that.” It took nearly a decade of planetary engineering before the first settlers could start planting. “Only 25 days? Is there no chance you could stretch it further?”
The drumming stopped. “Maybe. It would help if I could get some specific parts from offworld.”
Dilma sighed. This was no time to argue budgets. “All right. Get me a list, and we'll see what we can do for you.”
1.03 Polo Halau
Iridium Azimuth hung in orbit above 5-3ECK3, a cloud of repair bots and their tenders swarming around the ship’s upper levels. They had had to repair the worst of the engine damage on the First Plane, the systems fried when the pirate’s attack had hit just as they entered the Mouth of Hell, but the expense had been ruinous, especially after the unnaturally long Drop. At least they’d been able to pick up enough cargo and passengers to afford proper repairs here, but it would take until they reached the Third Plane to stand a chance of recouping the worst of the expenses. Val Millat blanked his cabin screen and rolled onto his back on his comfortable bunk, throwing one arm over his eyes in a vain attempt to make his worries disappear. No bonuses for the First Plane, or the Fifth; that was bad enough, but he was still in disgrace over the Fifth Ship. But there had been no mistaking it, not at the time and not now as he recalled it, the Ship wreathed in blue-green fire, leading the way through the tangle of energies, showing the way back to the safe channel that would take them to the First Plane. Oh, he knew what he was supposed to do: file it and forget it, like everything else about the Fifth Ship. That way lay nothing but trouble, and yet…
The door chimed twice, and he rolled over to see Kiri Sionek’s face displayed at the corner of the screen. “Yes?”
“Want to go planetside? They’re making shuttle reservations.”
Val sat up and waved his hand at the room controls. The door rolled back, and Sionek leaned in, her eyebrows lifted.
“Are you all right? You’ve been weird since the First Plane Drop.”
She was a rigging engineer, she couldn’t have seen anything of the Ship from her place in the lower control room. Val shrugged. “It was a bad one.”
Sionek glanced over her shoulder, and stepped into the cabin, letting the door close softly behind her. “This is about the Ship, isn’t it?”
Val winced. “Is everybody talking about it?”
“No, you’ve been talking about it,” she answered. “And everybody’s talking about you.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Probably not.” Sionek seated herself in the guest chair, pulling up her feet to sit cross-legged on the broad cushion. “But you’ve pissed off the captain. Or at least that’s what I hear.”
“Damn it…” Val shook his head, scowling, and she went on as though he hadn’t spoken.
“Is it true you’re thinking of resigning?”
“No.” But it was true that the thought had crossed his mind, the simplest way out of the situation. He shook his head again, harder this time. “I have no intention of quitting.”
“Then come down to Dzamglin with me,” Sionek said. “Take your mind off things. Whatever you saw—whatever happened—”
“Everybody on the damn bridge saw the Ship,” Val said.
“Yes, but they have more sense than to keep saying it.”
“It was real.”
“So what?” Sionek leaned forward, her broad face suddenly serious. “I mean it, Val. What difference does it make whether it is or isn�
��t?”
“Because—” Val stopped abruptly, his first answers trying on his tongue. In one sense, she was right: whether it was real and gave real guidance, or it was a hallucination that allowed an over-stressed brain to see the safe path, the end result was the same. Plenty of people in the vertical world accepted it as just that, a wild card that might or might not help in times of danger. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to do the same—except that he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. “Because if it’s real, there’s something fundamentally off in how we understand the physics of space. And that—that we have to fix.”
Sionek was silent for a moment. ”Well, if you’re going to take it that way…”
“Is there another way to take it?”
“Several! It’s—nobody’s ever had any proof that it’s real!” Sionek broke off, shaking her head. “It’s got you, hasn’t it?”
“I just want to know.”
“Well, you’re not going to learn anything reading cultist trash.” Sionek sighed. “My brother’s an academic, Archaic Period, all the way back, none of your early-consolidation stuff. I can give you a list of reliable sources, people who take this seriously but aren’t all mystic about it.”
“Would he talk to me?” Val leaned forward in spite of himself.
“Probably, but he’s off on the Third Plane, go some kind of search-and-study there. But I can give you his advisor’s name, she’s on Kauhale. Maybe you could get an appointment when we get there.”
Val nodded. “That—yeah, that would be great.”
“Caridad Sanrosa—LVS Caridad kaQuin Mateus Sanrosa. She was Sami’s advanced-degree advisor. She’s one of the big experts on the whole First Ships period.”
Val reached for a book-board, entered the name. “And you’ll give me that list?”
“As long as you promise not to access them through the ship’s library.”
“Fair enough.”
Sionek pushed herself to her feet. “Come down to Dzamglin with me, buy them there—and for physics’ sake, keep them on an unlinked board.”
It didn’t take long to collect his shore kit, and to stop by Sionek’s cabin for the list, transferred board-to-board out of discretion, and then they headed for the shuttle bay to cadge a lift to the transfer station. All the disembarking passengers were long gone, along with their luggage; a few passengers with business on the planet were waiting in the lounge, and Sionek tapped on the window of the duty purser’s office.
“Any room on the next flight?”
The duty purser looked down at her screen. “Yeah, plenty. You’ll be getting in after midnight, though, local time.”
“Not a problem,” Sionek began, and someone cleared their throat behind them.
“Sen Millat.”
Val turned, swallowing a curse, to see First Officer Hillard looking at him over the narrow band of her dataglass.
“The captain and I would like a word with you, please.”
“I’ll wait,” Sionek said, and Hillard gave her an austere smile.
“No need, sen. Sen Millat won’t be going planetside this stop.”
Oh, won’t I? Val felt his eyebrows rise, though he managed to swallow the words. “Is there a problem, Sen Hillard?”
“As I said, the captain and I would like a word.”
“I’m right here,” Val said, “and apparently not going anywhere.”
“I expect you’ll want to discuss this privately,” Hillard said. “Personnel matters…”
Val shook his head. “As far as I know, I don’t have any reason to be private.” He knew it was stupid to push this, knew he was taking a stand that was likely to get him thrown off the ship, but he was sick to death of being told what he had to do. “I’m off duty, and was planning to go planetside with my friend, and I’d rather not be delayed.”
“Suit yourself,” Hillard said. “If you’re not willing to let go of this Fifth Ship nonsense—”
“I’m not the one pushing it,” Val said, and saw Hillard’s eyebrows flick up in disbelief. “I have done what you asked, and if you—if the captain is going to make never mentioning the Fifth Ship a condition of employment, I’m not sure this is the ship for me.”
“Val,” Sionek said, and stopped, looking at Hillard.
Val glared at Hillard himself, feeling his bridges in flames all around him, but he couldn’t bring himself to back down. He knew what he’d seen—hell, Hillard herself had seen it, she’d admitted as much. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to everyone, and most of all, not to himself. The silence stretched between them, and then Hillard shook her head slightly.
“If that’s the way you want it, Sen.”
“Yes,” Val said. The word cut like a knife, fear and freedom washing over him—and, physics, what sane captain would hire him if Turan gave him a low rating? Except maybe he was past needing sane captains. “That’s what I want. Consider this my resignation.”
“Very well,” Hillard said, and touched the databoard that hung at her lapel. “So noted. Ship access is revoked except to your private quarters, and we’ll waive the pay-in-lieu-of-notice provision. I’ll expect you to be off the ship in—” She glanced sideways, calculating times. “No more than ten standard hours. You’re of course free to use the shuttles to reach the transfer station, at no fee. The balance of your pay and pensions will be transferred to your accounts before Iridium Azimuth leaves orbit.”
“Thanks.” Val nodded sharply.
“Sen,” Hillard began, then shook her head. “I wish you good fortune, Sen Millat.”
She turned on her heel and stalked away. Val watched her go, and realized that he was shaking. This was either the best thing he’d ever done, or the worst—and he hadn’t even thought to ask about ratings. But it was done, and there was no taking it back, not after he’d broken the contract so publicly.
“Val, are you crazy?” Sionek laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Too late now,” Val said, and thought his voice sounded strange.
Sionek sighed. “I’ll help you pack.”
Polo Halau—officially 5-2NKW3, formally The Polo Halau Judiciary Center—orbited a gas giant in the same planetary system as Kauhale, the Hina Lineage Seatworld. Close to the political center, yet far enough to demonstrate independence; that’s how Judiciars always liked it. Although born of Hina herself, Nalani—like all Judiciars—long ago renounced ties to any of the five Lineages.
The clipper pilot went out of the way to take Nalani directly to Polo Halau, rather than landing her on Kauhale with the other passengers to find an insystem shuttle.
There was no hope of sneaking onto the station unnoticed; if nothing else, the security system would blab to its supervisors the second she stepped onboard. Nalani allowed her codex to inform Polo Halau of her imminent arrival, and a delegation was waiting for her.
The entry hall was a soaring, vaulted cathedral, all but transparent to show the full glory of the ringed and banded giant planet that loomed outside. At the head of the welcome party was a middle-aged man, olive skinned and dark-haired with tracings of grey at the temples. He wore a severe black judicial robe with the usual mandarin collar, cut to minimize his paunch. An elaborate silver cuff hung from his right ear—Nalani surmised that it was his codex.
(“Superior Justice Grotius XI,”) her codex told her. (“Full name VER Thiago Enrique kaBenicio Medina Sanrosa. He’s en counsel with the Gulkisar Codex. In charge here for just under four years. You’ve never worked with him before.”) Additional details, everything from Grotius’s family to his favorite comestibles, hovered on the edges of her consciousness. (“Don’t be too familiar, he likes to sound professional.”)
He bowed deeply. “Welcome to 5-2NKW3, Supreme Justice. It’s a pleasure to have you as our guest.”
She returned the bow. “Thank you for the warm welcome, Superior Justice. I hope I won’t cause too much disruption while I’m here.”
In the endless series of introduc
tions that followed, Nalani tried to greet everyone with a warm smile. She’d served her time—far too much of it—in institutions like Polo Halau. Most of the work, while necessary and useful, was routine, unchallenging. An occasional visit from a big shot was a diversion from tedium.
In due time the crowd dispersed and Grotius showed her to an empty office. “I had quarters prepared for you. Your codex requested chambers. If this is satisfactory, it’s yours…or we can find something else.”
“This’ll be fine.” The office included a conversation area with a few chairs; she took a seat and gestured for him to do the same. “I’ve been in your place, so let me say right up front that I’m not here on any kind of administrative mission to check up on you.”
“Thank you. Of course, I want to assist you in your mission however I can.”
She leans back. “Do you know what’s the greatest thing about being a Supreme Justice? Once you get that last cycle behind you—and believe me, the time passes quicker than you can imagine—nobody can tell you what to do. You’ve got all that experience, and all the resources of the Judiciary behind you, and you can work on any case you want.”
“I’m sure it’s a good feeling.”
“And you’re very polite.” Her tender smile fades. “Did you ever work with Supreme Justice Accursius XVII?”
“Just once, long ago. She was my superior in Sanxing territory on the Third Plane when I was just a Judge. Brilliant intellect, and a good sense of humor, as I recall.”
Nalani nodded. “A legendary Judiciar, deservedly so. We were good friends.” She looks away. “Seven years ago she went missing. I’m trying to find her.”
“I understand. Naturally you have the full cooperation of all our personnel.” His relief was palpable—did he fear an official investigation that much? Or just a new Superior Justice in his first real command, who didn’t want supervisors jogging his elbow? “You need only ask.”
“As I said, my intent is minimal disruption. But I’m afraid I can’t do this alone. How many Apprentices do you have?”
Five Planes Page 4
