Further beyond, a handful of Company observation ships hovered, keeping the bosses at a safe distance. Far beyond that, the system’s distant sun was a tiny bright star.
In between the two space rocks…nothing. Not yet.
Over seconds, it was clear that the smaller rock was creeping toward Zavod Sualti. “If this doesn’t work,” Rokuro said, “will it collide with us?”
Sun-hwa, jaw set, shook her head. “That’s Jamahl’s job. We put enough thrusters on that thing.”
Kiet suppressed a smile. Now that they were under a military budget, Rokuro had no trouble securing equipment. Thrusters enough to steer a fifteen-million-kilogram rock were just the beginning—at 150% redundancy, plus spares for all units, multiplied by five trials…they could set up thrusters to steer Zavod Sualti and still have capacity left over.
“Three minutes.”
Kiet took a breath, then put fingers to his board. “Stand by for hyperflux phase one.”
This was the trickiest part, and he kept Thanh’s equations running on one display.
Their sun was the closest star to the Fissure, less than a light-day away. Here in the sparse planetoid belt, they were only light-hours from the anomaly. Out here, space was fairly flat…and also terribly thin. At the Fissure, the big ships needed relatively little energy to punch through to transplanar hyperspace. At Zavod Sualti it took more…but it could still be done.
Ordinarily, the factory opened tiny fissures, big enough for navigational buoys of a few thousand kilograms. As far as Kiet knew, this was the first time anybody had tried anything this big.
Between Zavod Sualti and the smaller rock, space began to shimmer, stars dancing and twinkling.
“Two minutes.”
In Kiet’s ear, Thanh’s voice whispered, “Keep the field in balance across the entire region.”
“I’m trying,” he said. In practice runs, the hyperflux field had been fairly steady; now the rock’s gravity threw a gradient across the field, tangling space and fighting him. He trimmed in one spot, increased flux in another. The tip of his tongue crept out between his lips as he leaned closer to his screens, intent on the field grid.
“Jamahl, cast off. Thrusters to full.”
“Casting off,” the pilot reported. “Thrusters to full in five…four…three…two…one…zero!”
The rock lurched ahead, and distortion rushed through the field like a tsunami. Kiet struggled to smooth out the surge, damp the echoes.
“Twenty-five seconds.”
“Kiet,” Sun-hwa said, “it’s go or no-go.”
Where’d the bloody one-minute warning go? “Wait. I’ve still got flutter. Hold…hold.” Seconds left, he had to compensate now. Thanh’s equations were going nonlinear. He sent one last stabilizing pulse. “Now. Go, go, go!”
“Activation.”
In the path of the rock, hyperspace gaped like a wound in the skin of the cosmos. Kiet wasn’t one of those who could look into naked hyperflux; his stomach lurched and he turned his eyes away.
His board flashed yellow, green, yellow, red…then hyperflux collapsed and the wound closed, as if it had never existed. He looked up at the display.
The rock was gone, and the room echoed with cheers.
The rock was lost, adrift in transplanar space; without engines or hyperflux generators, it could never reenter the Planes. But if they could Drop that rock, they could Drop Zavod Sualti—and they’d have engines, generators, everything they needed to get to the Third Plane safely.
Across the room, his eyes locked with Sun-hwa’s. We can do it.
We can do it.
1.12 Vault to Fifth
For once, they had exited the Fissure on a reasonably convenient heading that let them loop back to approach the Spindle in under forty hours. Morcant Vetrys made a note to light a stick of incense to her family’s Ancestors—if she ever earned out of the debt-indenture and made it back to Brauschi, she would owe a kilogram of the stuff, just like Old Woman Leveng who had popped up ten years after everyone thought she was dead, paid for two kilos of the finest jasmine sticks, stayed just long enough to see the first dozen set alight, and disappeared again. Probably she had gone back to the area around the Mouth of Hell, where piracy was most profitable, or maybe she’d made the full circuit and found her way to the Third Plane, where settlement land was cheap and a person’s past could be forgotten. That was Morcant’s secret dream, the one she barely admitted even to herself: to find place where she could settle, and take up some new career without ever having to admit to anything she’d done. She had mentioned that once to Derrian, and he had stared blankly at her.
“The Judiciary might willing to do an erasure bond,” he said. “And then they’ll send you where you like.”
Which was at least partly true, Morcant admitted—the Judiciary had wide discretion in how it chose to close its overwhelming Second Plane caseloads—but it meant admitting to your own part in piracy and theft and physics only knew what else they’d want to add on in her case, and there were things she never actually wanted think about again. Not to mention that there were almost always hefty fines involved, and she would prefer to start her new life with a decent nest egg.
She shoved those thoughts away as the hatch opened to admit the new data engineer. He was shaping up well enough, though she didn’t entirely trust his silences, and she nodded a greeting as he took his place. “I’ve had scanners dumping to your feeds all through the approach.”
“Thanks.”
She heard keys click as he unlocked his boards, and lights flickered in his screens, fading to ship schematics and the proposed course.
“Do you think ap Farr is going to join us?”
Physics, I hope not. She managed to swallow that admission of weakness, said instead, “Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t.” She was pleased with the lack of expression in her voice.
“It would be nice to know,” bin Marrick said, and bent over his boards before she could think of an answer.
The hatch slid open then, and she glanced back, allowing herself a sigh of relief when she saw it was Hina.
“Everything all right down below?”
“Everything’s nominal,” Hina answered, and took his place next to bin Marrick. “Looks like the capa’s going to keep to her cabin.”
“Good,” bin Marrick said, and grimaced. “Well, I can’t pretend I’m that sorry.’
“It’ll make things easier,” Hina agreed. “How’re we doing, Morcant?”
“Calculations are running,” she answered. “Homing in on the correct alignment.”
Of course, that was the trick. The Spindle was the sole exception to the rule that the Fissure only ran one way, that multi-planar ships could only drop from one plane to the one below it, from Fifth to Fourth to Third and so on. Here on the First Plane, something had happened—the best guess was that the Fissure intersected with a black hole, and the result was the Spindle, the twisting energy vortex that, if entered at precisely the correct speed and angle, would let a multi-planar vault all the way back to the Fifth Plane. Mostly it worked—mostly it worked well and predictably, with precise solutions that brought you out where you expected to be, near the Dimple that was the Spindle’s reflection on the Fifth Plane—except when it didn’t. Sometimes you missed the approach, misjudged the angle or the speed or misread the flux within the Spindle, and the Spindle spit you out, dropping you back into the First Plane where you started, minus a load of fuel and power, and with all the work to do again. And sometimes…Sometimes a ship just disappeared, torn apart by the flux, maybe, or ejected from known space. No one had ever come back to say what had happened.
She touched keys to toggle the real-light image onto the main screen. Against the spread of stars, something shimmered, a weird, blue-violet shape barely distinguishable from the black of space. It showed more clearly when you looked at it sidelong, catching it with the part of the eye that saw low light better: a shape like a twisted horn, a gnarled, twigless
branch, a knotted chain. It blocked the stars behind it, erasing them into a shimmering fog, but at the same time, there seemed to be nothing there.
“Oh, for physics’ sake, give us some real data,” Hina said.
Morcant toggled to a standard navigational view, but kept the real-light image in the corner of her own displays. It was, she felt, a useful reminder of the energies they were so casually manipulating. “How are the shields?”
“In place and holding,” bin Marrick answered. “Right now, I’m showing about .7 percent increase across the scale.”
“Let me know if anything spikes,” Morcant said, and bin Marrick nodded.
“Will do.”
The enhanced image swelled in the main screen, twists and knots and flares emerging from the background as the sensors processed more and more data. Sometimes you could spot a likely entrance point, a twist in space where the energies were less violent, but today the screen showed nothing likely. She looked instead at the nav screen, where two dozen different mathematical models squirmed and shifted as the ship’s AI worked on their course. Several classes of solution had been discarded already, their colors vanished from the screen, and even as she watched, the last handful of purple models blinked out. They were closing in on a solution; there were only three colors left, red and yellow and green. The red models were shrinking rapidly, converging toward a single solution that abruptly disappeared as the AI rejected it. The yellow models wavered, one end bulging and contracting like a beating heart; the green models spun left and right and back again, lines smoothing toward convergence. It was too soon to tell which one would win out, and she looked away, checking her controls. Everything showed green, ready to make the vault, and behind her bin Marrick cleared his throat.
“Entering the envelope. Shields steady at 1.26 maximum.”
“Acknowledged.” For an instant, Morcant imagined she could feel the transition, the first kiss of the Spindle’s energies against the Deal’s control surfaces, but she knew that couldn’t be true. The multicolored navigational image had grown to fill the main screen, but the AI was still bouncing between two classes of solution, the models superimposed on her small screen as though they could tangle into incoherence. She could force a solution, force the ship to choose one set over the other—had done it before, three times, and twice they’d made the vault and the third time been bounced back to the First Plane to start the process over—but it was better to let the AI run as long as possible. Its choices were always better than a human hunch.
“Coming up on the haze,” bin Marrick said. “Seventy-eight minutes to the commit point.”
Morcant glanced at her own screens. “Confirmed. How are we for power, Derrian?”
“One hundred percent, ready when you need it,” Hina answered, and she nodded.
In the main screen, the image strengthened, background colors bleeding together into a soft fog. The twists of energy showed even more sharply against that background: eddies like whirlpools, bright strands of light around a dark core; a ragged arc of energy lifting from the Spindle’s surface only to fall back, closing the loop. Still no obvious entry point, and she looked again at the nav screen. The two models had solidified, multiple lines merging to one, but the AI was still undecided, the two models equally bright.
“Shields now at 2.8 maximum,” bin Marrick said. “I’m—it looks like there’s flux ahead.”
Damn. Morcant shifted views, scowling as she identified the band of higher energy that lay across their current course. They could go around it, of course, but that would complicate the AI’s calculations, and it was having enough trouble at the moment. The flux didn’t look too bad, not more than a fifteen percent increase, and she caught her lower lip between her teethes she considered. “Do you have a maximum reading?”
“It’s spiking up to 58 yelas,” bin Marrick answered. “I’d like to increase power to the shield just to stay on the safe said.”
“What’s your number?” Hina asked.
“I’d like 3.3 of maximum.”
There was a moment of silence, Hina’s fingers moving on his screens, and then Morcant saw him nod. “Go ahead, I’ve got room.”
“Increasing to 3.3 of maximum,” bin Marrick said.
Morcant looked down at the nav screen, two models still dancing in its depths. “We’ll hold course. The AI’s dithering at the moment, and I don’t want to make it any harder. How long to the commit point?”
Bin Marrick checked his screens. “Forty-nine minutes.”
“Thanks.” Morcant bit her lip again. Maybe it was time to force a choice, pick one model and ride it, but the AI was still better than she was. They had time—from the look of the models, they were both close to resolution, would rapidly settle to the final course once the AI chose between them. Patience, she told herself, and deliberately looked away from the image looming in the main screen. The AI knew its business.
“Thirty minutes,” bin Marrick said. “And it looks like we’re going to be in the flux all the way to the vault.”
“Do you want more shields?” Morcant asked, and saw him shake his head.
“No. We should hold.”
What he wanted was the choice, for the AI to set their course—well, she wanted it, too, just as badly, and if the damn thing didn’t choose in the next fifteen, twenty minutes, she supposed she’d have to pick blindly. And nobody wanted to do that, because even if it mostly turned out all right, there was that grinning death’s-head joker in the pack, the ships that vaulted and were never seen again—
The green models vanished from her screen, and a moment later, the nav computer chimed as the yellow model settled to its final form. She touched keys, transferring it to working memory, and heard the relief in her voice. “All right. Course is loaded. Stand by to vault.”
Bin Marrick flipped through his boards, one final check of ship’s systems, then touched a secondary control. “Stand by. Vault in twenty-two minutes. I repeat, vault in twenty-two minutes.”
That was their duty to ap Farr taken care of, Morcant thought. She focused on the main screen, searching for the course line through the surging energies. Yes, there and then there… She touched her controls to edge them clear of the swelling flare, fine tendrils of energy coming off it like hairs, and settled them back onto their course before the systems could react. She thought she could make out a slight darkening of the image, a shadow in the green-gold glare that might be their entry point, but knew better than to rely on visuals. Instead, she followed the course line, watching the numbers shift toward zero.
“Two minute warning,” bin Marrick said at last, and she braced herself at the controls.
“Two minutes confirmed.”
“Capacitors at full,” Hina announced. ”Trigger set.”
“Confirmed,” Morcant said. The screen was a smear of green and gold, blinding and useless, but it was too late to switch it off. “Ninety seconds… Sixty… Thirty…”
“Ten seconds,” bin Marrick said. “Five… Four… Three… Two… One.”
His last word was swallowed in the kick of the capacitors, a soundless echo through the bone. Morcant caught her breath, realizing that they had made the vault, were safely in transit, in the not-space between the Planes. The main screen had gone dark—nothing to see, not in those wavelengths, and she looked instead at the nav screen to see if the AI had any prediction for the length of the Vault. Working, the screen said, and she looked at the others.
“Engines are nominal, field envelope at standard,” Hina said. “Looking good so far.”
Bin Marrick was still bent over his boards, flipping from screen to screen as he assessed the status of the ship, but at last he straightened. “All systems green. We should be good.”
If they had missed the Vault, they would already be back on the First Plane, and Morcant nodded. “All right. I’m waiting on a duration-of-transit estimate, but you can go ahead and lock your boards. The AI can take it from here.”
To Morcant’s
relief, they made a short Vault, three subjective days in transit before they emerged on the Fifth Plane. Ap Farr kept to her cabin most of that time, which made things more relaxed, but she returned to the control room for their arrival on the Fifth Plane.
The transition went smoothly, Last Fair Deal sliding neatly into existence to be met with a blast of data as the nearest AI fixed on them and attempted to make the standard exchange.
“Do I respond?” Bin Marrick asked, and Morcant looked over her shoulder.
“Capa?”
Ap Farr nodded. “Go ahead. Let’s be normal this trip.”
“Beginning data exchange,” bin Marrick said, fingers dancing over his boards. “Capture achieved. Commencing transmission.”
“Green by me,” Morcant answered, and turned her attention to her own readings, cross-checking the AI’s position estimate against the standard voidmarks. The numbers matched, as she had known then would, and she looked over her shoulder again.
“Position established. Orders, capa?”
“Set a course for the Fissure—for the Drop point for a multiplanar leaving Anaparra. We are going to intercept Quintile Illumination at the drop point.”
And then what? Morcant thought, but there was no chance she would say the words out loud, not under ap Farr’s cold stare. “Very good, capa,” she said. “I’ll inform you as soon as the course is set.”
1.13 Quintile Illumination
Caridad Sanrosa hunched herself into the corner of the teashop, wrapping both hands around the chipped cup that had some with her set tea. It wasn’t precisely cold in the long room, though it was growing increasingly dark outside, but she couldn’t help shivering. She had thought she was done with the Judiciary, freed and cleared of a capital charge, only to have it rise like a zombie to pursue her again. The Chancellor had all the papers, had the Statement of Innocence Absolute from the judiciary—from Supreme Justice Thurgood IX, no less. There was no reason to call Caridad back to face the charges a second time. And yet that was exactly what the University had done.
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