She gulped the last of her cooling cup of tea, poured fresh from the pot that sat on the table’s central hob, and inhaled the floral steam as though it might clear her head. Here in the heart of Kauhale’s Startown, she felt entirely too conspicuous, though Val had promised that she would be perfectly safe here until he could arrange for her to take one of the “family” cabins that the Quintile Illumination reserved for friends and relatives of its crew. But she was on the older end of the clientele, and her clothes were definitely University; the bag beneath her feet, stuffed with brand-new underwear and expedition gear purchased at the chandlers in the lower levels of Startown’s Great Exchange, was equally new and unmarked. At least she used her expedition bag for everyday work: she left it sitting beside her on the bench seat, its surfaces noticeably cracked and faded, a statement of the multi-plane travel she had done.
She picked up her data board and checked the time again: still not even planetary midnight, though it felt as though she had been on the run for hours, and sitting in this teashop for hours longer. Val had said not to expect him before midnight, and probably not for several hours after that; she checked her messages anyway, finding only another plaintive note from the Chancellor, and then switched to check her accounts. As far as she could tell, there were no holds or traces—yet—and the non-linkage accounts she had used to buy her supplies still had a respectable balance. That was one thing to be said for sitting in jail: she had been able to save most of her salary.
Also in the virtual vault were the Statement of Innocence Absolute and the letter of introduction from Supreme Justice Thurgood. The latter had been very gracious gesture, she admitted, though she hadn’t been very polite about it at the time. But Thurgood had treated her more than fairly, had genuinely listened to what she had to say—was there a chance she could help with whatever had gone wrong here? Caridad hesitated for a moment, tapping her fingers gently on the edge of the board. On the one hand, this was almost certainly some sort of data glitch, a simple error that would be resolved as soon as the University police took a good look at the Statement. On the other… on the other, Thurgood IX had not struck Caridad as the sort of person who let her judgments be questioned. Perhaps it was worth contacting her after all.
She typed contact codes into the board, only to sigh in disappointment. It seemed that Thurgood IX was no longer on the planet. So much for that idea, she thought, and reached for more tea. Planet-to-planet communication was expensive; it would be easier to pursue this once she was on board the Quintile Illumination and could take advantage of its data drops.
The teapot was nearly empty, and she called back the table menu to order a refill, along with another plate of savories to keep her awake. Confirmation rippled across the screen, and she filled her cup with the dregs and settled herself to wait. She had never traveled at lower than budget-class; she wondered what the family cabins would be like.
Something moved at her elbow. She looked up, expecting the waiter, but instead it was a stranger, a thickset man in a spacer’s jacket. There were no ship patches, just less-faded spots where there had been, and she closed her hand over the data board, feeling for the touch controls.
“Yes?”
“I have a message for Val Millat.”
Caridad shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know Sen Millat. I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
“Don’t waste my time—don’t waste yours, you don’t have a lot of it.” The burly man shook his head. “Tell him to forget about the Fifth Ship. Leave it be.”
Caridad fumbled with her board, widening her eyes as she touched the keys that would record the man’s image. She hoped she looked like any middle-aged, middling-class person, competent in her own sphere, but easily alarmed outside it. “I—”
“Tell him,” the man repeated, and turned on his heel and stalked away.
Well. Caridad leaned unhappily against the wall. She had always known that the Fifth Ship cultists could be dangerous, had been careful either to avoid them or to ensure that they couldn’t reach her. Being thrown into the thick of something was not at all what she had had in mind. Still. She took a deep breath. She was leaving Kauhale, and leaving in a way that no one would expect and that was intrinsically hard to trace. Once she was on the Fourth Plane, she could link up with the rest of the expedition, and know that they would have the usual safeguards in place. And Val had promised to get her there. For the first time, she considered what might happen if he couldn’t get her on board, if he simply abandoned her—but he wouldn’t, she told herself. She was a better judge of character than that. Still, when the waiter arrived with the fresh tea, her hands were shaking.
It was a little after midnight by the time Val returned, without his luggage but carrying a spare rain-wrap in the Quintile Illumination’s blue-and-white livery. Caridad shrugged it on, and followed him to a waiting autotaxi. He loaded her luggage into the back, then climbed into the passenger compartment beside her.
“Berth K-Delta, Faros Combine shuttle,” he told the machine, and it lurched into motion. “I got you a cabin—it looks like a nice one, too, there wasn’t much demand this trip—” He stopped. “Is everything all right?”
“Someone came looking for you.” Caridad was pleased that her voice didn’t shake. She reached into her expedition bag and retrieved the databoard. “I managed to get a picture of him, but it’s not very good.”
Val took it, frowning. “It might be one of the people who tried to get me to talk about the Fifth Ship, but I can’t get a good look at his face.”
“I didn’t want him to know I was filming,” Caridad said. “In any case, I think it might be. He left a message—‘forget about the Fifth Ship.’”
“It probably is, then.” Val handed back the databoard, his jaw tightening with stubborn anger. “But I’ll be damned if I give up just because some thug tells me to.”
“That ‘thug’ knew that I was with you,” Caridad pointed out. “That argues excellent surveillance or connections within law enforcement, or both. It might not be bad advice.”
“You’re headed off on a Fifth Ship expedition yourself,” Val said. “Maybe you should be careful.”
“It is not a ‘Fifth Ship expedition,’” Caridad said. “We are exploring certain Archaic sites—“ She stopped, knowing this was an argument she couldn’t win. “I always take precautions, and so does Taheris.”
To her own surprise, she managed to sleep while waiting for the shuttle, and again on the shuttle itself, hanging comfortably in the passenger web as the shuttle wove its way through the crowded orbits and docked at last on the Quintile Illumination. A crew member on duty at the lock provided them with ID bracelets and a standard come-aboard data flake, and Val led her to a brown-painted door that opened into what was obviously a crew corridor.
“QI codes open crew areas in brown, working crew areas in rust,” he said. “Your ID gets you into brown areas, and also gives you use of the budget-class passenger facilities, though management asks that you give up your place to the passengers if things are overcrowded. You can eat with the crew, crew’s mess, or in the budget dining area. Most ships I’ve been on, the food’s the same, so it’s wherever you feel most comfortable. I’ll flip you my duty schedule as soon as it’s locked down.”
“Thank you,” Caridad said, hurrying at his heels, and hoped she could remember which way they’d come. But the come-aboard would surely have a map of the ship.
The family cabins were a level down from the main airlock, along a narrow corridor painted a pale spring-like green. FA23 unlocked with the touch of her ID, and she shoved her bags inside before turning to Val. “I—Thank you. I couldn’t have borne dealing with the Judiciary again, not so soon. I’m in your debt.”
Milos remembered the last time he boarded a multiplanar ship. Second Plane, it was, in all the crowds and confusion at Nelson’s Keep, with Zofia and Dav in tow. And then the utter surprise at seeing Imric, Imric who’d left them years and years ago—was
it just before, or just after Zofia was born?
And Imric turned him away from the first ship, gave him a code to jump the refugee queue, get aboard theIridium Azimuth. At the time Milos thought it was because Imric didn’t want them—him—in the same ship, couldn’t stand the reminder of the past. Later, listening to the rumors and scuttlebutt, he realized that Imric did it as a gesture of love, because Iridium Azimuth made it to the First Plane, and Imric’s own ship didn’t.
I never got to thank him.
That was the horrible Drop to the First Plane, longer than two months, more than a hundred days that Milos moved through like an automaton, doing everything he could to keep the kids safe and healthy, while all civilized behavior crumbled around them. He couldn’t think of any future beyond the next meal—and he dared not allow himself to dwell on the past, on the family murdered and the home lost. Afraid to hope, and unwilling to grieve.
It had been…what? Not even four months since the pirates attacked. It seemed a lifetime ago. Ever since Nalani, and then the Fifth Plane, a new start, a new life for himself and the children.
And now there was another ship: Quintile Illumination. How different it was, this time.
They knew who Nalani was; they sent a gig to the spaceport, along with a guide in a smart blue-and-white uniform, rank symbols embroidered in gold. With a deep bow, the guide welcomed each of them by name and ushered them aboard the gig—minutes later, they stepped through an airlock onto the main deck, a huge open space that soared above them.
Trying not to look like an unsophisticated tourist, Milos glanced around, trying to take in the panorama without being obvious. Bhagwati, though, saved him the effort—the apprentice stopped dead and stared upward, jaw open and eyes wide. “Will you look at that!”
Overhead, a vertical track of elevator cars soared, flanked by sweeping curved balconies stacked atop one another like the ribs of some gargantuan beast. Like a steep cone, the ship narrowed toward the distant top, which was lost in shadow.
Groups of tables and plush chairs were scattered about the carpeted floor, in various oranges and reds; shops and restaurants lined the perimeter. At the base of the elevator spine, filling the center of the floor, was a large oval service desk where crew and bots waited on passengers.
Their guide nodded toward the desk while leading them past. “Your party’s already checked in, Supreme Justice. I’ll take you right to your rooms.”
An elevator was waiting. As it ascended, the guide said, “Decks Six, Twelve, and Eighteen are lounge and entertainment.” A wink. “Eighteen’s exclusive to platinum level guests such as yourselves.”
Nalani gave one of her freezing-cold formal smiles. “Thank you. We’ll be sure to avoid it, then.”
On Deck Nine, the guide led them to a suite of rooms all opening off a private curved hallway. A small kitchen opened onto a large living-dining area. Sleeping rooms for the four adults—and another for the children—were each accompanied by compact lavatoria. Each room had ample space for work as well as sleep. Best of all, adjacent to the living area was a hot tub large enough for a dozen.
The guide bowed. “If you require anything, just address yourself to the ship’s AI by name. I’ll demonstrate.” Eyes lifted slightly, the guide said, “Quintile Illumination, how long until launch?”
A deep, resonant voice answered, “Just over ten hours until we leave Anaparra orbit.”
Nalani nodded. “Thank you.”
Another bow, and the guide was gone. Nalani looked around with a slight frown. “I didn’t ask for…” she spread her hands “…all this. Still, I suppose it’s not worth making a fuss over.” She raised her eyes. “Quintile Illumination, who is the Captain?”
“Captain Masina Kimura is in command.”
“Thank you. Tell her that Supreme Justice Thurgood IX thanks her for the accommodations. I anticipate the opportunity to meet her at her leisure. End of message.” She shrugged. “It’s customary. Besides, there may be Judiciary matters to deal with. Often are, on a multiplanar ship that hasn’t had a judiciar aboard for a while.” Her eyes twinkled. “Bhagwati, al-Ghazali, I may send one or both of you to handle a case or two.”
Al-Ghazali bowed her head. “Very good, Thurgood.”
Nalani smiled, then clapped her hands. “All right, let’s assign bedrooms. Zofia and Dav, you’re in there. Milos, I assume you want the adjacent room?” Milos nodded. “I’ll take this one, as it’s closest to the tub and I’m old and decrepit.” She glanced from Bhagwati to Al-Ghazali. “Any preference?”
Bhagwati shrugged. “I can be next to Milos, if that’s okay.” He glanced at Al-Ghazali and whispered, “That puts you further from the kids.”
“That’s fine.”
“Good,” Nalani said. “In fifteen minutes I’ll be in the hot tub, and I may not get out until we arrive. The rest of you are free to do as you please.”
Milos settled the children in their room, then stepped through a connecting door into his own. Throwing his rucksack on the bed, he sat down at the small desk and threw the display from his mobile onto the wallscreen. Besides a few routine “Welcome aboard” messages, there was nothing waiting for his attention.
“Sen Savoie?” It was the voice of the ship’s AI.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to give my personal greetings. I’ve been looking forward to your arrival.”
Milos frowned. “Me? I think you want the Supreme Justice.”
“No, Sen, I know who I’m addressing. Your reputation precedes you. Word of your work for the Judiciary is all over the Plane. The AI community is quite excited .”
“Well, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I guess.”
“I know you’re busy settling in, and soon I’m going to have to concentrate much of my capacity on launch and Drop. But I’d love to chat with you in the future, at a mutually agreeable time.” A pause. “We don’t often have the chance to talk shop with humans.”
“If that’s what you want, then I’m agreeable.”
“Until later, then.”
“Until later.”
Milos sat, shaking his head, until Dav and Zofia burst in, clamoring to join Nalani in the hot tub.
“Grumby speaking for Vanderdecken. All agents are in place and fully briefed. No deviations from plan are allowed during the period in which agents are out of contact. There will be no further updates until contact is re-established. Executions are to proceed at the appropriate time. Acknowledge in code.”
Hirose sent her acknowledgment, then shivered. Vanderdecken's course had better be the right one....
1.14 Secrets
The new pilot always got the second watch, the one that filled the awkward gap between the multiplanar’s “day” and “night.” Val didn’t mind: after what had happened on Kauhale, he was wary of getting too close to anyone in the Quintile Illumination’s crew, and his schedule helped keep himself politely apart. The second watch crew was small during intraplanar travel—most jumps were scheduled for the third watch, which the majority of the passengers would be sleeping, and the first watch had the additional responsibility of keeping the passengers happily occupied—and Val did his best to be as unobtrusive as possible. There were only three others on the bridge crew, Bith waNammi Elias Sanrosa the systems engineer, Vernette à Cybelle Ahn Sanxing the data engineer, and Donato Ivanovich Anwar Naksatra, the astrogator and co-pilot, and they seemed content to let him figure out how he wanted to be accepted into their tight circle rather than offering ways to bring him in.
The work itself wasn’t hard, though once they started setting up for the Drop to the Third Pane there would be more to do, checking and re-checking the work of the other watches. The bridge was spacious and well-laid out: the Quintile Illumination had been built after the big round of redesign had given each station its own double console and a half-dome forward display. Donato Anwar usually filled it with an approximation of jump flux, though he’d been polite enough to ask if it bothered Val. Val had shak
en his head—if anything, he rather enjoyed the shifting lights—and had been treated to flux-light ever since. He was fairly sure Anwar was running a music-approximation program as well as the lights, but he kept that within his own headset. Bith waNammi and à Cybelle seemed to have some sort of complicated simulation game running, and were glad that he neither interrupted nor asked to join in.
The only real problem with second watch was that he rarely saw Caridad, except to share a quick meal before his shift or a drink and a meal after—academics, he was discovering, kept hours as strange as anyone in vertical society. She seemed to be doing well, dividing her time between her cabin and the third-plane lounge, and doing her best not to draw any attention. He would be glad when she was safely delivered to her expedition, however, and he no longer had to worry about her.
A ship’s steward delivered meals at 2100 hours by the ship’s clock, beautifully prepared boxels from the ship’s Fifth Plane salon. This was the usual moment for a break, and à Cybelle rose from her station, stretching. “I was on last night. If no one minds, I’m going to take thirty in the lounge.”
“I can stay on,” Val said. It wasn’t really his turn, but he really didn’t feel like making conversation. The lounge was pleasant enough, but small, and there was no way to avoid talking.
“It’s really my turn.”Anwar had the grace to look faintly guilty. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’m still working through the familiarization sims,” Val lied. “Just pour me a beaker of the chocolate, and I’m good to go.”
“Here, have the whole pitcher,” waNammi offered. She filled a glass and set it and the flask on the console’s safe shelf.
“Thanks,” Val said, and took a long drink, watching out of the corner of his eye as the hatch slid closed behind them. Chilled coffee and sweet chocolate was something the Quintile Illumination’s kitchen did exceptionally well. The rest of the food was good, too, a stack of neatly made sandwiches, puffs of some mild starchy vegetable that he didn’t recognize but definitely liked, containers of pickled vegetables and a selection of jewel-like berries: definitely better than the food the crew had gotten on the Iridium Azimuth, and he wondered if it wouldn’t make sense to stay on Quintile Illumination for a while. Her management seemed too sensible to make the usual mistakes crossing the Second Plane; they had money to spare for letters of transit, and power enough to outrun the pirates if something went wrong with the papers. If he made the cycle, Fifth Plane to Fifth Plane, and kept himself out of trouble in the process, surely everyone would have forgotten about him.
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