Someone tapped his shoulder, and Val looked up to see someone in medical tunic-and-trousers proffering a pill and a flask. “Stim,” she said, anticipating his question, “and this is sweet tea, but I can get you something else if you’d prefer.”
“Tea’s lovely.” Val accepted the pill, swallowed it, and washed it down with the cold, sweet tea. It was good, flavored with oranges as well as sugar, and he drained most of the flask before he realized what he was doing.
“Keep it.” The technician gave him a smile. “There’s more in the back if you want it, and fresh food will be coming shortly.”
He had eaten, he thought, shortly after they’d moved to the situation room; there had been protein bars and coffee and cold chocolate, but his stomach rumbled treacherously. “Thanks.”
The medic’s smile trembled, but she managed to hold it. “You’re welcome. We’ll be checking in on you regularly, so if you need anything, just ask.”
“Thanks,” Val said again. ‘Just ask’ because without them, Quintile Illumination had no chance at all.
He turned back to his console, shifting the stack of chips away from his tertiary readouts. He thought he could feel the pill beginning to take effect, a warm alertness rising along his nerves, steadying him, and he settled himself in his place, studying the data ported over from the navigation console. He touched keys, expanding the image, focusing on making sense of the swirls of color. Jessick—one of the senior navigators, not someone he’d met for more than a moment until now—had done a good job of weaving the scraps of data into a rough image of the Dropspace they shared with the Patrika, the colors showing the intensity of the flux around them. They looked solidly entrained, the lines encircling and weaving between them in a neatly symmetrical pattern: it was a good start, and Val pushed himself out of his chair.
“Fil?”
“Yeah?” The AI technician looked up from the console where he was supervising the attempts of the judges’ codices to interface with the crucial ships’ systems.
“I wonder if we can’t contact Patrika.”
Fill lifted an eyebrow, and Val hurried on.
“It looks to me as though the Dropspace is tight enough to make it possible. They massed small at Drop, but we don’t know for sure how powerful they are. If there’s any chance they can pull us through, we need to take it.”
“And they can give us a read on how long their Drop is taking,” Fil said, grimly.
Val winced. You couldn’t really predict the length of a Drop, but you could tell roughly where in the process you AI was—whether you were still in the early stages, somewhere in the middle, or closing on the end. It would be helpful, if potentially terrifying, to know approximately how much time they had left. “They could.”
“All right. Take Marti, see if the two of you can make a link.” Fil turned back to his console, and at the comm station a purple-haired woman swung round in her chair.
“I heard my name?”
“I was thinking we were close enough to try contacting Patrika,” Val said.
He saw the same calculations flicker over her face, and then she bent over her controls. “Ah. I see what you mean. Yeah, we ought to be able to tune the fields so that I can get a transmission across.”
“Couldn’t you just use field modulation?”
“I could, but I don’t want to do anything to weaken our entrainment.” Marti’s hands were busy on her controls, calling up screens and entering long strings of numbers. “Damn, the main system doesn’t want to move into that register. It’s going to take more power than I’ve got.”
“What about the ground-side systems?” Val asked.
“Not powerful enough,” Marti began, then cocked her head. “But you’re right, it’s the correct register. Let me see what a boost would look like.”
“Hang on.” Val pointed to a curl of color just head of Quintile Illumination’s nose. “Patrika’s already on that line. When we hit it, can you bounce-draft a transmission?”
“Maybe.” Marti touched keys. “Looking good. Grab a mic, Val, you’ll need to do the talking while I manage the tuning.”
Val reached for the nearest microphone, fumbled for a moment with the controls until he had it seated. “Ready when you are.”
“Stand by.” Her hands moved busily across her controls, adjusting numbers, and then she nodded. “On the line. Go ahead.”
Val took a deep breath. “Patrika, this is the Quintile Illumination, sharing your Dropspace. Please acknowledge.”
Marti touched another set of keys, and a speaker howled to life. She and Val both flinched, and then she had the volume under control. The static hissed like water, but there was no answer. Val took another breath. The emergency signal was the only thing that would guarantee a response, and yet to give it felt as though it was making the situation worse somehow.. “Pan-pan-pan. This is Quintile Illumination. Repeat, pan-pan-pan. This is Quintile Illumination. Require immediate assistance.”
Marti gave him an encouraging nod. “That ought to shift them.”
All ships, all vertical travelers, even pirates, were trained and expected to respond to the pan call. Val nodded. “If they can hear us—” He lifted the mic again, readying for a second call. “Pan-pan-pan—“
“Quintile Illumination, this is Patrika.” The voice was static-laden and scratchy, but the words were clear. “State the nature of your emergency.”
“We’ve lost our AI.” Val heard his voice rise slightly, and took hard control of himself. “I say again, we have lost our AI. Require assistance leaving Drop.”
There was a moment of silence, and then a sound that might have been mirthless laughter. “Quintile Illumination, we mass about one-twentieth your size. No can do.”
Of course a ship that much smaller couldn’t help drag them out of Drop, even if all the AIs could coordinate. Val said, “We think the shared Dropspace is keeping us from breaking up. You may be able to help us in some other way.”
“We’ll help if we can,” Patrika said.
“First, can you give us a read on your Drop progress?” Val held his breath.
“Understood. We make it somewhere in the middle.”
Not entirely helpful, but at least it wasn’t at the end. Val said, “Thank you, Patrika. Can you inform us when you reach end stages?”
“Understood. Will do.” There was a pause, and the voice from Patrika sounded more human than before. “You’ve lost all AI?”
“The ship’s AI was destroyed by a logic bomb,” Val answered. “The backup was also destroyed. We are attempting to adapt passengers’ AIs to the system—“
“That won’t do you any good,” Patrika said.
“The passengers are members of the Judiciary,” Val said. “We have the use of three judicial codices.”
“All right, that’s better.” Patrika paused. “Stand by, Quintile Illumination, we want to firm up this channel. Will you accept a firm link?”
“Tell them yes,” Marti said.
“Patrika, we will.”
“Stand by.” The speaker howled again, and Marti’s fingers danced over her keyboards. A light turned yellow; she scowled at it, typing again, and slowly the light faded to a steady green.
“Patrika,” Val said. “We have you locked in.” He was aware that Fil had turned away from the AI board and was listening intently, and raised his eyebrows in question. Fil nodded encouragingly, and waved for him to continue.
“Confirmed,” Patrika said. “All right. Let’s see what we can do to help you, Quintile Illumination.”
Quintile Illumination was dead, Val thought, irrelevantly. The ship that had given the AI it’s working name was still functioning, but the real Quintile Illumination was gone. And that was the stim talking; the drug kept you awake and functioning, but you had to watch for your mind wandering. “Thanks, Patrika. We appreciate your effort.”
Imric raised both arms, interlaced his fingers, and leaned sideways, feeling muscles stretch and crack. He leaned t
he other way, and wished the latest pill would kick in. He had managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep not too long ago, but the crew was too small for them not to rely on drugs. They’d pay once they left Drop, and he wasn’t really looking forward to that, but for now it was necessary.
On the far side of the control room, Morcant was busy with the latest calculations, working with Quintile Illumination’s pilots to come up with equations that would tie the multiplanar to Last Fair Deal and—hopefully—give them a framework that would let the Judiciary AIs hold the ship together while they solved the equations that would ease both ships out of Drop. Ap Farr had offered the use of a fourth AI—not Last Fair Deal; they’d need the ship’s AI to handle their own transition—but so far there’d bee no sign of it, and ap Farr herself had retreated to her cabin. Or maybe she was managing the fourth AI from there: Imric’s in-ship readings showed ap Farr’s personal systems slaved to an outgoing transmitter.
Whatever she was doing, he was just as glad not to have to deal with it himself. He had enough to do managing the flow of data between the ships, optimizing the lines of communication that reinforced their entrainment. In fact, it was probably time to talk to Quintile Illumination again, make sure that the frequencies were perfectly tuned to each other. He shrugged his shoulders hard, then settled to his keyboard, flicking past secondary menus until he reached communications.
“Quintile Illumination, this is Patrika.”
“Patrika, Quintile Illumination.” There was something strangely familiar about that voice. “Nothing new to report on our end.”
Imric glanced over his shoulder, but Morcant was too deep in her calculations to respond. “Nothing new here, either, but it’s good to keep the line open.”
“Yes.” Definitely something familiar about the voice, and an odd note to it, too, as though the speaker felt the same familiarity. “Shall we test visuals? We’ll need them later.”
If they could pull Quintile Illumination through the Drop, they’d need every bit of the visual bandwidth to coordinate their efforts, even with the AI helping. “Very good, Quintile Illumination. Give me your carrier frequency.”
“Transmitting.”
The numbers streamed onto the screen, and Imric touched his own keys, marrying the beams. The secondary screen lit and windowed, shadows in static resolving slowly to a hazy image of a man sitting before a data engineer’s console. Imric glanced at his numbers again, fiddling with the setting, and the picture abruptly resolved to an all-too-familiar face. He caught his breath, unable for a moment to believe what he was seeing, and the winged brows drew down into a disbelieving frown.
“Imric?”
“Milos? What are you doing on Quintile Illumination?” Imric swallowed his next words—I thought you were safe—but couldn’t stop himself from blurting out his next thought. “Stars. Are the kids with you?”
Milos nodded. He looked older, of course; he was older, to begin with, and stress and the harsh light aged him further, but he was still as handsome as Imric remembered, dark curls tousled and stubble coming in on the sharp planes of his cheeks and chin. “Where else would they be? What are you doing there?”
“It’s a long story.” Imric glanced over his shoulder, but Morcant seemed wholly absorbed in her calculations, and he took a quick breath. “Look, this is not a peaceful merchanter. They’re Second Plane pirates, and I don’t know what they’re after, but they followed you into Drop.”
Milos’s gaze sharpened. “Got that.”
“The captain does intend to help,” Imric added, and Milos nodded again.
“That’s a relief.”
“I thought you’d be safe once you got to the First Plane.” Imric hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant for it to sound accusing, but he saw Imric flinch.
“I—you put us on Iridium Azimuth because you thought she’d make it,” Milos said. “I thought—well, never mind.”
“I know what you thought.” Imric couldn’t repress a scowl. “But, no, Iridium Azimuth won the toss, she was going to have first chance at the Drop, and she was faster anyway. I thought you had a better chance—and you did. Broad Increase didn’t make the Drop.”
“Thus the pirates,” Milos said slowly.
“Exactly.” Imric nodded. They both knew how the Second Plane worked. He hesitated then. “When we spoke last, you said—has there been any word of the others?”
Milos shook his head. “I don’t think they made it.”
Imric grimaced. He had been glad of the divorce—if anything, he had left it too long, had left with bad feelings, not just because of Fredi but because he’d been pulling away for at least a year before he’d actually gotten up the will to leave—but he had never wished any of them dead. Not even Fredi, as annoying as they had found each other, oil and water and everyone else caught up with the excitement of the new husband… And that was five years ago, and they were most likely dead. He felt hollow at the thought. “But Zofia and—Dav, was it? They’re all right?”
“That’s right, you left before he was born.” Milos’s expression softened, the way it always had when he talked about the children. “They’re well. I got them out before they saw anything.”
“That’s good.” Well, as good as it could be: Zofia, at least, was old enough to understand what had happened to her other parents, and to her older sibs, though if he knew Zofi she was copying whatever Milos did, making herself be as strong and as brave as her remaining father.
“Listen.” Milos leaned closer to the screen. “Are you—can we talk?”
Imric glanced at the navigation console, but Morcant was still deeply absorbed in her work. “Yes, but keep it careful.” That had been family code for talking around hidden things, he remembered too late. Why was it so easy to fall back into old habits?
A smile flickered across Milos’s face as though he’d had the same thought. “Understood. You heard we’re working with judicial codices over here?”
Imric blinked, startled by the change of subject. “Yes.”
“Which means,” Milos said patiently, “that we have members of the judiciary on board. In fact, we have a Supreme Justice. Thurgood IX. She—she pulled me and the kids out of the refugee pool just because she could, she’s been just amazingly kind. I’m sure she could get you free.”
“Oh.” Imric blinked again, trying to get his mind to focus.
“It’s not a legal indenture,” Milos said. “That was decided ten years ago, and anyway there’s not much your captain can do about it—”
“Except not give me up.” Imric kept his voice down with an effort. “Milos, I appreciate the thought, but there are two other people involved in the deal. If I get away, Mac Braith Bain’s just going to keep them longer to make up for it. I can’t do that. It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not, but neither was grabbing you. Don’t throw away your good luck for nothing.”
“Not to mention that I’m the only DE on board,” Imric said, as though the other hadn’t spoken. “They can’t let me go until they hit port, and then ap Farr will have to replace me. She’ll never agree to that.”
“You’ve never negotiated with Nalani,” Milos said, with the sudden flick of a smile that made Imric shiver with memory. “Seriously, Imric, you’ve got a Supreme Justice ready to act for you—”
He stopped abruptly, eyes widening, and Imric winced, already knowing what he’d see. Ap Farr stood behind him, the hood of her spangled wrap drawn forward over her head so that her pale face was in shadow.
“A Supreme Justice,” she said. “Well. No wonder the AIs were being cagey.”
“I’ve declined the offer,” Imric said. His lips felt like wood. “Quintile Illumination, it’s time to end the conversation.”
Milos opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something more, then closed it again. When he spoke, his voice was entirely formal. “Very good, Patrika. Quintile Illumination out.”
Imric shut down the visual link, though he kept it on standby, an
d busied himself making sure the rest of the connections remained ready for use. He could feel ap Farr watching him, but didn’t dare turn.
“Your ex-husband,” she said at last. “That’s an—interesting—coincidence.”
“Yes.” Imric kept his voice expressionless, making himself small and unimportant.
“Well, it hardly matters.” Ap Farr lowered her hood. “And a Supreme Justice. Did your ex give a name?”
Imric licked his lips. “Thurgood IX.”
There was no answer to that, just the small sounds of the ship around them, until finally he couldn’t stand it any longer and risked a backward look. Ap Farr stood very still, the hood lowered on her shoulders, her eyes focused far into the distance as though she was seeing the other ship and its passengers. She saw Imric looking then, and forced a smile. “Thurgood IX. That doesn’t change a thing.”
If Nalani’s codex had facial expressions, it would be giving her Disapproving Stare Number 3. (“I want to go on record that I don’t like this,”) it said in her head.
(“So noted. If we survive this Drop, you can report me to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Codices.”)
(“See if I don’t.”)
(“For the record, I’m none too fond of the situation, either. But I have the wisdom to recognize the inevitable, and the grace to go along without complaining.”)
In truth, it wasn’t easy on the codices or their owners. Milos had jury-rigged software to interface the codices with each other and with the ship’s systems; even he admitted it was a slipshod job that relied heavily on codex processing power.
For days, the Judiciars and the tiger team drilled, endlessly practicing simulated Drop after simulated Drop. For Nalani and the Apprentices, it meant long hours stretched out on couches in a tiny utility room adjacent to the backup control room.
Location didn’t really matter; the codices tied in from anywhere in the ship, bringing their humans along willy-nilly. The team liked to have at least one Judiciar handy for consult. Sometimes all three were together…more often, at least one was sleeping while the other tried to rest. Thank physics for the childcare crew, which took charge of Zofia and Dav for the duration.
Five Planes Page 20
