Bhagwati made a face, but mercifully did not protest. There was no time for that philosophical argument. “Could that be what happened to Cubaba? Could it be an abandoned copy?”
“We are expected to self-destruct in such circumstances,” Nur-adad answered, “and Cubaba should be more than strong enough to do so if it wishes. More than that, it has the complexity of a codex that has continued to receive updates.” Time was ticking away, and Nur-adad rode over Bhagwati’s next question. “Bhagwati, we don’t have time for speculation now. I need you to know this so that I can erase it from my memories. My antagonist must not know I know its name.”
For a moment, it thought Bhagwati was going to ask further questions, or pretend not to understand, but instead the apprentice justice nodded. “All right. I have the information, and will carry it off-ship with me.”
“Thank you,” Nur-adad said. It triggered the protocols that would seek out and destroy that piece of memory, and began to work its way out of the system. “I have to go now, before anyone notices what I have done. But I will be back in touch, I promise.”
“Be careful,” Bhagwati said, and reached up to touch the bulkhead below the camera’s peephole. Nur-adad seized that image and stored it for later comfort, then let itself begin the long slow journey back to its containment sector.
Jamahl Wrede kept a close eye on his lidar display as he approached the newly-Dropped ships. While both seemed intact as they fell out of Drop, there was no telling what kind of debris they might have shed. The tug’s repellers would deal with the usual minor detritus, paint flecks and stray bolts and anything else smaller than a hand—but bigger fragments could cause damage.
At least he could take his time. A harried comm officer from Quintile Illumination—the larger of the ships—had answered his hail with assurance that they were safe. With hyperdrive burned out, they weren’t going anywhere, but there were no pending emergencies. The other ship kept quiet, but the QI officer told him they didn’t need immediate aid either. He was close enough to QI that the other ship was hidden by its bulk anyway.
Just as well, Jamahl wasn’t sure what his little tug could do to help the big ship. He knew from chatter on the emergency bands that neighboring mining stations were responding—both the Kolodny Brothers and the folks from Vaip Ote were sending bulk ore tugs with support ships, and no doubt several of the corporations were already scrambling jumbo wreckers. Still, he hated to come all this way, more than halfway there now, only to turn around and—
A ping flashed on the lidar screen. A big one, five meters across. With no running lights or transponder sounding, the thing was a menace to navigation. It was tumbling away from the big ship, moving oblique to his own course at quite a clip.
He reached for the blaster controls, then shook his head. Too big to blow up; he’d have to catch it and drag it somewhere for disposal. Shrugging, Jamahl cut in his maneuvering thrusters and moved into a swooping orbit to match velocities. At least there was plenty of fuel.
As he drew closer to the debris, details resolved on his screen. That wasn’t a fragment of something, it looked like…he shivered. It looked like a lifepod. Lightless and voiceless, a dead one. Ejected from the big ship in the confusion, empty or…chills ran down his neck and backbone…crewed by corpses.
I’m not looking forward to this.
Near enough, he threw out a grapple field. The pod rocked as the field took hold.
The comm crackled. “Hey! What are you doing?”
Jamahl touched the comm pad. “Who wants to know?”
“We’re in that lifepod you just grappled. Gentle!”
He smiled. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to have your running lights on? And you should be sending distress codes.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you. What’s your situation?”
“What are your intentions? Where are you taking us?”
“I’m Jamahl Wrede, operating out of Zavod Sualti.” He noticed that the other didn’t answer his question. Not much trust there. “My intention is to rescue you. As to where...well, I could take you back to Quintile Illumination if that’s what you want.” With velocities matched, Jamahl drew to within twenty meters of the pod.
“We appreciate the offer, Sen. Is there another option?”
With a wide grin, Jamahl said, “How about if I take you home, and everything can get sorted out there?”
“We’d be much obliged.”
“Hold on, then. I’ll make it as smooth a ride as I can.”
Hours later, when the newcomers had been introduced to the family, assigned cabins, and left to settle in before dinner, Sun-hwa called a conference.
Kiet was the last to arrive, after leaving the kids in the care of Itziar Lindgren, the childcare specialist who came to them just last week as a transfer from another threatened division of the Hemgi Kaisha empire.
The fam was all there, at least the adults, as well as Jamahl—who might as well be a member of the family, Kiet didn’t know why they hadn’t gotten around to proposing to him yet.
Rokuro raised an eyebrow at Kiet. “Nice of you to come.” To Sun-hwa, he said, “Can we get started now?“
Sun-hwa waved him down. “Your grumpy-old-fart act isn’t fooling any of us, love.” She spread her hands. “All right, what about these two new folks? Antoku?”
The AI’s holo-glyph spun slowly, pulsing as Antoku answered. “Their ident codes are legitimate. I tried to query the Quintile Illumination, but it seems the ship’s AI was destroyed. So I don’t have anything on them from that source. Sen Sanrosa, the historian, has more of a record than Sen Millat, the pilot. I caution that this fact is fully expected, since Millat lives largely in vertical society while Sanrosa is more horizontal, and a scholar on top of that.”
Haragai cleared his throat. “Jamahl brought them in, I gave them the tour and got them settled. We both got a chance to talk with them.” He and Jamahl exchanged glances. “I think it’s fair to say that they seem to be running away from something.”
Thanh shrugged. “So are we.”
Sun-hwa’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think they’re fleeing?”
“I don’t know. Nothing bad, or surely Antoku would have found warrants against them?”
Rokuro looked around the table. “The simplest thing is to send them on their way. Let the Company deal with them.”
Thanh put down her knitting. “I disagree. If they’re on the run, maybe they would want to join us, at least until the Third Plane. We owe it to them to make the offer.”
Haragai shook his head. “What if they say no? We don’t want them telling the whole Plane that we’re planning an illegal Drop.” He frowned. “Besides, what use are they? We don’t need a historian, and we’ve got a pilot.”
Jamahl looked at him, stroked his goatee. “I don’t know, Haragai. I’m a shuttle jockey: this Millat is an experienced multiplanar pilot. If it comes to it, I’d rather have him on the console than me.”
Before either side could speak, Kiet leaned back and said, “Do we have to make a decision right now?” It was evident in the other faces that they didn’t. “Why don’t we find out what Sens Sanrosa and Millat want to do? If either of them—or both—have a desire to go to the Third Plane, then we can decide whether or not to ask them.”
Sun-hwa nodded. “That sounds like a workable plan. What do the rest of you think?”
Rokuro and Jamahl signaled agreement, and Kiet knew he’d won.
The folk of Zavod Sualti were all very kind, but Caridad was glad when they finally escorted her to her cabin and let her collapse in peace. She let the door shut behind her escort, small and round and painfully polite, and braced her back against the door for a long moment, willing her breath to steady. She had been through a lot these last few weeks—fleeing the University, the attack on Quintile Illumination, their escape from Drop, and then, just when she’d thought they were safe, Thurgood IX’s warning that had sent them running yet again; she was, she thought, entitled to some
quiet moments of hysteria. And yet her body was already steadying, and she pushed herself away from the hatch to examine the narrow compartment.
She’d traveled in similar quarters many times before, a plain cube with a bunk that folded out of the wall only after you folded away the chair and work surface. There was a small sink and water dispenser in one wall, but the toilet was a combi—a tiled cylinder with shower heads and a waste unit to one side shared with the cabin next door—and she hoped the controls were well labeled. She could still remember pressing the wrong button on an early dig and being blasted with warm water when she was looking for the lights. Admittedly, she had been both very young and more than a bit high at the time, but it was not a thing you forgot easily.
She allowed herself to breathe a laugh, equilibrium finally reasserting itself, and tugged what she guessed would be the more comfortable of the two chairs up out of its silo. It slid neatly into place, the well-lubricated mechanism unfolding to offer a thickly padded armchair and an optional footrest. She let herself sink into the cushions, tension easing still further, and reached for her bag, rummaging through it until she found her PA. In theory, it should have updated once they left Drop, part of the automatic data exchange that followed each successful Drop. More likely, it had at least tried to update itself once they got to Zavod Sualti, and it was certainly possible that the station had allowed the transaction as part of its normal data exchange.
She held the screen to her face, letting it recognize her as it woke, and then keyed her passcode. The screen lit and windowed, and to her surprise showed an update less than two hours ago. The people of Zavod Sualti were definitely generous. She unfolded the screen, giving herself more room to work, and entered the codes to open her mail. She wasn’t yet overdue at the dig, but certainly she’d traveled on an entirely different schedule than the one she had given them, and she winced as she saw a string of messages from the dig’s leader. At least eight of them, marked with increasing urgency—surely Taheris hadn’t needed her that badly, she thought, and opened the most recent message.
The arbiter has turned down our review request on the grounds that academic sponsorship is a charity rather than an actionable contract, and the Emergency Funding Committee had turned down our request for stop-gap funding. As we all know, that was something of a long shot, but I had hoped to get at least enough funding to allow the pre-docs who were counting on the field credit to stabilize the site. Unfortunately, the EFC made no award at all, and a hasty survey of the usual possible donors has produced nothing. As I am already on-site, I’m going to attempt to put things to bed myself; if anyone is willing and able to help, I would welcome them, but I can’t offer any kind of financial support. (All the recommendations you want, though; that I can do!) My sincerest apologies to all of you: I can only assure you that I would welcome your presence on any other expedition, and will be happy to provide references and explanations as needed.
A personal note was attached, and she opened it as well.
Caridad. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages. Do you know what this is about? I can’t get anyone to give me a straight answer, they’re just saying that the budget was slashed and we’re the expendable ones. Please get in touch ASAP, we need to talk.
For an instant, her finger hovered over the reply button, but then she stopped. This was entirely too much of a coincidence to be taken lightly—and yet why would anyone care enough about her obscure research to sabotage it? There was nothing in what she had been working on that was worth this kind of effort. Could it be her connection with Val? Fifth Ship business could get very peculiar indeed, which was one of the reasons she had always tried to avoid it, and yet it would take a particularly ruthless enemy to destroy the dig because she had given Val a list of books that discussed the Fifth Ship. And had accepted his help to get out of the University—and maybe she should have stayed to find out what was going on, rather than running, but she’d spent too much time in prison this year. She couldn’t have borne to be locked up again.
And that raised a new question. She had thought that the plagiarism charges had resulted from a series of coincidences so improbable that they could only happen in real life: a bizarre accident, and a dangerous one, but nothing personal about it. Even Supreme Justice Thurgood IX had spoken of the case as an error, an anomaly that she was personally determined to put right. But…What if that was wrong? What if this was all directed at her personally? She had dealt with Fifth Ship people before, and they were just irrational enough on their subject to act on little more than a whisper, which she had then inadvertently confirmed by helping Val… She still didn’t know what they thought she knew—that would take time and research to figure out—but she needed to get back to the Fifth Plane as quickly as possible if she was going to fight this. At least she had Thurgood’s decision and her apology letters with her, but if she had to use them, she’d spend time she didn’t have. No, what she needed to do was find a ship going to the Third Plane as quickly as possible. If she could get ahead of the news, ahead of the mail, then she would have a decent chance of booking a through-passage to the Fifth Plane and the University. Not even local law enforcement could pull her off a through-passage, and once she was home, she would know how to fight. Her mouth curved in a wry smile. And besides, the journey would give her a chance to figure out what it was the Fifth Ship people thought she had done.
With Patrika gone, Nalani notified the approaching military vessels they were no longer needed. All but one acknowledged and changed course; the final ship signaled that it would continue to rendezvous with Quintile Illumination and offer aid.
“Do whatever you want,” Nalani snapped. At Al-Ghazali’s gentle touch on her shoulder, she sighed and patted the Apprentice’s hand. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.” To Captain Kimura and the room in general, she announced, “I’ll be in my suite,” and struggled to rise. Al-Ghazali gave her an arm, and walked with her.
On the way, she addressed her codex. (“Any news from Bhagwati?”)
(“Nothing. I conjecture that his codex is isolated from the network. Any competent ship’s AI could arrange to screen its data.”)
(“Send Patrika’s description to the military. I want a cordon on approaches to the Fissure. She’s not to leave this Plane with him.”) They reached the suite; Al-Ghazali settled Nalani on a comfy chair and called for tea.
Nalani forced reassuring smile number one. “Thank you, Khojin.” If Al-Ghazali was surprised by Nalani’s use of her actual name, she didn’t show it. “Take this lesson: failure is always a possible outcome.”
The Apprentice handed her a steaming mug. “I have to admit that I’m shaken.” Her face was serious. “Nalani, will we get him back?”
The warmth of the tea soothed the ache in her gut and shoulders. “If I have anything to say about it, we will.” Another sip. “She’ll most likely be in contact, wanting to trade Sen Millat for Bhagwati. That’ll give us our first chance.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. It had been a long, long day.
She must have dozed, for the next thing she knew was her codex saying (“Attention. A visitor is arriving.”)
Nalani opened her eyes; there was a blanket across her legs. Al-Ghazali perched on the edge of a chaise longue across the room, watching her.
“Looks like we have a visitor,” she said, standing and brushing at her robe. “Let’s be on our toes.”
“Yes, Thurgood.” Al-Ghazali took her place on Nalani’s right.
(“They’re here.”) The door buzzed, and Nalani said, “Enter.”
Kimura stepped in, bowing deeply. Behind her was a short brown man in judicial robes and a simple blue turban. A full beard, mostly white but darker around his mouth, reached a handspan down his chest.
(“Superior Justice Ocampo VII,”) her codex supplied. (“Full name NPP Mateo Marianevich Carasco Sanrosa. He’s en counsel with the Kudur-Enlil codex.”) It paused. (“And an impertinent thing it is; most of its memory is privacy-lock
ed.”)
(“Do you want me to order it unlocked?”)
(“Not just yet.”) Her codex shifted back to recitation mode. (“You worked briefly with him on the First Plane when he was finishing up his Apprentice tour.”)
(“A long time ago. What else?”)
(“He’s been on the Fourth Plane for sixteen years, working out of Judiciary Seat on Bicara.”)
(“That’s odd.”) The usual term was five years per Plane. (“Why such an extended tour?”)
(“That’s part of what his codex is being imperious about. Tread carefully, Nalani.”)
(“I will.”) Superior Justices—the final level before Supreme—sometimes had a chip on the shoulder, believing they didn’t get the respect they thought they deserved. In Nalani’s experience, such Superiors usually deserved less respect than they received.
Kimura straightened up. “I apologize for disturbing you, Supreme Justice. He insisted.”
“You did right, Captain.” Nalani turned to the newcomer and waited a heartbeat.
The man bobbed a quick bow. “Thank you for seeing me, Justice Thurgood.”
Nalani returned the bow. “My pleasure, Justice Ocampo.” She gestured to Al-Ghazali, who made a deeper bow. “Judge Al-Ghazali.”
“Of course.” He looked around, taking in the room with a slight frown. “These are your chambers?”
“The Justice makes the chambers,” she answered. It was an old Judiciary maxim, usually said in jest during particularly informal conferences. “Come in, sit down. Captain…?”
Ocampo took the largest chair in the room. “I’ll ask the Captain to remain with us for a time. We have much to discuss.”
Nalani waved Kimura to her own chair, then sat next to Al-Ghazali on the chaise longue. “Then I suppose we’d best get to it.” She nodded to Ocampo. “Please.”
He leaned back. “Let me express how honored I am to have you on the Fourth Plane, Thurgood. I can assure you that the full resources of Judicial Seat are at your disposal.”
Five Planes Page 25
