“Clothing is popular,” Nalani continued. “Hats, scarves, belts, jackets. You get lots of handbags and hand fans. Supreme Justice de Cambacérès IV had a ceremonial sword codex—not recommended, by the way.” She smiled. “For a while canes were in vogue.”
“How do you get your codices?”
Al-Ghazali glanced at Nalani, who gave a slight nod. “It’s no secret,” she said. “I’m sure that show—what was it, Blind Justice?—has dramatized the process. And there are plenty of popular resources.” She gestured to Al-Ghazali. “You’ve been through it more recently. You tell it.”
Al-Ghazali straightened. “We get training units for our schooling. That usually takes five years. During that time the free codices are evaluating us.”
Milos echoed, “Free codices?”
Nalani said, “Units whose Judiciars are gone. Along with a fair number of new codices.” She waved to Al-Ghazali. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Like I said, the free codices watch us. At graduation, they get to choose their partners.” She lowered her eyes. “There’s a huge ceremony where they call out our names. Then you have to go up in front of everybody and get your codex. Very embarrassing.”
With a faint smile, Nalani said, “Then you get to choose the material form your codex will take.”
Milos said, “How do they choose partners? Is it a matter of personalities, or shared interests, ability...or what?”
Al-Ghazali didn’t look up. “A little bit of each, I imagine. Only the codex knows.”
Nalani shakes her head. “The primary consideration is the student’s potential. The highest-ranking codices get first choice, and they almost always go for the best students.” She sighs. “I’ve sat through many of those ceremonies, even taken part in some. They start with the lowest-rank codices, the brand-new ones who’ve never had a partner..and they work up to the highest. It’s brutal on the students who have to wait.”
“I guess the higher rank the codex, the more prestige to the student?”
“That’s right.” Nalani looked at Al-Ghazali, who raised her head. “It must have been rough for you, my dear.” To Milos she said, “The Bel-Ibni Codex has quite a history.”
Al-Ghazali’s cheeks redden. “It’s only second iteration. There are lots that rank higher.”
“Don’t be falsely modest. I looked it up—you were tenth in a field of over six hundred.”
“I don’t believe codex ranking means that much. Plenty high-rank codices are en counsel with mediocre Judiciars.” Her eyes narrowed. “Except in your case, Sen.”
“Pish.” Nalani sent a tiny splash in Al-Ghazali’s direction.
“Now who’s being falsely modest? Go ahead and tell us, Supreme Justice, what rank was your codex?”
Nalani looked again toward the children’s pool, then directly at Milos. She all but whispered, “Second.”
Milos grinned and held a hand to his ear. “What was that, Supreme Justice?”
“My codex was second in rank the year I graduated,” she said, louder.
Al-Ghazali wore what could only be described as a smirk. “The Abi-eshuh Codex is an original, going back to the beginnings of the Judiciary. It was en counsel with some of the most famous Supreme Justices ever.”
“Pish, I say.” Nalani looked away. “As you said, the codex doesn’t make the Judiciar.”
Milos stretched again. “I think it’s sweet that you’re both so embarrassed.” He smiled at Nalani. “Am I right to think we already know who was first in your class?”
Nalani’s face softened. “Yes. It was my friend Accursius XVII. I remember sitting there while every other name was called, until the two of us were squeezing each other’s hands off. When I heard that the Abi-eshuh chose me, I thought I’d never be happier.” Her eyes looked into the distance, glistening.”I was wrong. Jinan-Jorie got chosen by another original codex, one that had declined to choose a student for the previous twenty years. It took even her by surprise. I was ecstatic for her.”
Milos looked down, and noticed that Al-Ghazali did the same. Quietly he said, “An auspicious beginning.” He looked up, ignoring the trace of a tear on Nalani’s cheek. “What was the name of this codex?”
Her eyes focused, and she gave a wan smile. “It was the Cubaba Codex, and Al-Ghazali can tell you it’s just as famous as mine.” Her voice fell. “I like to think we lived up to the honor.”
Milos took her hand, squeezed it. “There’s no doubt.”
1.24 Confrontation
“A reporter?” Artur rolled his meat eye, and the artificial one followed. “Dilma, when you said you were calling for help, I thought you meant technology. That’s what we need.”
The Governor sighed. “The people of Kirameki sent that orbital sunscreen—”
“—Which destroyed three comsats when the first stellar storm destabilized it.” Artur snorted.
“—And Tiwei gave us their technique for seeding sulfate aerosols—”
“—Which reduced crop yields by 30 percent.”
“Honestly, Artur, if you’re going to find fault with everything, we might as well—”
He stood and leaned forward, looming over her desk. “We need technology that works. We don’t need...public relations.”
Dilma met his gaze, fire in her eyes. “There you’re wrong, Artur. 3P2D is the most popular newschat show across the entire Plane. Billions watch it. Among them there must be someone who can save us.” She blinked, and her face softened. “All I’m asking is that you talk to this Reo fitzSato. Make him see how desperate our situation is.”
“You talk to him. I don’t have time.”
“I have talked to him. He wants to chat with our Chief Engineer.” She cocked her head. “He’s very pleasant...and quite attractive.”
“Hmm.” Artur queried his system; a dozen pictures of the reporter appeared. “All right, I guess I can spare an hour or so.”
Reo fitzSato had lustrous obsidian skin, his hair crosshatched in micro-coils of blue and orange, and an assortment of sleek prosthetics in gunmetal and brass: right eye, left ear and jaw, left forearm, and a few random access ports at his neck.
Through the interview, Artur couldn’t keep his eyes off the young man. FitzSato asked intelligent questions that easily led Artur to a quick explanation of the troubles the colony had been through and an appeal for any assistance. He finished, “If we can’t get the technological help we need, either to stabilize our climate or replace the heat shield, our next step will be begging for evacuation vehicles. Coquimbo will be a failed colony.”
FitzSato clapped him on the back. “Excellent. And in one take. You’re a natural at this, Sen Herrera.”
“Call me Artur, please. You made it simple; I was just responding to your questions.” He looked down. “You’re very easy to talk to.”
The reporter grinned. “I get that a lot. It’s my job, after all. By the way, I’m Reo to friends.” He glanced up and down Artur’s body. “I hope we can be friends.”
“I’m sure of it.” Artur stood up, moved from behind his desk. “The workshop might be a good backdrop, but the house is more comfortable. Have you eaten? I hope you don’t mind goat.”
FitzSato packed his recording equipment in a small carry case and stood up. “It sounds wonderful. I haven’t had it for years.”
Over bowls of rice and stew, accompanied by the best native ale, they swapped stories. As a junior reporter, Reo usually went on location; he’d been on dozens of planets and settlements, and two years ago he even went on the Grand Tour, visiting the other Planes and returning with an interview series that had won four primetime Orphies.
Dinner led to dessert, which led to drinks on the divan. Artur took a moment to officially notify his assistant, Pandita, that he was going off duty.
Reo kissed him, then drew back. “You know what you really need?”
Artur smiled. “Maybe you can show me?”
A chuckle. “I mean your colony. I can get your story all over the Th
ird Plane, and I will, but I don’t know if it’ll help. The technology you need might not be available on Third.”
Artur propped himself up on his meat elbow, his face serious. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I’m sure you’re right.” He growled. “What we need is that blasted generator. But it’s held up on Fourth while they play war.”
“That’s what I mean. You need someone on Fourth to get that thing down here.”
“Dilma’s tried.” He shook his head. “She’s burned up our comm budget for the rest of the year, sending messages to her agents there. No results.” He forced a smile. “There’s nothing for it but eat, drink, and be merry. We’ve taken care of the first two...” He leaned forward and their lips met again.
When the kiss broke, Reo took a moment to catch his breath. “Don’t distract me,” he said. “What you need is a five-star distress call. Blanket the whole Fourth Plane.”
“If we had that kind of money, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.”
Reo took a breath. “Artur...I think I can convince the network to foot the bill. It would make a great story. And it just might get you some results.”
Artur sat up. “That could work.” He frowned. ”How soon can we make this happen?”
Reo shrugged. “Well, I could call the office right away.” He glanced at the divan. “But first, I thought you wanted to—”
“Physics help me, but there’s time enough for that later.”
“You are devoted to duty.”
Artur snorted.
Last Fair Deal was on the move again, slipping through hyperspace on a line that would bring them to the rendezvous point in perfect time, and set them up for several different escape routes if things went pear-shared. Imric approved of all of Morcant’s choices, particularly since ap Farr was once again sequestered in her cabin. She had appeared only long enough to tell them the plan and give Morcant the coordinates—far too close to the Perbaikan Rock, in Imric’s opinion, but that was none of his business—and then disappeared again. She had looked terrible, gaunt and unwashed, the faintest of tremors in her hands, and he had seen Morcant and Derrian exchange quick glances before Morcant acknowledged the order. Now that they were in transit, Imric only hoped ap Farr was resting. They would need her at the top of her game if they were going to make the exchange and get away safely.
“Imric. What do you think about this data trade?” Morcant swung away from her board, stretching theatrically in an unsuccessful attempt to hide her automatic glance at the hidden sensors.
Imric shrugged. “Presumably the capa would rather have the information than that guy, Millet. If the Supreme Justice has information she’s willing to trade for Bhagwati, I think we should grab it and run. Throwing Bhagwati into a lifepod first, of course.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derrian grin. “Yes, that first of all. Should keep them too distracted to chase us. Assuming—”
“We have half a dozen potential escape routes,” Morcant said, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “They’ll work or they won’t.” She looked back at Imric. “This data—is it worth it?”
Imric shrugged again. “That, you’d have to ask the capa.”
Lights flashed on Morcant’s board, and she swung back to face it. “Coming up on our exit.”
“Copy that,” Derrian said.
Imric reached for his own keyboard, flicking through layers of status screens. “All green here.”
“Confirmed.” Morcant flexed her fingers, and laid her hands lightly on the realspace controls. “Count, Derrian?”
“In ten,” Derrian answered, and began calling out the numbers. “Nine…”
On his four, the control room door slid open to admit ap Farr, but Imric didn’t dare look away from the rapidly shifting numbers on his own boards. Derrian kept counting, his hands steady on his controls as he finessed the fields. “…two… one.”
The main screen flashed white, Last Fair Deal shuddered, and abruptly they were back in real space, the main screen filled with apparently unmoving stars. Imric cranked the sensors to their full strength, concentrating on tracing weapons-in-range, but the pings came back reassuringly negative. He adjusted the range, searching for weapons and large ships, and the area around the distant Perb flushed pink: large ships, lots of them, and the sensors weren’t able to distinguish weaponry from other types of heavy power consumption. He frowned, typing commands to narrow his search, but a secondary screen flashed a priority symbol. He flipped to it, his frown deepening as he saw the message was from the automatic mail system, signaling a vital bulletin. He accepted it, throwing a secondary screen into a corner of the main, and his breath caught in his throat.
Emergency Statement. The Transit Authority has declared a state of emergency. All ships currently in transit are urged to seek safe harbor immediately. Fourteen hours ago, ships bearing the mark of Empresa NeSH-PI and Gongsi P3WO were recorded in the act of attacking ships belonging to Hemgi Kaisha. Empress NeSH-PI has denied involvement. Gongsi P3WO has declined comment pending an internal investigation. Emergency Statement—
“Mute that,” ap Farr said, and Imric obeyed. The words continued to stream silently across the inset screen, but ap Farr ignored them.
“That’s war,” Derrian said, sounding shocked.
Morcant swung around in her chair again. “Capa, the Supreme Justice isn’t going to meet us. We need to get out of here—put the Apprentice Judge in a lifepod and dump him.”
Ap Farr ignored her. “Bin Marrick. Status?”
“Ship’s green,” Imric answered. “I make a large number of heavy ships in orbit around the Perb. Sensors are inconclusive, but they’re not warships. Or not all of them—”
“Have you spotted the Supreme Justice’s ship?” ap Farr interrupted.
“Capa,” Morcant said. “She won’t be coming.”
“She’ll come.” Ap Farr’s voice was grim. “We have someone she wants.”
Imric adjusted his sensors again, but the subscreen stayed infuriatingly blank. “Nothing yet. They may be running cloaked—I would, if there’s a war on.”
“Capa,” Morcant said again, and ap Farr lifted her hand.
“We wait.”
Val wedged himself into a corner of Zavod Sualti’s Second Dining Space—the only place on the station that was both large enough to hold the station’s decision-makers and could be closed off from the rest of the station. The newsscreens were still showing the Transit Authority’s warning, and promises of updates scrolled across top and bottom of the displays, but the sound had been muted, and the commentators gesticulated silently against their dubbed-in backgrounds. He wasn’t here to vote, that had been made politely plain by Kiet, now pressed up against him in the corner, but to give his opinion on the new field configurations for the Drop. If asked, Kiet had added, but I’m sure you will be.
At the moment, Val rather hoped he wouldn’t be called on. Everyone was talking at once, half a dozen conversations flashing past, and he could only catch a word here and there. There was no question what they were talking about, though: they needed to Drop now, or they’d be caught up in the inevitable conscriptions.
“—wait to Drop, we risk receiving a direct order to join forces with the rest of the Hemgi Kaisha fleet.”
Val couldn’t pick out the speaker in the crowd, and he didn’t recognize the stocky person who answered her. “We could Drop anyway. There’s nothing out here that’s big enough to stop us.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Thanh said. For once, her knitting was tucked away, though she knotted her fingers together as though she wished she had it. “A number of ships have taken refuge since the announcement was made, and some of them are heavy freight. They might well be armed, or be able to be armed quickly.”
“That’s just rumor,” someone else said, and Sun-hwa, seated toward the center of the room, lifted her hand.
“Antoku? Can you speak to that?”
The station AI spoke from over
head speaker, and Val wondered briefly if it intended the voice-of-god effect.
“The number of ships taking refuge in orbit around the Apex Center has indeed increased. Based on current occupation and known shipping registers, at least eight of those ships are either armed freighters or convertible attack craft.”
“Belonging to whom?” That was definitely Haragai, though Val couldn’t find him in the crowd.
“They are all registered to subsidiaries of Hemgi Kaisha,” Antoku answered.
The room had gradually quieted as the AI was speaking, and when it finished, there was a moment of silence so deep that Val could hear the soft whirr of the ventilators.
“Well,” someone said at last. Val craned his neck to see, and recognized Rokuro. “As I see it, that leaves us with a simple choice. Drop now, or resign ourselves to being part of this war.”
There was another uproar in response to that, not as far as Val could tell much disagreement, but frustration and concern, and Sun-hwa lifted her hand again.
“I think the question is whether we can Drop or not. Is Sen Millat here?”
“I’m here,” Val answered, and pushed forward as far as he could manage in the crowd.
“I put it to you,” Sun-hwa said. “Can we make the Drop?”
Val hesitated, aware of the weight of eyes on him, and chose his words with care. “We’ve worked out new field settings that give us a ‘keel,’ and all our sims show that we have about a 96 percent change of making a successful Drop with those adjustments. Your AI can confirm that.”
“That is essentially correct,” Antoku said. “Though my most recent calculation places the chance of success at 96.629 percent.”
“Also—” Val raised his voice to carry over the mutter of agreement. “Also we can always abort the Drop if it seems to be going wrong. Though that does leave us back where we started.”
“And unlikely to get a second chance,” Rokuro said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jamahl said. “How likely is it that anyone is going to try to stop us?”
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