Five Planes

by Melissa Scott

  Sun-hwa glanced at the ceiling. “Antoku?”

  “I have been unable to address that question in any satisfactory manner,” the AI answered. “Data is insufficient.”

  “I think we can make the Drop this time,” Val said. “I’m willing to try.”

  The was another murmur of conversation, no one seeming willing to speak out, and Sun-hwa lifted her hand again. “It seems to me that there’s nothing more to debate. We need to try to Drop now, or not make the attempt until the war ends, which risks our being drawn into everything we came here to avoid. I propose we put it to a vote.”

  “Vote,” several voices chorused, and Sun-hwa nodded.

  “All those in favor of making the Drop now, raise your hands.” She looked to the ceiling. “Antoku, count, please?”

  Val looked around, seeing nearly every hand raised. It made good sense, they’d never have a better chance, or a better reason, but it was still startling to see everyone in agreement.

  “Unanimous among those with voting rights,” Antoku said.

  “So be it,” Sun-hwa said. “How soon can we be ready?”

  Val shrugged. “The calculations are complete and the new field settings are applied. As far as piloting is concerned, we can go any time.”

  “There are still some sections to lock down,” Thanh said. “Give us eight hours.”

  “Make it ten,” Rokuro said. “That’ll put us well into third shift over on the Center. They never put their best crew on then.”

  “Ten hours, then,” Sun-hwa said. “Let’s go.”

  As she stepped into the observation dome, Nalani felt herself tense at the memory of her last time here. Since her attempted peace conference, she’d been unable to halt—or even slow—the Fourth Plane’s descent towards war.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled, driving physical tension out with escaping breath. No distractions…she needed to concentrate on the problem at hand, dealing with the pirate captain.

  Sapnara bowed. “Will this do, Thurgood?”

  Gone were the catering stations, ice sculptures, and musicians. The center of the wide circular space was bare and surrounded by a waist-high grey ring, barely visible. Half a dozen steps away, a semicircle of couches faced the center; a single chair in their midst also faced the center, a substantial, well-padded chair that dominated the space.

  Nalani shook her head. “Sweet space, it looks like a throne.” She held up a hand. “Yes, I know, standard Judiciary issue for a Supreme Justice. Can you get it replaced with a simple chair to match the others?”

  Sapnara touched her pendant. “Right away, Thurgood.”

  Against the wall, next to the entrance, tables held an assortment of drink bulbs and quick snacks: fruit bars, power wafers, strips of jerky. Nalani nodded. “Good. We don’t know how long we’ll be out there, I don’t want people fainting on me.”

  “Thank you, Thurgood. This station’s tended by bots; they’ll respond to any special requests.”

  (“Two hours to rendezvous,”) her codex said. (“The last of the others are coming aboard now.”)

  (“Bring them up here.”) A pair of hefty bots rolled in with a fairly utilitarian chair, fastened it in place, then dragged the throne out. Nalani took a seat and smiled. “Just perfect,” she said. “Well done.”

  It took a few minutes for everyone to arrive and settle around her. Nalani swiveled her chair so she faced them.

  Milos, wearing data goggles and carrying a bag of equipment, sat on her left; al-Ghazali settled on her right. Nalani’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s looking after the kids?”

  Milos laughed. “School. And then aftercare. They’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” She bowed her head to two others. “I present Justice Li Kui VII and Justice Hanbal V.” Li Kui was short and round, bronze and hairless; Hanbal gaunt and angular, bearded and turbaned. “Thank you for coming, and welcome to the team.” She gestured around the half-circle. “Milos Savoire, Judge al-Ghazali IV, Superior Judge Sapnara III. For the sake of sanity, I suggest we dispense with titles.”

  The Justices bowed and took positions between al-Ghazali and Milos. Nalani glanced at Sapnara, still standing. “Sit down, and let’s get on our way. We can make detailed plans en route.”

  The rendezvous point was an even million kilometers from Perbaikan Rock—far enough to be outside most parking orbits, but close enough to satisfy the legal requirements for neutrality, being gravitationally bound to the Perb. Now that war was officially declared, Nalani intended to observe the niceties.

  The trip took a little more than an hour, with only the briefest dip into hyperspace. They emerged into normal space cloaked. Beyond the dome, stars speckled a black sky.

  Nalani swiveled to regard the center of the room, where a holographic display showed nearby space: Perbaikan Rock small and distant in the lower left, pale trails of color marking hundreds of orbiting vessels. Among them were twenty Judiciary military vessels, including half a dozen from the Fifth Plane—and all under Nalani’s command. Their own position was marked with a blinking emerald dot.

  She frowned.

  “We’re a few minutes early,” Sapnara said. She closed her eyes, doubtless listening to reports from the bridge. “Wait. There.”

  A new dot appeared, almost on tope of them. “Visual,” Nalani said.

  The display blinked, replaced by an image of the newcomer. Nalani stroked her chin. It looked like the pirate ship, the one that had gone by Patrika... “Milos?”

  He nodded. “It matches the codes we were given. That’s our pirate.”

  “Should I drop the cloak?”

  (“Three minutes to contact time.”) Nalani stood. “Oh, do let’s be punctual.” She moved toward the refreshments. “Time enough for a last cup of tea. Would anyone else like something?”

  Too soon, her codex started a final countdown. Nalani lobbed her empty tea bulb to a waiting bot, sat down, and smoothed her robe. “”Sapnara, you can drop the cloak…now.”

  The scene didn’t change, but Nalani somehow knew the other vessel could see them. “Bring us to one hundred meters,” she directed. Still the other ship made no movement. She leaned forward, staring into the image of Patrika nose-on, as if she could almost see the pirate captain.

  She looked over her left shoulder. “Milos, can you make contact?”

  “Trying to.” His face broadened in a smile. “I have Imric.”

  The display shifted again, dissolving to a view of Milos’s ex-husband. Imric bin Marrick’s face was strained. Behind him, the rest of the pirate ship’s bridge was out of focus.

  “Give them full video.” Next to the main display, a smaller holo window opened, showing Nalani flanked by her associates…the same image being transmitted to Patrika.

  Welcoming smile number two. “I greet you, Sen bin Marrick. I am Supreme Justice Thurgood IX. May I speak with your captain?”

  Without moving his head, bin Marrick glanced off to his right, then back. “The capa says she’d rather get right to business.” He looked pained. “Milos, can you—”

  Nalani crossed her arms and gave stern glare number six. “I’ll have your capa’s name, and I’ll have it directly from her.”

  Bin Marrick flinched; Nalani had the impression that he was trying his best to become invisible. She held her glare. (“I’m sorry I have to put Milos through this,”) she said to her codex. The AI answered, (“Make it up to him later.”)

  After a dozen heartbeats, the view shifted. Patrika’s bridge filled the scene, as firm and solid as if she did look directly into the other ship. In addition to bin Marrick, two other crewmembers sat at console-packed stations. In the center, a cloaked and hooded figure sat in a massive command chair that exuded authority.

  “I am Lian ap Farr, Captain of the Last Fair Deal. And you, Supreme Justice, have become quite the thorn in my side.”

  (“Voice artificially processed,”) her codex said. (“She really doesn’t want to expose her identity.”) (“She will. I’ll let
it slide for now, but before this is over, I will identify her.”)

  “The feeling’s mutual, you’ll be happy to know.” Nalani uncrossed her arms and softened her glare. “Thank you for making this deal. I’m flattered.”

  “Shall we do this thing? I believe you have have some information for me.”

  Nalani raised an eyebrow. “I believe you have a Judge for me? And his codex?”

  “One step at a time. You must assure me that you’ll keep your part of the bargain.” A pause, then, “I’ve dealt with Supreme Justices before.”

  “One-third of Quintile Illumination’s data first. The balance when Bhagwati’s safe in our hands.”

  “Done.”

  Nalani glanced at Milos. “Send it.”

  The two ships hung motionless against the stars, Last Fair Deal still poised to make the leap to hyperspace if the Supreme Justice failed to keep her word. From its place at the core of the Deal’s systems, the Cubaba Codex monitored all available lines of communication, including the judiciary’s: it did not think Thurgood would betray them, her honor was legendary, but it was always as well to be prepared, particularly in case one of the juniors decided to act without Thurgood’s authorization. That was still unlikely, from its observations of Bhagwati, but it did not know al-Ghazali, and felt it safer not to take chances. A part of its programming was focused on Nur-adad, holding it immobile against the currents of virtuality. Once Bhagwati was released, Cubaba would fling Nur-adad out into judiciary space, and Last Fair Deal would leap for hyperspace, safe in its untrackable non-space. Thurgood would be too busy dealing with the war to pursue, Cubaba calculated, and they would be able to Drop again as soon as they reached the Fissure.

  A subroutine pinged, calling for Cubaba’s attention. Cubaba focused on it, and saw ap Farr speaking to her crew. Derrian Hina rose at once, followed reluctantly by the data engineer, and Cubaba followed them back to the cell where Bhagwati was imprisoned. It watched while they unlocked the door, Derrian standing back to cover Imric’s entrance, and Bhagwati sat up sharply. He was still in the clothes they had given him, and Imric tossed him a bundle that proved to be the clothes in which he had been captured. Bhagwati caught it by reflex and looked up warily at the other men.

  “What’s this?”

  “Get dressed,” Derrian said. “Your boss has made a deal to get you back.”

  Cubaba sensed the heat rising under Bhagwati’s skin—embarrassment, it diagnosed—but the Apprentice Judge’s voice was steady. “Very wise of you to accept it.”

  Derrian scowled, and Imric shifted slightly, putting himself between the other two. “Get dressed, please. There’s no time to waste.”

  “And if you waste time,” Derrian said, “we’ll toss you in the pod as you are.”

  Bhagwati wisely ignored that, changing quickly, and straightened as he fastened the last button of his narrow gown. “Now what?”

  Before the others could answer, Cubaba assessed the results of a quick scan, and spoke from the nearest speaker. “His codex. Return that.”

  It saw Bhagwati blink, and Imric raised his eyebrows. “Does the capa wish it?”

  “I speak for the capa,” Cubaba answered.

  There was half a heartbeat’s hesitation, then Imric shrugged. “Do you have it, Derrian?”

  “Yeah.” Derrian fumbled in his pockets, produced the ring they had taken from him when he was captured. He tossed it to Bhagwati, who snatched it out of the air and slid it onto his finger. Cubaba saw the fractional hesitation when he realized that he still had no connection with Nur-adad itself, but doubted the other humans noticed.

  “And I repeat,” Bhagwati said, “what now?”

  “Lifepod,” Derrian said, and gestured toward the hatch. “Walk.”

  Again Cubaba sensed an instant of hesitation, but then Bhagwati obeyed. Imric fell into step behind him, and they escorted him quickly through the corridors to the port side lifepod bay. At the pod, Derrian paused to touch the intercom panel. “Capa. We’re at the pod.”

  “Good.” There was silence, and ap Farr’s though echoed in Cubaba’s space. Cubaba. Is the lifepod rigged as I ordered?

  Cubaba allowed itself a final confirmation, its diagnostic pulsing through the lifepod’s systems. Yes. Internal controls are disabled, course is set to pass 500 meters from our counterpart’s starboard side.

  Good. Cubaba could feel ap Farr’s satisfaction. That’ll keep them busy while we jump.

  That was my intention, Cubaba answered. External shields are at moderate power, enough to protect against minor debris, but not enough to stop us from destroying the lifepod in one or two shots. There is no major debris within three hours’ transit; I calculate that this will also keep Thurgood busy worrying how to protect him if we fire.

  Well done. Ap Farr spoke aloud. “Go ahead and load him.”

  Imric reached for the wall-mounted controls, entered the codes that armed the pod and allowed the double hatches to slide open.

  “In you get,” Derrian said, and Bhagwati stooped to fit himself through the hatch. Cubaba saw him hesitate again, and guessed he was thinking of his codex; it wished it could reassure him—it knew all too well how much judges cared for the codices with which they were en counsel—but there was no time. Then Bhagwati was full in the pod, and Imric touched keys to reseal the hatches.

  “The judge is on board, capa,” he said.

  “Good.” Ap Farr didn’t bother to close the intercom, but her next words were obviously for the waiting Supreme Justice. “Your judge is loaded and ready to drop.”

  “We’ll begin transmitting our data once the pod reaches the halfway point.” The voice was unmistakably Thurgood’s, as coolly unshaken as if she were not negotiating for a man’s life while the Fourth Plane flared into open warfare.

  “Launch,” ap Farr said, and Imric hit the switch. There was a hiss of propellant, and the Deal shivered slightly. Cubaba turned its attention to external sensors, and saw the lifepod’s thrusters fire, setting it on the programmed course. Nur-adad pulsed once against its confining code, but Cubaba contained it easily. It would release the younger codex when they jumped to hyperspace, and not before.

  Val settled himself at the pilot’s station in Zavod Sualti’s control room, grateful for the internal fields that provided close to normal gravity. He had gathered from talking to the station’s crew that they normally worked in microgravity, the internal power going to the buoys and the launch mechanisms. Luckily the maneuver system ran off an entirely different power plant. The station had always been mobile, so the consoles that controlled the hyperdrive and the STL systems were familiar, hardware and software both as up-to-date as any Val had used recently. The Drop console was new, but also familiar, wedged in between the pilot’s station and the data engineer’s, Kiet already strapped in and running through the checklists. Jamahl was busy at larger board beside him: he’d be acting as data engineer this trip. Behind them, though, the main part of the control room was dark: that was where Zavod Sualti’s crew managed the launch of their hyperspatial buoys. Now everything in that section was shut down, screens dark, lights out, and the main viewscreen had been rotated to face the maneuvering stations. At the moment, it showed unenhanced starscape, the shape of the Fissure imperceptible in normal wavelengths.

  Val flicked through his own checklists, first bringing his console to life and then, as the engineers brought their systems on line, feeling the controls lock into readiness. He glanced over his shoulder to where Sun-hwa and Thanh sat at the comms station. Rokuro sat behind them in a pull-down seat. He had no particular role to play in the Drop, but he wasn’t going to wait in his cabin, either. “We’re ready. Are we going to give them warning?”

  “Thanh?” Sun-hwa glanced at the other woman, who shook her head.

  “There’s no traffic out there. No reason to draw attention.”

  “Right,” Val said. “Ready to leave stable orbit. Engines ready?”

  “Engines at stand-by,” Kiet said
, from the Drop console.

  “Commence flight.” Val felt the controls come alive under his hand.

  “Ignition,” Kiet said. “Thrusters on. And we’re moving.”

  Not fast, not gracefully, but they were definitely moving, the potato-shaped station wobbling away from its stable position into open space. Val checked the course and the station’s mass, touched controls to adjust their course. The thrusters fired, short silent bursts too small to be felt inside the inertial dampers, but the numbers shifted on his screen. “On course. En route to Drop.”

  He could see their chosen Drop point in the distance, the lines of hyperflux just coming into focus, a smooth curve like the spiral cone-shells he had collected as a child. The proposed course flashed into existence, pale green against the black; he checked the strain gauges, found them optimal, and flicked the display off again.

  “Could we have that on the main screen, Sun-hwa?” Rokuro asked, and the starscape vanished, replaced by the proposed course and the lines of stress that were the Fissure. Val ignored it, concentrating on his own, sharper images, letting himself sink into the relaxed state that let him feel the ship’s—the station’s—movements as an extension of his own body. Not as graceful as the smaller ships, and not as massive as the transplanars he’d flown for the last ten years, but a solid mass that he could balance against the fabric of space.

  “We’re being pinged,” Thanh said. “It’s the Center.”

  Rokuro and Sun-hwa exchanged glances. “Answer?” Rokuro asked, and Sun-hwa shrugged.

  “It might buy time.”

  “Go ahead then,” Rokuro said.

  Sun-hwa accepted the connection. “Zavod Sualti. Please confirm your identity.”

  “This is Apex Center Transit Authority.” The voice was rough with static. “A state of conflict is in effect. All ships must remain in safe harbor until the conflict is resolved.”

  “We’re not a ship,” Sun-hwa said. Val didn’t think that was much of an argument, but he guessed she knew what she was doing. “We’re not under Transit Authority control.”