“Our first order of business is to move Coquimbo’s generator onto a new ship, and dispatch it to the Third Plane,” Nalani continued. “But, since Drop times are notoriously unpredictable, and a ship that Drops after another may arrive sooner, we need to locate any other generators that could serve the purpose, and send them to the Third Plane as well.”
Al-Ghazali frowned slightly. “But if they all arrive, then Coquimbo has too many generators—and could conceivably be expected to pay for them, which my examination of its economy suggests would be a hardship.”
“Very good,” Nalani said. “That’s why we will draw up a hire-purchase agreement between the Judiciary and the owner of at least one more generator—any judge can issue an Emergency Funds Authorization, especially when responding to a five-star distress call. Al-Ghazali, I’ll want you to take care of that for me.”
“Issue it under my name?” Al-Ghazali looked startled.
“Under your name and seal,” Nalani said. “It’ll be good practice.”
“Very well, Thurgood.” Al-Ghazali bowed slightly.
“And what about the other generators?” Li Kui asked.
“So far, Bhagwati has located seven.” Nalani’s expression was briefly distant as she listened to Abi-eshuh. “There are four more that could be adapted to serve. Using my authority as Supreme Justice, I am ordering transport ships to the systems where those generators are located, to stand by in case their help is needed in getting a backup to Coquimbo. Anyone firing on those ships, or in any way interfering with their passage, can be charged under Item Five of the Transplanar Compact. Disrupting a rescue attempt, particularly one involving more than one Plane, is considered a Class Two felony, and a judge may raise the charge to Class One.”
“So you’re going to shuffle the board,” Li Kui said.
“Nicely put,” Jinan-Jorie said, in spite of herself, and Li Kui gave her a formal bow.
“I don’t—” Al-Ghazali stopped. “Oh. If you pick the right ships, and send them far enough away, you disrupt the corporations’ plans for a war.”
“If we pick the right ships, and we get just a little lucky, we might stop the war altogether,” Nalani said. “Right, Jays?”
“Ahead of you, Nal,” Jinan-Jorie answered, and flipped the list to Nalani’s dataspace. “Here are the most powerful of the corporate ships, by company, and my suggested destinations.”
Nalani glanced down at the schematic that blossomed on her screen, and gestured to send a file to Jinan-Jorie’s console. It opened, revealing a diagram that differed from Jinan-Jorie’s only in the colors Nalani had used to code it. “Great minds.”
“We’ll certainly make it a lot harder for them to get back into the fight,” Jinan-Jorie answered.
“Yes, indeed.” Nalani’s familiar smile spread across her face. “Ah, it’s good to be working with you again!
“And you.” Jinan-Jorie returned the smile, and reached for another flask of the tisane. It was good to see Nalani again, good, treacherously good, to work with her, the two of them almost as entrained as a judge and her codex. That had always been their great gift, their ability to trust each other’s strengths, to play off each other’s ideas—to take a thought and leap forward with it, knowing that the other would be with them all the way. She had been ap Farr too long, she thought, that cramped and joyless persona. It was hard to be fully free of it, even here. And at some point she would have to return to it, to the hunt she had begun years before… She shoved that thought aside. There was no point in focusing on the future; she would cherish this moment for as long as it lasted.
The ships fled through the void at ever-increasing speeds, Zavod Sualti following the course Val had laid out toward the planned Drop point, Denebel trailing, a point of fire against the night. They were slowly overhauling the station, though Antoku was still projecting that Zavod Sualti would reach the Drop point before Denebel was in effective range. Val shivered slightly, remembering Iridium Azimuth, fleeing pirates with Broad Increase close behind, making the Drop only to discover that Broad Increase was nowhere to be found. He banished that thought with an effort, focusing instead on course and speed, finessing the thrusters to coax every bit of acceleration from the lumbering raft. Momentum built, the time to intercept shifting, stretching; Val studied his numbers again, imagining the shifts as they came closer to the Drop point. Everything was still within tolerances, though he was pushing close to the edge of the envelope.
“Fuel status?” Rokuro asked.
“We’re consuming more than projected, of course,” Kiet answered. “But we allowed for that.”
“We’ll probably have to refuel on Third,” Thanh said. “But we can work for that if we have to.”
Val glanced at his own indicators, saw that the steering engines were all still well into the green. He’d have to spend more fuel on the final approach, of course, but there should still be plenty—
“Warning,” Antoku said. “Denebel has launched a missile.”
“Course?” Rokuro leaned forward in his seat.
“Calculating.”
Val started to adjust the throttle, but made himself wait. Better to to spend the fuel until he was sure it was needed.
“The missile is on course, but will detonate two kilometers short of our projected position at intercept,” Antoku said.
“Is that on purpose?” Thanh asked.
“I can’t answer that with the data available,” Antoku said.
“Has to be,” Jamahl said, his hands busy on the board. “They could have waited.”
“Missile is running,” Antoku said.
Val reached for a secondary screen, dragged the missile’s track into it. The numbers streamed past along the base of the screen, and then at last fire blossomed soundlessly, drowning out the stars.
“The missile has detonated,” Antoku said.
“No damage,” Jamahl said. “Why in the world—oh, wait. They’re opening a channel.”
“Do we talk to them?” Sun-hwa looked at Rokuro, who bit his lip.
“No harm in talking,” he said at last. “We’re secured against infiltration, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Jamahl said. “And ours is top military grade, too.”
“Accept, then.” Rokuro’s hands closed tight on the arms of his chair.
“Zavod Sualti here,” Sun-hwa said. “Cease firing at once. I repeat, do not fire.”
“This is Denebel, Exomeg Fleet, speaking for Hemgi Kaisha.” The voice was hollow with distance. “You are required to stand down and return to Apex Center for further instructions.”
“No can do,” Sun-hwa said. “We are en route to Drop.”
“The terms of your contract require that you place yourself under the control of Hemgi Kaisha or its nearest representatives in the event of war,” Denebel said. “I repeat, stand down.”
“We have received no notice of an official state of war,” Sun-hwa answered. “And absent such notice, Zavod Sualti is an independent entity once the terms of our contract are met. We have ended the contract, and choose to leave this Plane. You have no right to stop us.”
“The Transit Authority’s declaration of a state of conflict is equivalent to a declaration of war,” Denebel said. “If you do not stand down, we will take all necessary measures to enforce the contract.”
“So much for that,” Thanh muttered.
Sun-hwa’s mouth twisted in wry agreement, but she said, “The precedents are out on that statement, Denebel, and we are prepared to fight it in court. From the Third Plane if necessary.”
“We are authorized to use force to stop you,” Denebel countered. “Please do not make that necessary.”
“We do not acknowledge your authority,” Sun-hwa said. “Stand down yourself, or prepare to face the consequences.” She slapped the channel closed, and looked around the control room. “I doubt that will slow them down, but it was worth a try.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Rokuro said. “Val, how long before we can Drop?
”
Val checked his screen, touching keys to recalculate the distances. “We’re almost there. Forty minutes.”
“And Denebel will be in effective missile range in thirty-three minutes,” Jamahl said.
Seven minutes. Seven minutes as a target was at least five minutes too long. Val said, “We can go faster.”
“And still make the Drop?” Kiet asked.
Probably. Val swallowed his doubts. “Yes.”
“Do it,” Sun-hwa said.
Val adjusted the throttle, and watched the numbers climb in his display. Ahead, the project course wound through an increasingly tight curve into the bright white fleck of the Drop point, and he touched keys again, setting up a more direct approach. The screen flashed and reformed, offering the results: possible, though it required one larger course correction rather than several smaller ones. “I can get us there sooner,” he said aloud. “Assuming the station will hold together. Jamahl?”
“I see what you’re doing.” Jamahl bent over his screens, posing queries of his own. “Yeah, we’ll hold. With power to spare.”
“Let me see?” Kiet started to lean over to look, but Jamahl transferred the files to his console instead, and Kiet considered them. “I think—yes. We’ll have power to spare. And I can shape the fields a little differently, that’ll bring us nicely into Drop.”
“Go for it,” Rokuro said.
“Fields first,” Kiet said, and Val nodded. “Forty percent—all right, we’re good”
“Confirmed. Beginning course change.” Val adjusted the controls as he spoke, inertia translated to stiff weight against his control surfaces. He pressed harder, watching the course line slowly start to move. It picked up speed, and he eased his grip, letting the ship stabilize before adding more input. For a moment, he thought he’d overdone it, but then Zavod Sualti came ponderously onto its new course. The Drop point blazed before them.
“Ready for Drop,” Kiet reported.
“Ready here,” Jamahl echoed.
“What’s Denebel doing?” Sun-hwa asked. “Antoku?”
“Maintaining her previous course,” the AI answered.
Val shut them out of his mind, focusing on the interplay of field frequencies and the fabric of space itself, a sparking rainbow streaming behind them like a wake, compressing ahead of them into a pale blue-white line as the fields bit deeper. They were almost at optimum; he nudged a thruster, considered the results, and decided against a second attempt. This was good enough, well within tolerances. Zavod Sualti was ready, trembling on the edge of Drop, equations locked, with no sign of the wobble that had defeated them the last two attempts. “Stand by—”
“Denebel has fired two missiles,” Antoku said, its voice flat. “They are set to explode in four minutes.”
“That’s well out of range,” Jamahl said.
But still close enough to affect the Drop. Val hesitated, weighing the options. Drop now, risk the distortion of the explosions, or abort? It was really no option at all. “Stand by for Drop.”
“Drop in three,” Kiet answered, “two, one—”
The capacitors fired. Val felt the fields catch and hold, felt the twisting pressures of non-space, non-time translated to forces pressing against the ship’s controls. He met and matched them, feeling a wobble that threatened to build. For a moment, he thought it was the same problem they’d had before, but that had been evident before they Dropped. This was in the Drop—no, almost in the Drop, they still weren’t stable, and instead of settling, the gyration was getting worse.
“—missiles, damn them,” someone was saying, and he could have groaned aloud. Of course that was the problem, just as he’d been afraid would happen, the missiles distorting local space just enough to push their calculations out of true. It was what had happened to Iridium Azimuth), and very nearly destroyed her, too, and a part of him was bitterly aware of the unfairness of having to deal with that twice in one lifetime. He could feel Zavod Sualti beginning to tremble, stresses building along the field lines; the keel was supposed to fix that, he thought, and in that instant understood the answer.
“Kiet! Extend the keel along the y-axis! It needs to bite—” He stopped, struggling to put words to the sensations, but Kiet was already nodding.
“Yes, I see—”
Val felt the fields shiver, the changes reflected in his controls, and abruptly Zavod Sualti steadied, the main screens filling with the rainbow fire of a successful Drop. “We’re in.”
“Confirmed,” Kiet said. He lifted his hands from his controls to display a tremor. “We made it.”
“All systems report green,” Jamahl said. “That was a little hairy there at the end—was it those missiles?”
“I think so,” Val said. He locked his own boards and leaned back in his seat, his muscles as tired as if he had run a marathon. “But we made it. Third Plane, here we come.”
About the Rule of Five
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Five Planes Page 35
