Overruled

by Hank Davis

  THE RIOT THAT WASN’T IN PORT NEEKS

  Susan R. Matthews

  The judge (but don’t call him “Your Honor”) wasn’t really green, but he was newly arrived on unfamiliar turf. And his very limited authority didn’t have a regular police force to back it up. Add that there might be a riot brewing outside the door, and it was undeniably a time to tread very softly…

  •

  Just give both parties a hearing, Langsarik Station had said. It’s a small port, not more than eleven ships down-station, six-eights of people, but enough to cause trouble. A traditionally sore subject. Remember that prudence is the better part of valor. As if Langsarik Station didn’t know that Bat Yorvik—the first man to sit at the Bench level in almost forever, and one of the younger Bench Judges at that—was sufficiently familiar with at least mildly hostile environments that they were almost homelike.

  The conference room Neeks Station had made available at the Port Authority was as shabby and stuffy as the rest of Neeks, but it was familiar, even friendly, for all that. It wasn’t the Port Authority’s fault that the furniture was old and battered and beaten-up. This was Gonebeyond space, at the back of beyond, a no-man’s-land populated with criminals and refugees fled from the Bench itself.

  There was no money in Gonebeyond. There weren’t many people. And Bench Judge Bat Yorvik—on a mission from Haspirzak Judiciary to begin healing the relationship between Gonebeyond and the rule of Law, if not the “Judicial order”—wouldn’t have been anywhere else.

  “So my transport broker left me hanging at Delgacie,” the complainant said. “On my way from Bambor to Beraile by way of Pillip’s Run.” Saporeya Vilna, that was her name; a newcomer to Gonebeyond, in search of market opportunities. “It was the responsibility of the cargo management representative at Delgacie to find me room on a hull that would reach here in time to transfer my cargo, and keep to my schedule.”

  So she’d missed her connection, and had a cargo but no client. She was scrambling for a fallback position, and somebody was going to have to pay. But that was just a fact of life in Gonebeyond; value-neutral, the way things were. People who’d been here knew that and made adjustments. Newcomers, not so much.

  Jurisdiction commercial law had been one of Bat’s least favorite topics throughout his education for the Bench: yet this was as wonderful as his first step across the threshold of his first classroom had been, on the day when his journey from entry-level clerk of Court to Bench Judge had begun.

  Because this was all new. It was all unexplored, undefined, above all un-Precedented. There was no rule of Law in Gonebeyond space. They were all making it up as they went along, and he could do good work toward an honest—fair and equitable—system that would protect the rights of all parties. He could help make history.

  “The price was agreed to on those terms of transit and delivery. But we didn’t get here on time.” There was a little frustration beginning to show in Vilna’s voice, Bat thought. She’d made assumptions and she hadn’t done full disclosure, sharp practice, and she’d lost. “I have not received the contracted services. The contract is void, and I should be reimbursed. I deserve compensation by right and a penalty that will cover my costs of finding a new buyer, your Honor.”

  Don’t call me that, Bat thought. He wasn’t a your Honor here. He and the people who supported his mission had yet to decide what exactly people should call a Bench Judge on a study mission, and he would be able to explore and exploit that ambiguity to make a point before this discussion was over.

  That needed to be soon, because he was seeing disquieting signs of trouble ahead. New people—about half of them Voreh nationals, Bat thought, like Vilna—had started to fill in the space at the back of the room, which wasn’t all that large to begin with. He was going to have something to say about that.

  “This is your statement, Dar Vilna?” Bat asked, gesturing at one of the flatfile dockets on the table in front of him, the one marked with her personal seal. “Thank you. I can see by my chop-mark that it’s one I’ve reviewed carefully. Now you, Dir Hammond, if you would summarize from your perspective.”

  Herryoot Hammond. Clearly of Farlip extraction to go by the fact that his ears weren’t the same size. Some of Gonebeyond’s oldest communities were Farlip, so Hammond would know how things were done here, and cherish the hatred of the Bench that was part of Gonebeyond’s blood and bone.

  There weren’t many Farlip nationals in Neeks; their system-of-origin had been dominated by cold temperatures, and they’d used the arctic environments of the worlds they’d found in Gonebeyond as part of their defense against discovery and exploitation. The partisans collecting in the conference room on Hammond’s behalf were Nurail, Sandrove, Karlile—some of them nearly extinct in Jurisdiction Space; some of them completely eradicated by Jurisdiction genocide.

  These were people who’d suffered for generations to survive in Gonebeyond, people who weren’t about to be dictated to by newcomers insisting on doing business on the Bench model. There were more of them here than Vilna’s people, and no more places to sit down. That wasn’t stopping anybody.

  “Thank you, ah, Dir Yorvik.” No your Honor there, but the courtesy title Hammond used instead was adequately—fully—respectful. “My statement also in evidence, there, before you. Yes.” More language of the Jurisdiction’s Bench. None of them—Bat included—had any other language in common fit to the purpose, so in evidence would have to do while they worked on something better.

  “Excuse me, Dir Hammond, if I might take a quick moment.” The spectators were beginning to spread out under pressure from the back of the room, though by no preconcerted signal Bat had detected. It was a simple organic process, one person moving a bit to one side, someone else moving a bit more to the other in what could be innocent and unconscious symmetry. Before one knew it there were as many on one side as the other, lined up against the wall depending on where their sympathies lay.

  In a moment they might begin to growl at one another, and it wouldn’t end well. Since there were no bailiffs at Neeks’ Port Authority, Bat was on his own as far as maintaining control of the situation went. Langsarik Station had promised him backup, but he hadn’t heard of any arriving yet—unless it was the Fisher Wolf and its wolfpack. He hadn’t really anticipated partisans attending in force, but now that he was in this predicament it was up to him to manage it as best he could.

  Bat waited until Dir Hammond nodded, then raised his voice. Just a little. Nowhere near I will have silence in this Court, that only worked when there was a reserve on site to back it up. A sliver of a hair’s-breadth thickness above what’s for fastmeal I hope it isn’t shilshims again.

  “Come on up, gentles, plenty of room to the front, yes, either side of me, please. I’m sorry we can’t seat you all.” I’m on to you and you know it. Bat had been raised in disadvantaged residentials, in one port or another; he wasn’t a fighter or a brawler, but he’d learned a lot about surviving by watching other peoples’ battles. “Don’t be shy. Exits to remain clear for emergency evacuation at all times, am I right?”

  No attacking each other from the back of the room. No hijacking the grievance to express general resentments. No shouting each other down. “Thank you, gentles. Dir Hammond, my apologies for the interruption, please proceed.”

  As he spoke Bat saw the door at the back of the room edge open again, slowly, cautiously. He couldn’t see anybody: there did have to be something there by way of a doorstop, however, because otherwise the door would swing closed of its own weight. Bat knew that. The people he’d called up to the front of the room to either side of him had noticed it as well; Bat knew that also. But he was giving Hammond his full attention.

  “As to the meat of most of Vilna’s statement I am in agreement,” Hammond said. That’s right, Bat repeated to himself, firmly. Paying full attention to Hammond.

  If Fisher Wolf had arrived there were seven, maybe nine of them, but one of them was widely notorious for a different set of s
kills than hand-to-hand crowd control; and Security Chief Stildyne wouldn’t risk Andrej Koscuisko in a fistfight. That could be used in Bat’s favor, he decided: everybody knew that Koscuisko was the only other genuine Judicial officer in Gonebeyond, though Koscuisko had turned his back on his duties as a Ship’s Inquisitor.

  “She only fails to mention the reason we didn’t make our expected transit rate of speed,” Hammond said. Not distracted, no, not me, Bat insisted to himself. That would be disrespectful of Hammond’s dignity. “You’ll know that a contract for delivery specifies cargo parameters, your—ah—Dir Yorvik? Including its weight.”

  Bat had read up, of course. As soon as he’d been asked to hear the dispute he’d gotten into the data, so he knew. Vilna’s cargo had been bulkier than specified—that didn’t need to be critical, since Hammond’s ship hadn’t stopped for additional cargo en route to Neeks—but it had also been a good deal heavier, in aggregate. And loaded by the Port Authority’s cargo management crew, who should have let Hammond know.

  Yes, according to standard operating procedures, Hammond should or at least could have checked his load weight prior to departure. But this was Gonebeyond, not Jurisdiction, and they’d been in a hurry to make Vilna’s schedule. They’d been delayed in the loading cycle, and they hadn’t checked their fuel depletion stats until they were already on vector for Neeks.

  Vilna could have provided the specs. She’d made what would have been a reasonable assumption—in any port in Jurisdiction space—that Delgacie was responsible for that. She hadn’t been in Gonebeyond long. She could be excused for the oversight, and it needn’t have made a difference. Except it had.

  Bat could almost hear Vilna seething, it’s not my fault if you didn’t weigh out yourself. It’s not my fault Delgacie didn’t provide the details. We had an agreement. Not contingent. I wasn’t to know you hadn’t been told. Still she kept shut, and since she was facing Bat—with her back to the door—she might not know that someone who was taking care not to be seen was listening.

  Now for the difficult part. “You, Dar Vilna, have Bench commerce codes and judicial precedent on your side from the aspect of an undefined cartage contract. The remedy you propose is unremarkable under current Jurisdiction Fleet rules and regulations. But also.”

  Bat turned to Hammond. “You, Dir Hammond, have equivalent precedent in support, when considered from the aspect of fair notice of pertinent considerations when a time constraint is of primary importance. So, under Bench precedent and commerce codes as well as current Fleet practices and procedures, this conflict might well depend for resolution on a Bench judgment, to which precedents and procedures should apply.”

  Everybody had heard the “might.” The energy in the room shifted a bit, backed down from “brawl in seven-six-five and counting” into a more generalized, vaguely startled sort of attitude, a wait-a-minute rustling to peoples’ clothing. Both Vilna and Hammond stood waiting to hear more; and the space beyond the narrow opening of the door at the back of the room—which might have been thinking of closing up and going away—seemed to hesitate, opening just a hair wider with an intrigued, inquiring, let’s see what you are going to do about this air.

  He had everyone’s attention. Now all he had to do was get them to agree. “The overriding fact of the matter, Dar Vilna, Dir Hammond, is that we aren’t in Jurisdiction space, there are no Jurisdiction commerce codes, there is no Bench and so no Fleet policies and procedures. Nobody came here to import the rule of Law and the Judicial order. We need our own standard of conflict resolution that can stand in its place, and work for all of the settlements in Gonebeyond. Something we can all agree is fair and reasonable.”

  He shouldn’t have said we need. He had no Brief to speak for Gonebeyond. But he’d been sent here to learn about the challenges that Gonebeyond presented to developing peer relationships between it and the Bench; and he remembered his “philosophy of jurisprudence” classes, if not with fondness. So he was going to go ahead with his experiment. He wished he had a more controlled environment in which to propose it, now that he was here, but here he was, and it would be a that-much-better test than he’d anticipated. All to the good. Really.

  “I propose resolution by arbitration. If you’re both willing to make a good-faith effort toward building a new, fair and equitable model, let’s talk. If either of you would rather decline, I’ll tell the Port Authority that there is no single clear-cut resolution to this dispute as stated, so I can’t help. I don’t know what they’ll do about it, because they asked me for advice that I won’t have; but I probably won’t be invited to stay for dinner. And I’m pretty tired of my own cooking. Do you want a little time to think it over?”

  He waited. He knew this hadn’t gone as either party expected; he hoped that the partisans to either side of him were unsure enough to wait and see what the principals did, because though the potential for a set-to seemed reduced, it had not yet vanished into the area of improbability.

  He’d seen more brawls since he’d come to Gonebeyond than he had since he’d started his legal career. No one had as yet offered him physical violence, but brawls were very democratic and generously inclusive events, and prudence was always in order for everybody’s sake. And that of the furniture.

  He could see Vilna glance at Hammond out of the corner of her eye: I will if you will. Hammond turned to face Vilna, raising an eyebrow; really? Vilna nodded: really. Of course arbitration was an ancient and honorable approach to conflict resolution in its own right, so it was perhaps unsurprising that neither party was willing to refuse—especially as refusal carried with it a certain risk of accusations of bad faith.

  Still Bat knew he was facing a challenge. Judges by definition were involved only if arbitration failed, if it had been tried at all, so he had very limited experience with the process. He tried not to let his breath out in too much of a rush. He’d wait till later for his sigh of relief. “Suppose I suggested a four-hour break?”

  Vilna clearly needed no time to consult with anybody but herself. “Acceptable,” she said, so quickly and emphatically that she almost spoke over the last word of Bat’s question. “Back here, Dir Yorvik?”

  He could see Hammond sorting through considerations of his own, but not for long. Hammond was the senior representative on his own ship, after all. Bat waited to reply to Vilna until Hammond had had space to speak, in case he wanted to register an objection; and when Hammond didn’t speak—nodding his head again, with deliberation—Bat answered with a nod of his own.

  “Here, then, four hours.” He’d be a little late, by design—long enough for them to start a conversation directly with each other, if possible, but not long enough to insult anybody. “Let me just say that even though we’re going into arbitration, not to Court, we all need to treat the process with respect. You both agree to be bound by the results or there’s no sense wasting anybody’s time.” And all of those extra people in the room made him nervous.

  He glanced around him as he stood up, the universal court signal for “everybody leave.” There seemed to be a general relaxation of tension in the room, and Bat was glad to see it. The door at the back of the room had closed completely, as if someone didn’t care to be caught eavesdropping. All to the good.

  There was no Bench in Gonebeyond, but almost everybody had watched the entertainment vids at some point in their lives—and mysteries of all kinds were among the enduring favorites as far as crime dramas went. So they all stood up and waited for him to leave first: the theater of the Law.

  Just as well, Bat thought, not sorry to take advantage. He’d be first in line for a breadfold and a salad and a cup of cavene at the cafeteria, so he’d have that much more time to think about what he was going to do next.

  * * *

  As it happened—and it couldn’t have been by accident, in Bat’s opinion—the darkness-beyond-the-doorway was just starting on his own breadfold, salad, and cup of cavene in the cafeteria when Bat cleared the line with his tray. Andrej Koscu
isko was sitting at a two-top about three-fourths of the way to the back of the largish room, together with his “self-same” and chief of Security, Brachi Stildyne, the big man with the ruined face.

  Koscuisko was a man who needed extra security wherever he went, no matter how useful he’d become to the Department of Surgery at Safehaven Medical Center—and to all of Gonebeyond space, by extension. He was only a neurosurgeon, now, if a very very very good one. Before, he’d been a Ship’s Inquisitor. He’d executed the Protocols against friends and relations of people who’d come to Gonebeyond Space in the first place to get away from people like him.

  The two-tops in Koscuisko’s immediate vicinity were occupied in turn by other people that Bat could identify as Koscuisko’s once-Security, because he’d recognized one of them at least as a former bond-involuntary Security slave named Janforth. They were eating their own breadfolds with their own salads and cups of cavene; they’d gotten in line before the custard desserts had run out, Bat noted, with a little twinge of envy.

  There were places where Koscuisko’s once-Security weren’t welcome, contaminated by association with Koscuisko and what they’d had to do accordingly. But there were places where people saved out desserts for the wolfpack out of consideration for the torture they’d themselves survived under Jurisdiction, though nobody saved dessert for Koscuisko that Bat had ever heard of, apart from the wolfpack and Chief Stildyne.

  And of course there were far more places where nobody cared one way or the other. Vilna probably didn’t care. She was one of the newcomers, with her eye to the main chance, and no fled-to-save-their-near-and-dear-from-torture about it.

  Koscuisko had his back to the wall, of course he did, probably to ensure that his profile would catch Bat’s eye. Which it did, welcome as it was to Bat to know that Fisher Wolf was here and had most probably been sent by Langsarik Station to protect Bat while they were ferrying Koscuisko from one medical emergency to another.