The Rule of Five_Year One

by Melissa Scott

  Grotius coughed. “The workday actually ended an hour ago—we keep Kauhale local time here, simplifies everything. So it shouldn’t be too much trouble to gather the Apprentices.” He touches his earring. “An hour from now, perhaps?”

  “That will be fine.”

  When the woman entered the compartment and locked the portal, she left her name behind. In this space, she was Hirose. It's the name they gave her, a name drawn from the ancient, forgotten literature of the prelapsarian world.

  She sat before a blank screen and composed her thoughts. Hirose, she repeated within her mind, for the word was both name and mantra. A special implant, nestled between cerebellum and brainstem, awakened and signaled its readiness.

  She touched the screen. “Ready to receive.” After a moment the screen cleared, displaying a random pattern of colors. No video—even transmitting coded speech was a risk.

  The sounds that issued from the screen were gibberish, grunts and whines barely recognizable as speech: a high-level code unbreakable to anyone without the implant.

  “Grumby speaking for Vanderdecken. All agents are to be on maximum alert for an individual named BD Valentyn wa Salim Millat Naksatra, going by Val Millat. This individual is a pilot most recently attached to multi-planar Iridium Azimuth, currently located on the Fifth Plane. Millat has evidenced dangerous curiosity regarding forbidden topics.

  “If located, observe and assess possible threat level of this individual. Report back to Grumby for further instruction. If events warrant, Millat is to be apprehended or otherwise neutralized. Grumby, speaking for Vanderdecken, end of alert. Acknowledge receipt in code.”

  Hirose nodded. “Received and understood.” With the implant controlling her vocal centers, her response was in the same ever-changing gibberish. “I will be alert for subject Val Millat.”

  As the screen darkened to neutrality, she silently repeated her name in her head, backwards—Esorih—until the implant went back to sleep. Rising, she brushed at her hair, unlocked the portal, and exited the compartment…leaving the name Hirose behind.

  1.04 Wheels of Justice

  Mac Braith Bain had retreated to his private quarters in the northwestern lobe of Divine Mountain, stood now beside the narrow bar working his shoulders and trying to decide if he could afford another drink. They were safely in hyperspace, unreachable for the next twenty-eight hours, but that only ruled out outside attack. The situation on Divine Mountain was still almost as volatile as the politics of the Second Plane. His muscles tightened, needles stabbing into the points of his spine where nerves were still imperfectly healed, and he grimaced and reached for the second sealed can. He had allowed himself the indulgence of taking most of Broad Increase’s stock of Third Plane-brewed ale, and he was unlikely to get a better chance to enjoy it. He snapped open the cap, listened for the gas capsule to fire, then filled the chilled glass that stood ready in its chamber. The liquid was the color of the red gold mined on Foremost, and he allowed himself to admire it for a moment before he retreated to his chair. The cushions moved beneath his weight, shifting him to a position that eased some of the aches: if he’d had his way, they’d have waited another few week before challenging Lasser’s letters, but Llian ap Farr had been very definite in her requirements.

  As if the thought had conjured her, a light flashed on his control cuff, and Llian’s voice spoke from thin air. “A word with you, Mac Braith, if I might.”

  It was not a request, despite the courtesy. Mac Braith took a deep breath, wincing at that, too, jarred the healing nerves, and gestured at the controls. “Come in.”

  The door slid back, and Llian entered, a box half-a-meter square floating at her side. Mac Braith tensed, then recognized one of the treat-boxes the liners served to Fifth Plane passengers. Llian smiled, possibly because she had seen him flinch, but her voice was cool and pleasant.

  “I thought we might share some of the spoils.”

  “A kind thought.”

  Mac Braith didn’t rise—she’d been the one to kidnap a Fifth Plane surgeon for him all those months ago, she knew perfectly well how far he had still to go—and she touched the release on the side of the box. A recorded fanfare sounded, and the lid began to fold back as it floated toward him, exposing trays and boxes that in turn unfolded like an entire bouquet of flowers, so that when the music ended, twin bottles rose from a central well, trailing a veil of frost, while a dozen trays offered tiny, perfectly formed delicacies. He only recognized a third of them: the style was First Plane, certainly aspirational for Broad Increase, but it annoyed him unreasonably that he couldn’t put a name to the bright red objects—vegetables?—carved in the shape of flowers, or the tiny translucent spheres, red, black, amber, deepest green, that filled thumb-sized shells nestled in a bed of shaved ice.

  “I’ve got a drink.”

  “So I see.” Llian nudged the box closer, making it spin so that he could see that all four sides were identical, and reached for one of the silver-banded glasses tucked in with the bottles. She poured a generous measure of the pale liquid—its bottle was larger, Mac Braith saw—then added the other, which hung in coils like purple thread until she swirled the two together. Mac Braith smelled flowers, and realized he was looking at the legendary jillun-mar, the hope of heaven. It was made on a single world in the First Plane, and the two bottles cost half a year’s salary for a First Plane executive. He whistled in spite of himself, and Llian smiled again.

  “I’ll save you a glass.”

  “Very kind,” Mac Braith said again, and couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. He had been born on the Second Plane, and would almost certainly die there: it was only one Drop from Second to First, but the differences in the technology, in wealth, in everything that mattered, made it like stepping from the ordinary world to the Peachflower Paradise his mother had described when he was a boy.

  “I’m not doing this to make fun of you,” Llian said. She lifted the hand that held her cane, and a chair slid over to take her weight.

  And if she had been, there wasn’t much he could do about it, Mac Braith thought. He said, “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  Llian leaned back in her chair, sipped thoughtfully at her drink. “First, I thought you might enjoy it. I certainly intend to. Second… it’s in my thoughts that it might be well for you to be familiar with another style of living.”

  “Pirate,” Mac Braith said. “It’s what I am.” He studied the trays, trying to find something that he recognized, then gave up and reached recklessly for a small ridged rectangle that might be anything. It smelled reassuringly of cheese, and tasted the same, with a bite of pickle.

  “It’s meant to be eaten from top to bottom,” Llian said. “Light savories at the top, heavier ones and ones with more protein in the middle, and the lowest trays are the sweets. The spheres with the three-lobed leaves on them have soup inside; eat them in one bite or they go everywhere.”

  Mac Braith nodded, but took a carved flower instead. “You could have had more of these if you’d let me take Iridium Azimuth. And our profit would have been considerably higher.”

  “You’ve come out well enough.”

  “I can always use more.”

  “Touché.” Llian lifted her glass to him.

  “People will wonder,” Mac Braith said.

  “You’re their captain,” Llian answered. “And, with a few more strikes like this, you’ll be the dominant power on the Second Plane. Lasser’s day is done.”

  Thanks to her, Mac Braith thought. He wasn’t a modest man; no one who didn’t understand his own worth could rise to the captaincy of any pirate ship, much less one of the Five Mountains. But he also wasn’t fool enough to think that he could have taken on Issandro Lasser without her help, at least not at this stage of his career. He’d only been Divine Mountain’s captain for four years; there were still factions on board who missed their former captain. “We’re getting there. But it doesn’t exactly help our cause if we have to settle for the lesser ship
.” He paused, gauging her mood. “We could have taken Iridium Azimuth, and you know it.”

  “Shall I tell you it’s better to take the sure thing?” Llian smiled again, her pale lips tinged purple from the drink.

  Mac Braith snorted. “Just tell me, did you get what you wanted?”

  There was a heartbeat’s silence, and then she laughed with every appearance of delight. “Oh, very good! Yes, I did. And I’m taking the data engineer for the Deal.”

  The Last Fair Deal was the fleet multi-planar she’d demanded as part of the price for her assistance. “All right.” He shook his head. “I’m missing something.”

  “Ah, Mac Braith.” Her voice dropped, as sudden and thin as a knife. “I wouldn’t tell you if you were.”

  Nalani followed Grotius into a lounge, where eighteen fresh-faced Apprentices stood awaiting inspection.

  (“Was I ever that young?”)

  (“You were even younger when we first met. I didn’t think you’d last past your first posting.”) Her codex makes an uncharacteristic pause. (“I was glad you proved me wrong.”)

  (“What do you know about them?”)

  (“Two, maybe three are worth any attention. He’s got them lined up by seniority; the first three are poison.”)

  Nalani bowed to the Apprentices. “Good evening all. I’m Supreme Justice Thurgood IX.” She gestured, and an obedient chair raced into position. It was hard, institutional, too low for her comfort. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Take it from me, sit whenever you can—you’ve got more than a century of standing up ahead of you.”

  The joke worked; at least there was polite laughter, and the tension broke. The Apprentices sat—although Grotius, she noticed, still stood.

  “You wouldn’t know it by looking at me, but I remember what it was like to be in your position. Polo Halau is your first duty station. We ease you in by starting you on the Fifth Plane. Some of you have been here less than a year, others nearly five.” She took a breath. “What a long, long journey is before you.”

  She swept her gaze around the rough circle, meeting each pair of eyes once. “At least once or twice in their careers, Apprentices get the opportunity to step off the path and work directly with a senior Judiciar. Those who do, often learn more in a few years than they could in decades.” She lowered her tone. “This is reflected in their rankings. I, myself, skipped ten years in rank working under Superior Justice Safa III.”

  She gave them a few moments to ponder. Then one of them stood, a slender young woman with a thin, pale face and straight, dark hair. Nalani’s codex interjected, (“Apprentice Judge Al-Ghazali IV, en counsel with the Bel-ibni Codex. Full name DT Khojin bin Arsi Sanxing. Nearing the end of her fourth year. Her record shows promise.”)

  Al-Ghazali cleared her throat. “What do you request of us, Supreme Justice?”

  “I’m searching for another Supreme Justice who’s gone missing. I can’t tell you how long the assignment will last, nor where we’ll be operating. I anticipate considerable fieldwork. Have your codices query mine for details.”

  For a few moments the Apprentices sat blank-faced, staring into the distance. It was the sure mark of the Apprentice; sooner or later they’d become more comfortable with consulting their codices. One by one, they returned their attention to Nalani.

  She said, “This isn’t a mandatory assignment. If you’re interested, let my codex know and we’ll sit down in my chambers to chat. I’ll announce my choices afterwards.” She stood and bowed. “Thank you for your attention.”

  On the way out, with Grotius escorting her, one of the Apprentices dashed to her side. He was half a head shorter than her and gaunt, with high cheekbones and full lips, short black hair, and sandalwood skin. Her codex identified him, (“Apprentice Judge Bhagwati VIII, en counsel with the Nur-Adad Codex. Full name DMC Tua FitzHaku Hina. Nearing the end of his first year. Already several marks for un-cooperative behavior.”)

  Bhagwati gave a quick, nervous bow. “Supreme Justice, could I speak with you privately?”

  Grotius frowned; it seemed a natural expression for him. Some internal matter, then, probably discipline-related. Well, she could give this cub the polite dismissal, if it came to that. Meanwhile, she’d pretend she didn’t get it. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, lad. My codex will set up an appointment.”

  “It’s not that, Sen.” He glanced at Grotius. “I believe there’s been a miscarriage of justice.”

  Grotius snorted, and Nalani could almost smell ozone. He growled, “Apprentice, we’ve discussed this. The matter is closed.”

  Nalani nodded to Grotius, but caught Bhagwati’s eye. “As the Superior Justice says.” She didn’t quite wink at the Apprentice. (“Schedule him for my first appointment.”) (“He hasn’t registered interest in the assignment.”) (“Tell him it’s not optional. I’ll see him in my chambers in an hour.”)

  Turning her back on the lad, she let Grotius escort her out. She waited until they were out of earshot, then said, “Is there anything I should know?”

  “Let’s go to my chambers.” Grotius’s chambers were about the size of hers, the walls festooned with plaques of appreciation, holograms of him with various Important People, and other flummery. Good conduct ribbons from grade school would not have surprised her.

  Grotius sighed and leaned on his desk. “Bhagwati is a troublemaker. I’m sure you know the type: first year, thinks he knows more than anybody else, not willing to listen to reason. Not meant to be a Judiciar. I’ll be surprised if he finishes out his five-year hitch here.”

  Nalani nodded. “I know the type.” Both types, she thought—the first-year know-it-all and the Superior Justice with ego problems. “What’s his issue?”

  “He disagrees with a decision we made a few weeks ago. Claims miscarriage of justice.” Grotius tightened his brows. “Of course his claim is baseless.”

  “Thank you. I’ll give it no more thought.” She turned to leave, then looked back. “On the other hand, if he comes to me officially I’ll have to report that I investigated. Can you open the files on that case to me? That’ll make it easier.”

  “Of course. Your codex should be able to access everything, Supreme Justice.”

  “Wonderful.” She sighed. “Now I have prepare for personal interviews. I hope I can take some of these kids off your back.”

  Bhagwati entered with his eyes down, arms hanging by his side. One his left hand he wore a fingerless glove of silvery mesh. Nalani stood and walked him over the conversation area. “Thank you for coming, Apprentice Judge. Please sit down and try to be as comfortable as you can.” She sat to his side, facing him, and tucked her legs under the chair. “I’m not Superior Justice Grotius, and what’s said in this room will go no further.”

  He raised his eyes. “Thank you, Supreme Justice.”

  She gave comforting smile number three. “About that. I know Grotius likes his formality; I prefer things to be more casual between colleagues. If you’d like you can call me Thurgood, or better still, Nalani. How would you prefer I address you?”

  He swallowed. “I-I’ve never thought about it. Call me Bhagwati, I guess. My given name is Tua.”

  “Bhagwati is a good namesake.” She nodded. “Since this is in the nature of an official investigation, I suppose we should stick with Justiciary names.” She settled back in her chair, rested her hands in her lap. “Bhagwati, you have a concern about a possible miscarriage of justice. That’s a serious charge, and it compels serious investigation. To begin with, let’s make sure we’re both talking about the same case.”

  “It’s Uenuku Productions v Caridad Sanrosa, Su—Thurgood.”

  “That’s what I gathered. I’ve done a cursory review, and everything seems in order. Obviously, you disagree. I want you to tell me, in your own words, what’s not right.”

  “I’ll try. The verdict doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighed. “Have you experienced the immersive show Blind Justice?”

>   “That soap opera about a Supreme Justice who goes around the Planes solving crimes? I should say not. It’s bad enough that such drivel exists, I’m certainly not wasting my time viewing it.”

  Bhagwati drew back a tiny bit, tilted his head half a centimeter. “Maybe you should.” He blinked. “That’s irrelevant, really. Uenuku is the outfit that produces Blind Justice. They brought suit against Caridad Sanrosa for copyright infringement.”

  “I think I see the problem. Bhagwati, Fifth Plane businesses like Uenuku produce intellectual property—not just immersives but all kind of products—that are distributed on all the other Planes. A successful property can be worth as much as a planet. Copyright is serious business around here. You might think it’s not a capital crime, but when you look at the big picture—”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  “Did you just interrupt me?”

  His face paled. “I’m so sorry, Supreme Justice, I don’t know—”

  She chuckled. “No, it’s a good thing. Means we’re finally communicating on the same level. Go on, then, what is your issue with the case?”

  “Caridad Sanrosa is an archaeologist with Kauhale University. Uenuku claimed that she appropriated elements from the life of one of their fictional characters, and incorporated them into her own biography.”

  Nalani frowned. “They identified a persuasive list of correspondences.” She scrolled through the list, which formed the basis of the case. “Over fifty unrelated elements in common...that’s beyond coincidence.” She narrowed her eyes. “The episode containing all these correspondences hadn’t even been released, so the defense couldn’t even claim unconscious imitation.”

  “That’s just it, Thurgood. Look at some of those particular elements of correspondence.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Born on the Third Plane. Sanrosa Lineage. Archaeologist at Kauhale University. Digging on Kauhale’s moon. Vacation on a cruise ship…”