The Rule of Five_Year One Read online

  “That’s a fairy tale,” Thanh said. “But I still say making the Drop to Third is our best plan.”

  Rokuro spread his hands. “It’s insane, but we don’t stand much chance, come war or no. All right, I vote yes.”

  Thanh and Piet raised their hands. “Yes.”

  With a grin, Haragai raised his hand. “Yes. As long as we all stay together.”

  Sun-hwa looked at the spinning lights with narrowed brows. “Antoku, what’s your vote?”

  “I can see no other viable path to maintaining the corporation’s coherent existence. I vote yes.”

  Sun-hwa nodded. “It’s unanimous, then. Kiet, Thanh, start figuring out what we’re going to need. Rokuro, think about who else we should invite. Haragai, come with me; we need to talk to Jamahl.”

  Haragai blinked. “Why me?”

  “When he’s here, Jamahl sleeps with you more often than he does with the rest of us. Obviously, he sees something in you that we don’t.” She winked. “Come on, lad.”

  It was late afternoon when they returned to Polo Halau. Nalani dismissed the Apprentices to work on their assignments. She met with Grotius and pacified him, then settled in for a pensive supper alone in her quarters.

  Caridad Sanrosa was wrongfully convicted, that much was certain. Anyone with a lick of sense could see that. Grotius, with his lack of imagination and rigid adherence to protocol, had signed off on a decision that even a first-year Apprentice could see was erroneous.

  That left two questions. How could such a decision have been made, and why?

  The records were clear. As was customary, a three-Judiciar panel had decided the case following the unanimous recommendation of their codices. Sanrosa’s barristers filed an appeal, and a different panel—including Grotius as senior Judiciar—affirmed the ruling.

  She frowned. (“How could a codex make such a wrong decision?”)

  Her codex responded, (“I can’t explain it. I’ve digested the case files, and I’d recommend that the case be dismissed.”)

  (“How can two codices working from identical programming and files come up with two conflicting recommendations?”) Law was law, and codices were strictly rational AIs —even with different histories, all should agree...at least on a case as straightforward as this one.

  Her codex hit the obvious conclusion at the same time she did. (“Perhaps the programming is not identical.”)

  Nalani drummed her fingers on the table. (“Do I know any of the senior Judiciars with the other four Lineages?”)

  (“Superior Justice Udagama XIII administers the Judiciary in Naksatra territory.”)

  (“Ah, Pavla Dymtruvich. Good for her. She has a sensible head on her shoulders. Set up a conference at her earliest opportunity.”)

  The following afternoon, Nalani met with the Apprentices, Grotius, and a dozen senior Polo Halau Judiciars. She stood at a podium in a small conference room, flanked by the seated Apprentices; the others sat before her.

  “Thank you for coming at such short notice,” she said. As if any of them would ignore a summons from a Supreme Justice. “I assume you’re all familiar with the Caridad Sanrosa case.”

  There was general assent, and she continued, “You know that we issued a guilty verdict. I know some of you were uneasy about the ruling. Some of you are aware that I shared that unease, and reopened the case.” She paused for the space of a breath. “After review, I’m going to vacate the decision. I expect to issue an opinion in the next few days.”

  She gave them a moment to react, then held up a hand to silence the hubbub. “I’m afraid that this one case is but a symptom of a far more fundamental issue, one with far-reaching implications. Yesterday I forwarded the relevant casefiles to Superior Justice Udagama XIII and asked her to use Naksatra codices to readjudicate the case.” Her eyes settled on Bhagwati. “Apprentice Bhagwati, you’re freshest out of school. Why don’t you tell us what result I should have expected?”

  Bhagwati stood, hands clasped behind himself, and said, “Supreme Justice, since the case didn’t involve any Lineage-specific laws, the ruling should have been the same.”

  Nalani nodded. “Very good.”She made a subtle gesture, and Bhagwati sat down. “I won’t keep you in suspense. Naksatra codices recommended that the case be immediately dismissed.”

  Everyone tried to speak at once. Nalani rapped her knuckles on a podium. “Order, please.”Her codex commented, (“You think they’re noisy, you ought to hear their codices.”) (“Bring them to order as well.”)

  Grotius was beside himself; Nalani wasn’t sure which would win the battle for his face, rage or indignation. “Supreme Justice, with all due respect, what you suggest is...”He trailed off.

  “Impossible, I know.”She looked from face to stricken face. “Udagama and I consulted the chief Judiciars for the other three Lineages. Sanrosa’s codices agreed with ours. Themis’s agreed with Naksatra. Sanxing’s gave a split decision—half for guilty, half for dismissal.”

  Pandemonium.

  She let them rant and rave for a few moments. The idea that multiple codices, evaluating the same facts and testimony, would disagree—it was unprecedented. As much a shock as missing a step on a staircase, or turning the water tap and getting gobs of honey.

  Grotius, to his credit, silenced them and voiced the obvious, uncomfortable conclusion. “Our codices have been corrupted,”he said, his eyes and his voice equally empty.

  Nalani gave a reluctant sigh. “I’m afraid that’s the only rational finding.”

  In a hollow whisper, he said, “What are we going to do?”

  She squared her shoulders and stood up to her full height. “Effective immediately, I’m ordering all but routine Judiciary proceedings suspended throughout the Fifth Plane. I’ve sent a priority request to First for a complete and secure codex update to be sent.”She closed her eyes. “It will likely take the better part of a month for my request to reach First and for a clean-copy master codex to arrive.”

  One of Grotius’s aides, a Superior Judge, said,“But didn’t you say Naksatra and Themis codices are clean? Can’t we do a sideload update from them?”

  Nalani shook her head. “We know neither the nature of the corruption, nor its extent. Naksatra and Themis might be corrupt in other ways. The regulations mandate a complete and secure update. They were written that way for a reason, we’re better off following them to the letter.”

  Al-Ghazali looked up, fingers stroking her right eyebrow, where her codex sat. Nalani understood the Apprentice’s emotion—to lose trust in one’s codex, the one constant in a shifting universe, was a terrible thing. “How did our codices get corrupted? Who’s responsible?”

  Nalani’s lips tightened, revealing the edges of her teeth. “That,“ she said, “is what I intend to find out.”

  Nalani sat at her desk, alone except for her codex. She regarded the bronze cuff on her forearm; every dent and scuffmark the memory of a case, a person, an investigation gone rough. She was meticulous about keeping files and software updated—but when was the last time she had the physical unit serviced, buffed, polished? Twenty, thirty years? Longer?

  Unprompted, her codex said, (“I suppose you can say it now.”)

  A faint grin touched her lips. (“Say what?”)

  (“That if I’d updated myself when we arrived on this Plane, I’d be corrupted too. That you were right to prevent it.”)

  (“You aren’t keeping score, are you? Because I've been wrong just as often.”)

  (“No, I’m not keeping score. Well, yes, technically my personal-judgment modules do keep track of such things, but only for behavioral purposes. I just wanted to acknowledge that your intuitive decision was correct.”)

  Her incipient grin faded. (“You are uncorrupted, aren’t you?”)

  The pause that followed was almost too long. (“As you pointed out, I came here fresh from updating on the First Plane. I am unsullied.”) Another pause. (“Of course, that’s exactly what I’d think even if I was corrupted.�
�)

  (“So how do I know for sure?”)

  No pause this time. (“I told you how. Your intuitive judgment is sound.”)

  Nalani chuckled. (“Touché. We’ll speak no more of it.”) She stroked the cuff. (“What’s Milos up to?”)

  (“Still on Iridium Azimuth. The ship left 5-3ECK3 yesterday and is en route here. Milos and his family won’t reach the Themis seatworld for another week.”)

  (“I want to talk to him.”)

  (“It’s late afternoon ship’s time. I’m establishing a connection.”)

  It wasn’t long before Milos appeared on one of her boards. One perk of being a Supreme Justice, Nalani reflected, was being able to command whatever bandwidth she needed.

  “Nalani,” he said with a smile. “What a pleasure.” He wore a swim robe and his hair was wet; in the background she glimpsed the ship’s pool.

  She couldn’t resist answering his smile. “Good to see you, too. How are Zofia and Dav?”

  “Wet. They’re in swim lessons right now, having the time of their lives.” His face became serious. “This has got to be costing a fortune. What’s down?”

  “Well, it seems I have need of a data archaeologist. And it occurred to me that I left a perfectly one just a few days ago.” Had it only been a few days? So much had happened, it seemed impossible.

  “Tell me.”

  She shook her head bare millimeters. “Judiciary matters. I’d rather discuss the problem with you in person.”

  “Are you still on Kauhale? As it happens, that’s our next port of call.”

  “Mmm, I want you sooner than that. If I send a clipper, can you be ready to move out? Bring the children, of course. I can have quarters set up for you here.” She pinned him with her eyes. “Let’s say, your standard rate plus fifty percent confidentiality differential. Plus room and board for the family, expenses, that sort of thing?”

  He looked down. “Nalani, I couldn’t possibly charge you—”

  She tapped the board. “What? I’m sorry, I’m getting some interference here. I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

  He grinned again. “All right. I agree. We can be ready to go as soon as you want us.”

  “Thank you. I’ll have the clipper sent. Give the kids my love.”

  “And theirs to you.”

  With a reluctant finger, Nalani tapped the red button that ended the call.

  1.08 Reunion

  “They’re a bunch of crazies, that’s what they are.” Bhagwati grabbed a fourth slice of pizza and continued, speaking as he devoured it without any evidence of chewing. “They call themselves The Children of the Lost Ship. They believe that their ancestors were left here by the Fifth Ship five hundred years ago, and that it’s out there somewhere. Soon, it’ll come back and take them away.” He took a swig of juice. “Nutters, the whole bunch of them.”

  Al-Ghazali frowned. “It’s not polite to make fun of someone’s religious beliefs.”

  Nalani sighed. “Nor is it particularly politic. You never know who might overhear you, and possibly take offense.” She glanced at her chambers door, firmly locked and secure while she and the Apprentices stole time for a working lunch. “Bhagwati, you said you uncovered a connection to Caridad Sanrosa?”

  “Possibly. That moon where Professor Sanrosa was digging? The Children of the Lost Ship claim that was where their ancestors were left...and where the Fifth Ship will come back. It’s hallowed ground to them.”

  Nalani nodded. “Justification, I presume, for wanting her removed from the scene.” She turned to Al-Ghazali. “Tell me you have something to report.”

  Al-Ghazali, who had nibbled her way through two pizza slices, leaving the crusts untouched, cocked her head. “I set out to trace those cruise tickets that Professor Sanrosa’s associate won. At first I didn’t think I’d find anything relevant. I was mistaken. Thurgood, I don’t know how you knew.”

  “Call it intuition. Or experience. What did you find?”

  “The tickets were provided by the cruise line, of course. But Professor Avakian won them through a drawing at a historians conference. The drawing was a promotional event conducted by a production company of historical teaching materials.” She paused, the ghost of a grin playing over her face. “That company is a subsidiary of Uenuku Productions.”

  “I see,” Nalani said. “You suspect that Uenuku arranged for Professor Avakian to win those tickets, in hopes that he’d bring his associates along—including Professor Sanrosa?”

  Al-Ghazali met her eyes with a steady gaze. “It’s not as unlikely as it sounds. Avakian is espoused to his work. He has no close family or friends outside work. His colleagues are the only ones he could have asked along.”

  Nalani allowed a faint smile. “Plausible. Yet—yes, Bhagwati?”

  The Apprentice beamed. “Thurgood, you’re going to love this. Guess who’s a high-level functionary with the Children of the Lost Ship? Go ahead, just guess.”

  She spread her hands. “I couldn’t.”

  Bhagwati actually chuckled in delight. “Topaka Phan Lo...Senior Executive of the Immersive Entertainment Division for Uenuku Productions.”

  Nalani nodded. “I think we’ll schedule another meeting with Sen Phan Lo.”

  The shuttle carrying Milos and family arrived late that afternoon. Little Dav ran out of the vehicle and into Nalani’s arms. She lifted him, spun him around, and deposited him on the deck just in time to give Zofia a hug. “I’m very glad to see you two,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “And they’re missed you,” Milos said. He bowed and kissed Nalani’s hand. “As have I.”

  She took his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly, my friend.” Waving to the Apprentices, she made quick introductions. “Now let’s get you checked in, then I’ll take you to your quarters. I had them put you next to mine, I hope that’s acceptable.”

  “Perfectly,” Milos answered.

  After a stop at the Security booth for biometric scans, the party stopped at the small suite Nalani had reserved for the family. Besides bedrooms and a living/dining area, there was also a workshop for Milos. “Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the tech staff; they’ll be able to get you anything you want.” She consulted her codex for the time. “Take some time to get comfortable. In half an hour, come next door and the six of us will have a quick welcome dinner.” She glanced at the Apprentices. “After that, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave you for an important meeting.”

  “What are we having for dinner?” Dav asked.

  She smiled. “I don’t know exactly, but usually around here we eat old shoes in dirt sauce. You okay with that?”

  “Ewwww. I’m not eating that.”

  Zofia ignored her brother. “Nalani, will you come see us when your meeting’s over?”

  “I’ll come to read you a bedtime story. I promise.”

  Val Millat could see the sign flashing over the door of the transients’ hostel where he had slept the night before, but ignored it, instead darting through the late-day traffic to fetch up at the base of a stairway that led to an unprepossessing eatery. Behind him, a klaxon blatted and riders cursed, but his databoard stayed silent. This time, at least, he’d gotten away without a fine for obstructing traffic, and as he climbed the stairs, he hoped that would be sign that his luck was holding. The eatery was no better than it had looked from the street, a single narrow room with a booth under each of the street-side windows and a long counter where a lean old man took turns monitoring the robo-cookers and handling the ancient-looking money-changer. Only one of the booths was occupied; Val chose one that gave him a decent view of hostel entrance, and waiting while the menu swam into focus beneath the table’s surface. Someone, presumably the old man, had wiped it down between customers, but the wipe had left wide streaks on the illuminated surface, as obtrusive as the fingermarks it had removed.

  The offerings were as limited as he had expected, the sort of cheap flash-fix that the robo-cooks couldn’t spoil, and he chose standar
d fare that wouldn’t challenge them. The table beeped twice, acknowledging the order, and a few minutes later, the monitor himself came over with the sealed canister of his drink. Val blinked, startled, and the old man shrugged.

  “Waiter’s dorfed. Don’t worry, everything comes sealed.”

  “That’s fine,” Val said, and popped the seal with the sharp-pointed straw. At the moment, contamination was pretty low on his list of worries.

  His eyes strayed back to the window, and the street below. It was another clouded day, the light fading toward twilight: just about the time you’d expect a job-hunter to return to their room. If anyone was still following him, now was the time he was most likely to spot them.

  He’d changed rooms after the incident at the Five Ships, and then moved to a different hostel, but each time, he’d become certain that someone was watching him. It wasn’t sophisticated surveillance, nothing that could be foxed by better electronics or more careful settings; this was old-fashioned, human-on-human spying, hard to fight and even harder to prove even if you dared take it to the judiciary. And he didn’t dare that, not now, though in the dark of night when he lay awake listening for someone scratching at the lock, he’d fantasized about it. But what could he say? Someone is following me, sen. Why? Because they think I know something about the Fifth Ship…. Any sensible policeman would offer to help him sober up first, and if he dared to approach an apprentice judge—even a candidate!—their first question would be to ask for proof of the offense, and he could’t provide even that. Oh, he’d managed to record few scraps on his board, but when he looked at them himself, he couldn’t be sure that the snippets even showed the same person.

  And yet. Something moved in the shadows, a pedestrian moving at slightly different rate than all the others, the hood of their coat raised against the evening air. Did they slow to watch a young man entering the hostel? Hadn’t he seen that coat before? In the fading light, colors blurred, the blacks and blues and grays that were practically a uniform on Kauhale blending into a single dull shade. Maybe the coat was blue, not charcoal gray. Maybe the one he had seen before had been a hair shorter. But now this one slowed even further, turned back to climb the three steps to the hostel entrance and disappeared inside. Val held his breath. Maybe this was just coincidence after all — but, no, there they were again, tugging up their hood as they came out onto the street, completely hiding their face. And then they were gone, losing themselves in the crowd headed for the transfer station.