Five Planes Read online

  Except, of course, that he’d been told to let it go. But surely Captain Turan wouldn’t object to his reviewing the data tapes; that was hardly the kind of public speculation that had brought down the captain’s reprimand. And that was two reprimands this trip, both posted formally to his professional factum. Any more, and he’d start having trouble finding decent berths, never mind his outstanding marks in most other categories. For a moment, his hands hesitated on the keys, but then shook his head. He couldn’t stand not knowing, not for another Drop, and he entered the next command, calling up the data from the next-to-last Drop.

  The primary screen filled with codes, file names and references, while a secondary screen produced an image of twisting cloud of light, Iridium Azimuth’s simulation of the surging transdimensional energies that surrounded it and carried it through the Drop. And that, of course, was part of the problem: there was no way to record those energies directly; various programs translated sensor readings and field fluctuations into a guide for the human pilots, who processed data more efficiently as shape and pattern. But that meant that what he had seen in those patterns would not appear in the simulation: there was no precedent, no previous experience to draw on, and so the ship would smooth it out of sight.

  Or, of course, it had never been there at all. That was what the captain said, and what most of the bridge crew at least claimed to believe. Even Izanagi was back-tracking as fast as he could, agreeing with the captain that it must have been a hallucination, a trick of light and stress and the weird energies of the Drop.

  I know what I saw. Val closed his eyes, the image still solid, unmistakable: another ship, riding the hyperspatial currents, leading Iridium Azimuth through a nasty knot of unphased currents, pointing the way toward safety. And not just any ship, but a giant, massive and beautiful and unlike anything that had traversed the Planes these last thousand years. Five generation ships had settled the Planes; four had been dismantled over the generations to build their new worlds, but the fifth ship… The Fifth Ship had vanished sometime before good records had been kept, before the Planes had been understood, never mind explored. Vertical legend, spacefarers’ legend, said that she still traveled the Planes, a threat to those who would do ill and an occasional rescuer of ships in trouble. Val had never believed the stories until now.

  But it had happened, the Fifth Ship had appeared out of the maelstrom of energy, pointing—perhaps even creating—the way through. If he could just find real proof… His fingers moved on the keys again, entering commands. He knew the minute when the Fifth Ship had appeared; if he searched all the sensor inputs for data from those sixty seconds, surely there would be an anomaly—

  “Sen Millat.”

  “Sen?” Val swung to face the hatch, schooling his expression to mild surprise. Inwardly, he was cursing. The databanks had to have been set to register this kind of search, and he should have thought of that, negated it before he started his own queries.

  The first officer, Espelt Hillard, frowned at him as she let the hatch close behind him. “Sen Millat, I believe the captain gave you explicit orders about pursuing this.”

  “I know what I saw,” Val said. If he was going to get another reprimand, he might as well go all in. “I know you saw it, too. Sen.”

  Hillard sighed, and leaned one hip on the environmental station. “Val, I’ve seen the Fifth Ship four times in my life, and, yes, this was one of them—but it was a hallucination. Humans are pattern-making animals, give us random movement and we’ll make a design out of it.There’s even a word for it—apophenia. It’s something humans do, not something real.”

  “If it was a hallucination,” Val said, “how did it get us out of there?”

  “It didn’t.” Hillard’s voice was flat. “It wasn’t there.”

  “I’m a good pilot, but that was a real hell ride.” Val shivered, terror still too sharp in memory. Iridium Azimuth had taken fire just as they Dropped, suffered damage to the field screens and the void projectors; he had barely had steering control as they fell into the Fracture, alarms shrieking from every console. He could still taste the fear, still felt it when he closed his eyes at night, the screens swirling blue and turquoise and no safe path visible anywhere… “I couldn’t have gotten us out without the Fifth Ship’s help—and why the hell would I say that if it wasn’t true?”

  “Maybe because you’re stupid?” Hillard answered. “You tell me.”

  “Sen, if I hadn’t seen it—” Val shook his head. “Look, why does anyone care what I think?”

  “Captain Turan doesn’t believe in superstition,” Hillard said. “The Fifth Ship is a particularly dangerous superstition, because you start to rely on it.” She pushed herself away from the console and gestured to the door. “I’m not making this official, Sen Millat, not this time. But you’d be very wise to leave this alone.”

  Val rose to his feet and preceded her out the door. He knew he should agree, promise to let the whole thing drop, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Hillard sighed as though she’d guessed his thought.

  “I’m warning you, Val. One more reprimand on this subject, and the captain’s going to put you out. And I don’t know what kind of recommendation she’ll be offering.”

  Iridium Azimuth was an excellent ship, good pay, good crew, good passengers, and a company that actually managed to protect its people more often than not—not something to be lightly thrown away. And yet. The Fifth Ship rose in memory, a towering shape against the void. “I understand,” he said at last, and saw Hillard’s mouth tighten, but turned away before she could say anything more.

  When Nalani Lotuma stepped onto the deck of Iridium Azimuth, the first face she saw was that of the Captain, Elizavetta Turan. A rather short woman, Turan had the commanding presence of a stubborn bulldog. With high cheekbones, short straight blond hair, and pale skin just starting to show a hint of the wrinkles to come, she stood in contrast to the tall, dark, nearly bald Nalani.

  Nalani smiled and bowed. “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

  Turan returned the bow. “Permission granted, Supreme Justice.” She smiled. “Welcome back. It’s been, what, five years?”

  “Nearer to seven.”

  “I put you in your usual cabin. But before you settle in, I thought we could have a quick drink and catch up?”

  Since Nalani had last been aboard, the Captain’s Club had been redecorated in bamboo and teak; the rattan chairs were slightly uncomfortable and the tables too low. It was worth it, however, for the view: with the ceiling irised open, the surface of Capital provided an ever-changing panorama just five hundred kilometers away. Once the ship left orbit, she knew, the view would be less spectacular.

  Nalani ordered invertase wine, while Turan chose fizzy water. “I’m on duty for departure,” she said, “although I might as well not be. Until we leave the system the Capital AIs will be doing all the work.”

  When the drinks arrived Turan lifted her glass. “To you, Sen, and the pleasure of having you aboard.”

  Nalani chuckled. “Oh stop. To the Iridium Azimuth, long may she fly.”

  After they drank, Turan settled back in her chair. “I heard some silly rumor that you retired.”

  “No rumor. A few years ago.” Nalani took a sip of wine. “Not that any of us truly retire. We’re like ship captains in that.”

  With a barely-raised eyebrow, Turan asked, “So is this a pleasure trip?”

  “Mmm, some of both. I’m on a mission for myself. But not one so urgent that I couldn’t wait for a comfortable ship.”

  Turan frowned. “You almost didn’t have us. As it is, the ship's going to need an extensive overhaul once we reach Dzamglin on Fifth.”

  “Bad Drop? I know that Quartz Phantom and Floriture both left the Second Plane after you, and arrived sooner.”

  Turan’s eyes turned upward, looking into the past. “Bad Drop, yes, but that’s not why. Trouble with pirates on Second. Worse than usual.” Her eyes refocused. “Much worse.” />
  “In what way?”

  “Something’s going on among the pirate combines. Power’s shifting. Have you heard of Issandro Lasser?”

  Nalani made a face. “I had dealings with Sen Lasser the last time I was on Second. A decade and a half ago, easily. The encounter left a bad taste in my mouth.” She stroked her bronze arm cuff.

  Turan nodded. “Longer ago than that, Lasser took control of the Mouth of Hell. If you wanted to Drop to First, you did it with his permission. The rates were reasonable, no worse than the gang that had control before. Then...” She spread her hands.

  “Then what?”

  “Lasser jacked up rates, again and again. Worse, Letters of Passage wouldn’t be delivered, or would be revoked without warning. Rumors of another faction, either within Lasser’s organization or outside it.” She twirled her tumbler. “We only made it through because we partnered with Broad Increase.” She set down the glass. “I don’t think she made it.”

  Nalani regarded the Captain for long, silent moments. “El, why are you telling me this?”

  Turan’s face was pained. “I guess I’m hoping you’ll tell me that the Judiciary’s going to take action. This isn’t a matter of internal governance, it’s a threat to multi-planar commerce.”

  “You’ve made your concerns known?”

  Turan nodded. “To the Commission, to all our reps, to every Judiciar I can find.” A wan smile. “You’re the highest-ranking Judiciar I know.”

  Nalani sighed. “Give me what information you have.”

  Without a word, Turan handed her a data flake.

  Nalani touched the flake to her cuff, then handed it back. “I promise you, I’ll review this before we leave this Plane, and I’ll make a recommendation.” She finished her wine. “I don’t have to tell you how reluctant the Valley is to get involved with the Second Plane. You know yourself how difficult it is to get from First to Second; the logistics alone are a nightmare. Vault to Fifth, then drop to Fourth, Third, and Second...”

  “You’re saying I shouldn’t hold out much hope.” Turan rose. “Thanks for doing what you can.”

  “I didn’t say to give up hope,” Nalani said. “Rather, you might want to put your hope in something other than the First Plane. Local solutions are often the best.”

  “Said like a true Supreme Justice. I’ll ponder that.” Turan bowed. “Thank you.”

  Nalani stared after Turan’s departing form, then shrugged and ordered another glass of wine.

  The pirates took control of Broad Increase with callous efficiency, sending a team to secure the refugees and passengers before attempting to take control of the crew. The internal screens showed the thirty-one passengers lined up on the Promenade in the stark emergency lighting, a hostage team covering them with pulse rifles conspicuously placed on the “lethal” setting. Whoever was in charge had an excellent grasp of commercial realities, Imric thought, as he followed the rest of the bridge crew through the ship’s corridors under the watchful eyes of another hostage team. The captain was far more likely to worry about the paying passengers than about anyone else, or about the cargo.

  The hostage team brought them out on the north end of the Promenade. Engineering and Services were already there, lined up hands on heads under the watchful eye of a third set of guards, and the control room crew fell into place beside them. The bar was between them and the passengers, but Imric craned his neck to see anyway, hoping no one had been stupid enough to resist. He could see only a ragged line, men and women in a mix of sober business robes and brighter traveling clothes. A child was crying somewhere, but he couldn’t see where.

  The hostage team prodded them into line with the rest of the crew, and took up positions where they could easily cover the entire group. They were all lightly armored, with full-face helmets that had only a narrow vision slit, deliberately and effectively intimidating. Imric glanced at the captain, wondering how much it was going to cost to buy them out, and how much would be taken out of their voyage share—or out of their pay, if they were spectacularly unlucky. Surely that was all Lasser wanted, well, money and maybe some of the cargo. Imric couldn’t remember what was in the holds besides the refugees. The Second Plane was beaming more and more of a bottleneck for goods carried between Planes; more than once he’d heard someone say that the Planes would have to band together to do something about it. It hadn’t happened yet, though, and seemed less likely with each passing year.

  “Attention!” That was one of the hostage team, the helmet amplifying and distorting their voice. The rest of the team straightened, not crisply military, but certainly not without discipline, and a man in armor stepped out of the cage elevator that brought passengers up from the deck below. He had tucked his helmet into the crook of his arm, and his rust-colored hair was sweat-damp, the tight curls plastered close to his scalp.

  “Which of you is the captain?”

  Canalda hesitantly lifted his hand. “Here.”

  “Name?”

  “Jorde Canalda.”

  “Full name,” the pirate said, patiently enough, and Canalda swallowed hard.

  “ACU Jorde à Kesar Canalda Sanrosa.”

  “I’m Mac Braith Bain,” the pirate said. “You’re not on our list of ships, so… It’s time to pay now.”

  “We’re not a wealthy business,” Canalda said. “We’re a Class Three, cargo with some passengers. I’m willing to pay what we can, but…” His voice trailed off, and Mac Braith sighed.

  “You should have thought of that before you left Nelson’s Keep.”

  “We thought of it before we reached Nelson’s Keep,” Canalda answered. “We had letters of passage, paid out good money for them—”

  “Which I expect you recouped with a surcharge on the tickets,” Mac Braith interrupted.

  “Not all of it.” Canalda glared, and then thought better of it. “We couldn’t afford to pay out again. Not right away.”

  “So you decided to make a run for it,” Mac Braith said. “Only that didn’t work out so well. We’ll take ten thousand cash, or equivalent value in cargo, parts, and indenture.”

  “We haven’t got the cash.” Canalda’s voice was barely a whisper.

  They didn’t have it in cargo, either, Imric thought, not this trip, and he doubted they had the parts, either, even if Mac Braith stripped them bare. He glanced at Mac Cattal, and saw the other man lick his lips.

  “Cargo?” Mac Braith looked over his shoulder, and an unarmed woman handed him a mobile. He paged through the screens, shaking his head. “Not looking good.”

  “It’s all we have,” Canalda said.

  “You have crew and passengers,” Mac Braith said. “And a hold full of refugees, but they haven’t got a pot to piss in, we’ll let them go for a token fee. How about your passengers, anyone there likely to pay out promptly?”

  Canalda hesitated, visibly tempted—there were Fifth Plane passengers who could probably afford the loss—but shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “You won’t get a decent fee,” a woman said, brushing past two of the hostage team. “They’re none of them particularly well off, and Lasser and the captain between them cleaned them out.”

  The voice was familiar, and Imric blinked hard, unable for a moment to believe what he was seeing. But that was Llian ap Farr, cane in hand, moving freely among the pirates.

  “You’re better off claiming crew indenture. I’ve made a list.”

  She gestured to Mac Braith’s mobile, and he nodded, running his finger down the screen.

  “You’re with them?” Canalda gave her a wounded look. “I discounted your fare.”

  “Which I have taken into account,” Llian answered. “And the service was impeccable.”

  Mac Braith nodded again. “Right. Captain, I’m giving you and your crew one chance to buy yourselves out of this. The people on this list can accept an one-year indenture, and you’ll turn over our choice of your cargo, and we’ll let the rest of you—and all passengers—continue to the
Drop.”

  “Why the hell would we do that?” someone asked from among the service crew, and Canalda said, in the same instant, “Who’s on the list?”

  Mac Braith glanced toward the service crew. “You’ll do it because otherwise we’ll just take everything, including the people we need. As for who—” He raised the mobile. “JP Farren bar Genrys Sanrosa. CEV Eleicia Marievna Escarrey Sanxing. A A Imric bin Marrick Roeland Sanxing.”

  Imric hissed and heard Mac Cattal swear under his breath. Why would pirates need a data engineer? No, that was a stupid question, they needed data engineers for the same reason any business did; the real question was why they’d chosen him, and the answer was probably just that he was the highest ranking DE on the ship.

  “Why me?” That was the bartender from the late night shift, her voice wavering. Presumably she was Eleicia Escarrey. “What do you want with me?”

  “You have certificates in FTJ Foodservices maintenance and repair, plus training,” Llian answered briskly.

  “Well?” Mac Braith demanded, and Canalda nodded.

  “We agree.”

  “Wait just a minute,” Mac Cattal said, and there was a mutter of agreement. “Seems like you don’t have the right to answer for them.”

  Mac Braith shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”

  “Hold on,” Imric said. He had been born on the Second Plane, he had heard enough stories to know that the majority of the pirates kept at least the letter of their agreements—otherwise the other Planes would have banded together generations ago and cleared out the entire mess. “What are the terms again?”