Jurisdiction Zero

The contract's "political volatility" field displayed a zero. Cyrus had initially assumed it was a data entry error. Vaelen had explained that it wasn't — on Keth-Novar, political volatility was zero because there was no politics. No government. No law. No, strictly speaking, authority to address.
— So who do we present our accreditation to? Cyrus had asked.
— To no one in particular. The accreditation will be recognized by consensus at the moment you need it. Or it won't be.
— That's reassuring.
— The previous investigator survival rate is seventy-eight percent. It's one of the highest in our catalogue.
— Meaning the danger isn't physical.
— The danger is primarily existential. Several investigators reported difficulty maintaining a coherent operational framework in an environment without legal referents. One of them returned their accreditation and remained on Keth-Novar permanently.
Cyrus had looked at Vaelen for a long moment.
— You're telling me this now?

Keth-Novar was beautiful. That was worth noting, because few planets Cyrus had worked on were. A surface of dense forests and open plains, a permanent golden light from the system's double star, organic habitat structures that seemed to have grown rather than been built. The Keth-Novaris moved slowly, spoke little, and seemed inhabited by a tranquility that Cyrus, after two days, began to find mildly irritating.
The missing person was called Maren Solis. Biologist, forty-four years old, on Keth-Novar as part of a local flora study mission funded by a Confederation university. She had stopped sending reports three weeks ago. The university had waited a week before reporting it. The liaison bureau had waited another week before issuing a contract. Either she had vanished, or she had done what the previous investigator had done.
— How do you investigate a disappearance in a place without law? said Cyrus on the first evening, looking out at the Keth-Novari forest from their provisional camp.
— On Keth-Novar, said Vaelen, nothing truly disappears. Everything relocates. The society operates through active collective memory — individuals don't only retain their own memories, they share those of their immediate community members. If Maren Solis was in contact with Keth-Novaris, traces of that contact exist in their shared memory.
— And they'll give them to us?
— They don't give. They share, if the exchange seems right to them. The notion of right is determined collectively, in real time, by the people present.
— So every conversation is a negotiation.
— Every conversation is a consensus. Which is different.

The first Keth-Novari they approached was called — per their own translation — Something-that-persists. A modest-sized creature, with multiple eyes arranged in an arc across the forehead, who watched them with the disinterested patience of a tree.
Cyrus explained their presence. Maren Solis's disappearance. Their mandate.
Something-that-persists listened.
Then said, in approximate galactic standard:
— She hasn't disappeared. She changed her rhythm.
— Changed her rhythm, Cyrus repeated.
— She was moving too fast. Observing, noting, sampling, analyzing. That rhythm creates distance between oneself and the place. She chose to slow down.
— She chose?
— She expressed the wish. We heard. She has been in the eastern forest for nineteen days.
— Is she all right?
Something-that-persists seemed to consider the question with genuine perplexity.
— She eats. She sleeps. She has stopped taking notes. I don't know whether that corresponds to "all right".

Cyrus and Vaelen walked toward the eastern forest. The Keth-Novari vegetation was dense but not hostile — the plants seemed to shift slightly as they passed, which, Vaelen noted, was not an illusion but a chemical response to the presence of warm bodies.
They found Maren Solis on the third day.
She was seated at the foot of a tree whose roots formed a natural architecture. She looked rested. Her notebook — closed — lay beside her. She watched them arrive without particular surprise.
— I knew someone would come, she said.
— You've been reported missing, said Cyrus.
— I'm not missing. I'm here.
— For three weeks without a report.
— Yes.
She did not seem troubled by the observation.
— Are you coming back with us? asked Cyrus.
She looked at the forest. The golden light filtered through leaves with the transparency of blown glass.
— I need to know why you're here, she said. If the university sent you, the answer is no. If it's my family, tell them I'm well and I'll write. If it's the liaison bureau because they think there's been a crime, there hasn't been a crime.
— What was the mission budget? said Vaelen.
Maren Solis turned toward Vaelen's interface with a slightly different expression.
— Sixty thousand units. Funded by the university and a pharmaceutical consortium that wanted data on local flora.
— The consortium expected data within three weeks. They threatened to withdraw funding from the university if the reports stopped. The university panicked and reported a disappearance.
She closed her eyes for a second.
— That's it.
— So this isn't a disappearance case. It's a case of contractual pressure on a researcher in the field.
— Yes.
Cyrus sat across from her.
— Here is what I can do. I return to the university and confirm that you are alive, well, and continuing your mission according to your own research protocol. Which is true. In exchange, you re-establish contact with them within seven days to negotiate a revised timeline. The consortium will have to negotiate with the university, not with you directly.
— And if I refuse?
— Then I submit a report to the liaison bureau stating that the missing person was located and is not in danger. Which is also true. Which closes the contract. Which resolves nothing for you with the university.
Maren Solis looked at the forest for a moment longer.
— Seven days.
— Seven days.
She nodded.

On the ship, Cyrus completed his form.
Nature of case: contractual pressure disguised as disappearance. No crime established. Resolution through mediation between researcher and mandating institution.

Vaelen added:
Note: Keth-Novar presents no significant physical, legal, or procedural danger. The primary risk, as mentioned in the preliminary data, is existential. Maren Solis is the seventeenth person to have changed their rhythm on Keth-Novar according to the Keth-Novari archives consulted. Among the previous investigators at the seventy-eight percent survival rate: the remaining twenty-two percent does not correspond to deaths. It corresponds to persons who returned their accreditation and requested permanent residence. The liaison bureau maintains this figure under the heading survival for lack of a more suitable category.
Then, after a pause:
I also spent twenty-two minutes doing nothing in the eastern forest while Cyrus negotiated. This is not a duration I typically record. I am recording it anyway.