Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  “What the—” He was speechless.

  He fired again from behind his scanty cover, and thank God for his son's good tactical sense in following suit. Their assailant was slowed. Before resuming his defensive stride a shot got past his clipeus, hitting his shoulder. The man flinched, then shirked off any effect and continued inexorably.

  “You missed?” Jordahk asked.

  “I didn't miss.”

  “I thought you always carried armor piercing now.”

  “That was AP.”

  Realization dawned on Kord. No doubt it was hitting his son as well.

  “Wha—? That means…” Jordahk's voice went from incredulous to rude awakening. “He's… He's a…”

  “A Hektor,” Max blurted. “Someone had to say it.”

  Kord could almost feel sorry for the Hektor. One of a foolish few who sold themselves to the Perigeum, turning their backs on every societal Mark One restraint and grossly modifying their bodies. Poor souls whose humanity hung by a thread, if it was still there at all.

  Cost, dedication, and the dangerous nature of their surgeries made them scarce. But each could do the job of many. Their fearsome black ops reputation wasn't unfounded. Watching the Hektor close on Jordahk's position, Kord's willingness to act recklessly skyrocketed.

  His son understood all too well. “I'm pinned here. I can't get this smelting DAWG off my arm!”

  Kord glanced back at the few meters standing between him and hope. “I've got to get to the boom-stick!”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Jordahk had to keep pressure on the Hektor, or his father would never reach the boom-stick.

  “I know what you're thinking, kid, but your armor's dead. For all intents and purposes you have no micros nor the alchemus gland. That guy's using anticoagulant ammo. I wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop the bleeding, and you're doing so internally in your arm already.”

  An attempt to pull apart the inert DAWG's jaw again ended in vain. It was like trying to lift the tor next to him. He was stuck lying there, clamped to this metal monster.

  “Don't do anything foolish,” Kord admonished. His voice sounded as though his mouth was clenched.

  “I'm welded to a dead DAWG with a Hektor bearing down on me, and you're telling me not to do anything foolish?”

  “He's a lot closer to you now.” In the pause Jordahk could almost feel his father weighing the options. “I'm going to overcharge.”

  “You'd be lucky to get two three-shot bursts out,” Highearn said. “For if the pistol does not explode on the first it will certainly on the second. And please, no comments about pessimism.”

  “Just do it.” The dark, chunky pistol roared over the comm for its finale performance. “It's vibrating something fierce,” his father continued. “He'll turn to block these. Put something on him when he does.”

  No doubt the Hektor was observing them both with his equivalent of super-zoomies. Whining turned to grinding as his father let loose the first burst. The Hektor slowed to put his shoulder behind the clipeus as the high-power volley impacted. The second also landed with accuracy, slowing him further. Kord's pistol exploded. Jordahk fought the instinct to look. He had to put follow-up shots on target to give his father the chance for which he'd just endangered himself.

  Jordahk pushed the autobuss out and aimed through the gun-eye. The Hektor was uncomfortably close, especially at the speeds he moved. Bracing the pistol for one-handed firing, he let loose with two triangles of standard ammunition. They didn't hit as hard, but they kept the Hektor occupied while his father dashed, hopefully, the final meters to the boom-stick.

  Faster than humanly possible, the Hektor aimed his grister right at Jordahk's gun-eye. Nearby rock exploded as the autobuss leaped from his hand with a loud gong. It smacked his head, knocking off his nonfunctional spring armor cap, before skidding into the dirt meters beyond. For a moment his vision speckled and his head felt heavy.

  “Stay with me, kid. I've finally got a visual from the dragonfly. It's very reluctant to do plain old espy duties.”

  Jordahk tried to focus on the VAD as the loud report of his father's boom-stick echoed. Since encountering bots looked to be an ongoing problem for their family, his father rarely traveled anywhere now without the emergency weapon. Arm length with with two over/under barrels, it fired two super-sheller rounds that could stop nearly any combat bot. That was the limit, though, two shots. They had to hit enemy, not shield.

  A bright flash impacted the Hektor's clipeus. His father's aim was amazing under the circumstances. The Hektor staggered back, but didn't fall. Such strength and durability, but the clipeus was not its equal. The shield still functioned, but sparks exuded from the metal rim around blue-tinted hard air.

  “Jordahk, you all right?”

  “I'm okay,” Jordahk slurred.

  “You don't sound it. Listen, I've got one shot left. I can't afford to waste it on his clipeus.”

  Jordahk craned his neck, spotting the autobuss as if seeing it for the first time. He pulled himself along the dirt toward it, dragging a heavy DAWG clamped to an arm whose pain grew more excruciating by the second.

  “I've got… one more vintage cartridge loaded. Should be enough…”

  “He's already recovered and starting toward you again. But he's keeping the clipeus angled toward me. He's baiting me!” Kord was a tactician to the end.

  “Kid, you're going to pass out. There's nothing I can do.”

  “I can't. I won't pass out.” Jordahk was surprised by the steel in his own voice.

  “Your temperature is rising. Make it quick, you're in no shape for this.” Jordahk continued to drag himself and the DAWG, clawing for every bit of progress. “The autobuss is tough,” Max continued. “I don't think that hit damaged it. I've prepped the last vintage cartridge.”

  “Hurry, son. I'm going to have to fire.”

  “Don't fire, I'm nearly there.”

  Jordahk's face flushed with heat, and the DAWG grew lighter. His pain seemed a distant thing and he covered the last few meters with less trouble. He grasped the autobuss. It felt comforting and natural in his hand. He turned, but the Hektor's position indicator behind the rock had taken an unexpected turn. It had changed to get a line of sight on Jordahk sooner. The Hektor suddenly burst into view, directly behind the autobuss reticle. His grister raised, but Jordahk was already on target.

  Something in him embraced the heat of the old cartridge, as this time it flared to life with no trouble. The heat suffused his body, but the sensation was energizing rather than debilitating. The autobuss kicked and a point of light raced out to blast apart the Hektor's clipeus.

  Jordahk felt drained once it fired. His body wanted to lay back, but the enhanced assailant's approach was relentless. The second shot from the boom-stick might be the only thing that could stop him. Jordahk used the last of his strength to lift the autobuss and fire one last shot. It might not stop the Hektor, but it should keep his aim from being true a little longer. He fired, hitting, forcing their opponent to flinch. It was still strange to see the Hektor barely acknowledge a triangle of super accelerated ammo nuts hitting his chest.

  There was more that could be done, more someone of his bloodline could accomplish. Jordahk lamented his lack of applicable knowledge, and braced for an impact only a second away. Then a boom reverberated across the plain and a sustained flash vaporized a significant portion of the Hektor's torso. He tumbled to the ground at last, unmoving, but staring in Kord's direction as if anticipating something.

  “A ship's coming in low and fast,” Highearn said, “from the same direction as the espy reinforcements.”

  “I knew it,” Jordahk said.

  “I'm a little short on anti-ship weaponry.” Dry resignation tinged his voice. “Ready the striders Highearn.”

  “It's unlikely striders will get you clear enough from the impact zone,” the AI responded.

  “Max, don't ever get that pessimistic,” Jordahk said.

  “It wa
sn't pessimism, it was… a realistic assessment,” Highearn responded with uncharacteristic word deliberation.

  Jordahk saw it closing fast. A black dot quickly taking the shape of a shuttle, aimed right for his father.

  “Get ready, Highearn. It's going to be close,” Kord said.

  Jordahk pulled against the DAWG in helpless frustration. “The battle's over! Hektor's are crazy!”

  “No drak.”

  “I heard that, gefera,” said a feminine voice over their comm.

  From behind them, framed by the Thule-Riss range, streaked a fearsome silhouette. It quickly approached the end of the tree line, and a point on its bow began to glare like an unshielded sun. It could only be their owl, a salvaged assault shuttle “gift” from the Perigeum.

  With sudden concern, Jordahk realized what the light was… “I thought you said the hypergun wasn't working!”

  “It's not!” his father shouted.

  Arcs crackled off the hypergun assembly. As the Hektor's shuttle dove in, the front of the owl exploded with rays of light and debris. A blur briefly connected the two ships followed by a blinding flash. The ground reverberated with a thunderclap. Jordahk covered his head as shrapnel pelted the plain.

  Chapter Five

  OUTSIDE FORCES SEEK TO

  DESTABILIZE PERIGEUM MARKETS

  Earth, Six Sisters Province

  Keats Keating

  Confederated Comm staff writer. 286/2615

  During his final months in office, Prime Orator Janus risked a bold raid on Asterfraeo Territories' fortress world Windermere. Despite heroic efforts by outnumbered Perigeum Starmada units, our egress was not retrieved. Although there was political fallout from the raid's results, his public opinion tallies have rebounded. Janus has not officially announced his future plans beyond the Perigeum's highest office. Sources close to the Prime Orator state that he desires a more personal leadership role within the vast Perigeum.

  The financial markets have been sharply down since Windermere. Sedge Braksaw, former governor of Magnus Cemtar, member House of Orators, and rumored candidate for Prime Orator, has confidence in our structured economy. “We do insist on fair trade to keep our commerce robust. I support the Prime Orator's end-of-term fiscal focus, starting with the Banking Confederation world Aventicia. His deep roots there should smooth out any financial differences and keep the Perigeum's currency the strongest in space.

  Orator Parium from Siobahn, also rumored to be a candidate for Prime Orator, has been openly critical of what he calls “unfair trade practices” by the most influential worlds. “The Six Sisters and financial successes like Garlande can swing their own deals with the Banking Confederation. But what about the outer Perigeum regions that rely on evenhanded redistribution of all our collective hard work?” Parium is said to be accompanying Janus on his diplomatic foray to Aventicia.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  The First Cruiser grew in the viewport of his mini bridge. Janus's captain's yacht was a full fledged ship. Equipped with a starkeel, it was even capable of emergency star travel. But its primary duty, aside from being the galaxy's most expensive lifeboat, was to shuttle the Prime Orator.

  The yacht's AI, a minimalist version of the First Cruiser's, projected their position on the trimensional nav VAD. It also revealed what Janus considered a skimpy escort. Although the Six Sisters were impregnable, the loss of cachet from anything but the largest escort pricked his ego.

  The Prime Orator should do everything big.

  Of course a pocket gruppe consisting of a destroyer and two frigates was more than enough within the cradle of humanity. Plus they were surrounded by a full squadron of corvettes, although it was a ship class out of favor with the new generation of fleet admirals. A squadron of them released for escort duty was no sacrifice.

  Perhaps those admirals should review the recordings from Windermere.

  A mystic corvette, only half the size of a frigate, had cost him victory. Worse, some damn Sojourner had almost cost him his ship and his life. But he'd spun it away from total disaster. They did make the egress useless, not that Asterfraeo grimes could have figured out how it works anyway.

  They also managed to eliminate Polemarkh Havenaur, the Asterfraeo Territories' highest ranking combined fleet officer. But the man had turned out to be a fool. Perhaps they'd have been better off letting him live. It certainly would be beneficial if the new Cohortium magistrate could stay in office. Van Buren was an out of touch idiot who did more to weaken the Palisades than the raid.

  He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them while examining the skin. His premature aging from a failing retta lifetime therapy was getting harder to hide, even despite an expensive round of procedures after Windermere. Superficial qualities were important when it came to spinning his message to the low-information plebes. Though it galled him that he needed mystic technology, he would soon have to seek out a reviction ravelen to fix things.

  “You seem distracted, Prime Orator.”

  “The machinery of our great civilization is complex, Orator Parium. Sometimes it weighs upon me.”

  This glorified back-bencher wouldn't understand how the Perigeum truly functioned, its real machinery, if it dropped on him from orbit.

  Perhaps it wasn't all Thaine Parium's fault. Most politicians from Siobahn were distant from the passionate forces that swung the masses. Warm gray was the hallmark of their political class. A high collared warm gray jacket. Darker warm gray pants. Very dark warm gray gloves and boots.

  Siobahn's existence seemed destined for weirdness, despite an entire population replacement after the war. A strangeness permeated today's inhabitants, albeit a different one than its original inhabitants, despite Perigeum oversight.

  The orator also wore a one-shoulder, black-lined cape. It sported minimalist color; a burnt orange stripe down its left front to match that on the jacket underneath. It paid to know your rivals when one was the Prime Orator. The burnt orange represented Parium's home region on Siobahn.

  Is he seriously going for my job? Sedge Braksaw will smelt him and pour off the slag.

  Thaine gazed out the viewport. “The First Cruiser shows no hint of repair. It's looking as powerful as ever. I trust our fleet won't be too intimidating at Aventicia.”

  The man kept finding new ways to lower Janus's opinion of him. Braksaw was a despicable manipulator, but he was powerful. This fool actually believed the disinformation.

  “The Banking Confederation's galleon fleet is said to even rival Magnus Centar's. I think it best we enter negotiations evenly.” Even was one of those propaganda words people like Parium loved. “Besides, our envoy fleet will be relatively small.”

  “If we can convince the Banking Confederation to offer low-interest loans to the Perigeum's outer worlds, I'm sure we can restart those economies.”

  Janus had mastered the art of shaking his head on the inside while nodding thoughtfully on the outside. The Banking Confederation was in the business of making coin, not charity. Aventicia was already on a short leash with the rest of the Confederation for questionable activities not beneficial to the entire Exchange. But that suited his purposes just fine.

  “You're welcome to negotiate such a deal for the Perigeum,” Janus said in his official tone. “If I find it beneficial it will be enacted. My concerns are more on the defense side, and that's where my primary focus shall remain. Aventicia is being pressured by outside forces. Foolish ones to be sure, but I aim to keep the Transcultural Exchange and all our economies linked to it secure.”

  “Thank you, Prime Orator.” The man actually seemed invigorated by his fool's errand. “I've many comms to make before we dock and egress out. If you'll excuse me.”

  Janus, alone with his thoughts, was disciplined enough to not linger on possible futures, but rather focus on the next part of his machinations. But his mind did wander to one of the few women he'd ever considered worthy to share in the fruit of his schemes. He'd put Plan A and Plan B into action, but doubted
their success. His quarry had, up to now, proved formidable, perhaps even for Hektors. And when mystic was involved anything could happen. Part of him hoped those missions wouldn't succeed. For the value of her intangible quality would be lessened in captivity.

  But I'm up to the challenge of breaking the woman's spirit.

  “Docking in 5 minutes,” the ship AI said.

  If need be, there was always Plan C, already in the works. Being Prime Orator had many perks. His mobile quarters approached one now. The First Cruiser held space with majesty. The staryard scaffolding had to be enlarged to accommodate it. Work lights lit the hull like a prized painting. It would be quite the coup if he could merge some of his current perks with a future gig like Sedge Braksaw's former governorship. Power without all the scrutiny.

  His yacht swung underneath the massive flagship and fit precisely into a section of hull designed for its shape. With a dull docking thud new VADs displayed the massive ship's status. His no-personality AI interpreted an oft given mental order and the command chair moved to the back of the chamber, underneath an opening iris. It shot upward with grav weaves drowning out the acceleration inertia. In seconds the command chair rose into the flag bridge of the First Cruiser.

  The huge chamber was divided horizontally with both levels facing the same massive forward displays. The lower level, the ship's bridge, would be busy with pre-launch activity. But the flag bridge, above it all, would be empty. There was no entourage aboard yet, no press. He would enjoy the solitude while still being at the center of it all.

  The darkness was broken only by displays and luminescent strips. The activity of the ship's bridge drifted up from below while systems checks ran on the forward displays. He glanced to his right. Empty was the aide station that once held the abrasive android Sybaris. Perhaps one of his plans would fill it with results more pleasant.