Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

The flag admiral chair to his left was last filled by a moron. He heard Adm. Buisart spun tales not to be believed during his trial after capture. Word was that he was now seeking asylum in the Asterfraeo. It saved Janus the trouble of having to deal with the short-sighted officer.

  Janus started. It took a lot to unnerve him. The flag admiral chair was not empty. It rotated toward him slowly. A man, with small eyes colored like the patina of corroding metal, smiled without it touching the rest of his face.

  “Welcome aboard, Prime Orator.”

  “Bad form, Kartoosh. Looking to get shot?”

  “By whom? The privacy screens are up. None below know we're here.”

  Vizier Kartoosh had a voice just higher than one would expect. But his uncaring delivery and apparent fearlessness demonstrated the weight of the organization behind him. It was amazing he managed to gain access to the First Cruiser while still docked at a “special projects” staryard, orbiting the dark side of Luna, far from prying eyes.

  Janus kept his chair facing forward. “Why are you here? What couldn't wait for official boarding?”

  “Our endeavor is dependent on your informed decisions. You need to know the latest data.” The man was condescending even when not trying. “It was no small feat convincing the Board of Directors to… gather, shall we say, enough assets to make a Law and Commerce Fleet.”

  “I only need to be informed if you're not holding up your end.”

  Vizier tried to adopt what Janus guessed was a concerned expression, but his stone face wouldn't cooperate. “We both know our contract includes certain safeguards. The Board of Directors can back out legally in the event of unusual circumstance.”

  “Please. Don't you think by then it'll be too late? Success will lead to coin and influence, enough to go around. I suggest you concentrate on that.”

  “Unfortunately the rest of the players are not under contract. Their actions cannot be assured. And with all those X-factors out there…”

  Janus laughed without mirth. “Your head's on the line, and there's no guarantee of success. Welcome to my world, Kartoosh. The stakes are a lot different when it's personal, aren't they?”

  He swiveled the command chair to face the dark suited man, giving him a cold stare from eyes that have ordered the disappearance of nuisances. The first real expression touched Vizier's face. It couldn't be seen in his artificially flattened features, but rather in the rogue crinkles around his eyes. The slightest twitch.

  The moment passed, and he regained his artificial placidity. “No endeavor is without risk, I suppose. But the fine print of this contract, to use an old phrase, is in invisible ink. ”

  “Get off my bridge.”

  “Yes, Prime Orator.” Vizier stood. “If you don't mind, I'll be taking the flag admiral's quarters. After all, I hear that position will remain vacant for this diplomatic foray.” He didn't wait for an answer and walked into the lift at the back of the bridge.

  Janus waited for the lift doors to shut. “Bitsmith sub-commander.” A comm VAD opened showing a seasoned officer whose look fit an academy professor more than senior bitsmith for the Perigeum flagship. But Janus should expect such faces. This mission required only a selected skeleton crew of those about to retire or otherwise leaving the Starmada.

  The man seemed momentarily confused. “Prime Orator?”

  “I want all security codes changed and reissued to official personnel only, and I want it in thirty seconds.” The officer glanced off-screen. No doubt information was already amassing on other VADs. “Then I want new encryption keys for all secure areas aboard ship. Per person protocol.”

  “But sir…”

  Janus's eyes were unchanged from his dismissal of Vizier. “What is it sub-commander?”

  “Uh, yes Prime Orator.” The VAD winked out.

  Men like Vizier were distasteful, but he understood them, and he could work with them to further his own goals. But Sojourners and other mystic fools followed a different set of rules. One that was harder to fathom, and harder to exploit.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  A dark line cut the sky above. Jordahk followed it into the distance where their damaged owl was making what could only generously be called a landing. Closer, a column of smoke rose from a new rawlands crater. Encircling it were the remains of the sniper's—the Hektor's shuttle.

  VADs appeared around his father who sat amid the debris. “I've got systems. You just bring her in,” he said.

  “It's practically dead-stick,” Vittora commed.

  “Highearn, I need more plasma. You can blow the rears, they just need to hold together for a few more seconds.”

  After facing a Hektor, a crash landing was all part of a day's work. Their owl thudded into the ground like a block of granix. Jordahk felt the impact lying pinned to the DAWG. He kept his worry in check knowing that if the plasma was running, so were the grav weaves. In a crash they'd do their job just like they did for spaceships in combat, drowning out the inertial jerks.

  Once the landing was successful, if you could call it that, Kord's wry humor returned.

  “Bring the fission welder, will you? We've got to cut Jordahk away from his new friend.”

  A few moments later, Jordahk and his parents joined Solia at the crater.

  “Find anything?” Vittora asked.

  “It's giga-normal. Not what I'd expect from… you know.” She tilted her head atop a slim neck toward the body sprawled near the tor.

  Jordahk noted that in addition to his mother's style, her grace was also rubbing off on Solia. The girl held her slim form tall and unbent despite what had to be a traumatic experience. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled tight into a braid, the bottom third of which was modded dark brown.

  The women must have come directly from training for they both wore thick, skintight bodysuits. It made their treaders seem larger. Solia had time to wrap an equipment belt around her lean waist, and his mother wore a bolero jacket he knew was packed with surprises.

  “This wasn't a mission requiring a special ops ship,” Kord said. “We won't find anything super high-end.”

  “It was a black op, though,” Max said.

  “The blackest. It won't appear on any military datalattice.”

  Vittora surveyed the debris field, before finally letting concern touch her elegant features. “It would take someone high up to command the services of a Hektor.”

  “And his load-out wasn't consistent with a direct assault operation,” Highearn noted. “Local weaponry; no seeker drones.”

  Kord examined the dark pistol he took from the Hektor, turning it over in his hands. “Mostly local. This grister's high-end. I've not seen anything like it on the market.”

  Jordahk held up his arm. “Uh, don't forget the DAWG.”

  Solia moved to him, gently inspecting the segmented field patches she and Vittora had applied. “Are your micros coming up yet?”

  “It's going to take a few more minutes,” Max said. “Since it's not an emergency, I'm trying to build these systems with all the safeguards I can. And Wixom's no help.”

  The mystic AI's obstinacy had almost cost them dearly this time. It didn't matter how powerful a tool was if it couldn't be controlled. But what could he do? Max was more infused into Wixom's systems than ever now. Jordahk didn't know how to transfer Max out and keep his personality, built over many years, intact.

  Just thinking such thoughts illustrated to Jordahk that he was becoming used to danger. The women were handling it well, dutifully overlooking their worst fears, and especially not saying “I told you so.” After all, Vittora hadn't been keen on their little training jaunt, but understood her men needed to do such things.

  Jordahk met Solia's eyes as she looked up from his arm. He hadn't noticed their deep, sandy brown in some time. Unlike his mother, Solia had neither military training nor intense combat encounters under her belt. Although she had experienced a tumultuous couple of years.

  “How'd you get drawn into this sortie?” he asked.
/>
  “Isn't this your club initiation?”

  She wasn't rattled. With all his hard-won trials and progress, he'd overlooked that Solia had made some too. She smiled to punctuate her humor.

  Vittora took the opportunity to re-examine Kord's multiple wounds. “How's Goldy?”

  “His body is definitely shot,” Highearn said.

  “If you'll pardon the pun,” Max added. “Seriously, Highearn needs more personality.”

  “It's all right, well, most of the time.” Kord said. “Less arguments.”

  “I'm getting no longwave pings from any of his systems,” Highearn said.

  “Goldy's personality, what little there was, may still be in there,” Max added.

  “We'll gather him up and see what can be done,” Kord said. “We might get lucky.”

  Vittora's brows came together subtly. “He took a shot for you guys. I liked having him there to watch your six. We've enough combat bot parts remaining from the Egress Incident to put together a new body for him, if he's still with us.”

  “Stupid robot... Well maybe he can be saved.” Jordahk shook his head. “Somebody in the Hex doesn't like us. Somebody with power.”

  “It's probably Vittora and I he doesn't like,” Kord said. “We've tried to keep you below notice.” He felt one of his wounds tentatively. “But it's a good bet the Marshall Corps are going to be on this case sooner or later once Hektor involvement becomes suspected.”

  Jordahk's eyes grew a little wider at the mention of another party with a reputation for competence. “No one but us knows what happened.”

  “Maybe,” Max said in simulated thoughtfulness. “But he didn't just appear. A long trail starts back at the Perigeum. And it ends right here.”

  Jordahk dropped to one knee, pushing around scorched dirt with his good arm. “We're not planning on filling this crater and sanitizing the plateau, are we?”

  “I don't think so. But perhaps you no longer consider my precautions... overzealous,” Kord said.

  “I'm starting to think that less and less.”

  Kord nodded. “Good. This is your year, after all.”

  Jordahk ached all over without micros, especially his arm. His mind wasn't focusing beyond the battlefield. A quizzical expression was all that surfaced.

  “Your Investiture, Magellan,” Solia playfully mocked.

  He felt a little foolish. It was his year for Investiture. Not exactly a right of passage, but a marker beyond which one was never perceived the same. An official graduation to adulthood in the eyes of law and man. He'd be able to own property, although he had no desire, and participate in government issue tallies.

  “Let's get you two to the med station,” Vittora said. “I've called Discrete HopZ.”

  Discrete HopZ flyers were flown by bonded pilots only. They kept no records, used no AIs, and asked no questions.

  A boyish grin overtook Kord's face, and he happily holstered his new grister. “I hope you called for a big one. There's some salvage I want to grab right now.” He turned to Jordahk. “You think that sniper gun's undamaged?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hey, a used class III med station isn't cheap.” Kord gave Vittora a playful smile before limping off toward the last known position of the sniper gun. “Of course I'm grateful for your mother's timely assistance, but she also keeps finding new ways to spend our coin. Wheelies Highearn—oh wait. How about wheelie?”

  “One still functions,” the AI said. “But are you really up for trick riding, sir?”

  “Come on. Long adolescents do it all the time.”

  Hundreds of flexible metal spokes extended from Kord's functional treader at the outer ankle. They formed a wheel, lifting Kord off the ground and propelling him forward. He did a balance check as he steadied on one leg, then his voice faded into the distance. “The owl's really trashed now, and we hadn't even fixed all the stuff the Archivers burned.”

  “Grab whatever you don't want to leave overnight, Jordahk,” Vittora said. “You've got an Investiture to attend.”

  “What? It's months away. We haven't even scheduled it.”

  “Sloan's Investiture,” Solia prompted.

  “Oh… Ugh.”

  Chapter Six

  “Hodges City Place I,” Jordahk said. He and Solia surveyed the polygonal contours of the wide building jutting into the night. “She doesn't do anything small when she can do it grand.”

  “Is this the first one they built?”

  “It's not Hodges Steadings first agrostack,” Max said, “but it's the first designed for urban environments, at least what passes for urban on Adams Rush.”

  “This one looks like it was built in the time of Roy Hodges himself,” Jordahk said. “It's got character, and prestige.”

  “I think it's the latter that interests Sloan,” Solia noted.

  The exterior was underplayed, although illuminated accents traveled up its forest green facets. Most agrostacks were green or brown, perhaps hearkening to their earthy purpose. During the day their crystal shells were clear to let in maximum sunlight and show off the crops.

  Urban agrostacks used the top level for non-farming commercial purposes. Hodges City Place I was an “in” place for urban types, and functions held in its multipurpose sky hall were booked well in advance.

  The street level atrium was all crystal, giving an impression the building above wasn't there. They followed a colorful couple into the street entrance. The garish duo stepped on a skim plat without waiting and were whisked halfway to reception before Jordahk and Solia stepped on their own. You needed skim plats or wheelies to cover the distance to the central core. The levels above them used that expanse for crop fields.

  A real human, not an AI, was at reception. Sloan's family spared no expense.

  “Names, please?” he asked.

  “Jordahk Wilkrest.”

  “Ah yes. Lady-Ms designate Doubravka has requested to be notified of your arrival.”

  “Solia—”

  “Yes, yes. You're on the list, too. Please follow the guideline to the event lifts.”

  A glowing VAD line appeared at waist level. Jordahk noted Solia's cooler reception while they followed it. The girls weren't exactly friends, but he doubted many acquaintances of Sloan's weren't invited.

  “It's all right,” Solia said. She offered a pretty, almost coy smile.

  He hadn't really taken full notice of her appearance until that moment. He was so used to seeing her in casual clothes or training gear that seeing her dressed for impact was eye-opening. Earthy eye-shadow extended from her eyes, merging with hair pulled into a high ponytail. It dropped in a flow clearly showing the girl's duo-tone hair.

  He was grateful not to be going alone. “Thanks for coming along.”

  “I wouldn't miss the investiture of the year.” She grabbed his upper arm. “Besides, somebody's got to watch your six, especially around this many long adolescents.”

  Jordahk and Solia were still technically long adolescents until their own Investitures, but he didn't feel like one, not after the last couple years. But he didn't feel like a man, yet, either. At least not like his father or grandfather.

  As they rounded the corner to the lift, the colorful duo were getting in. Solia pulled her body next to his as they entered. The smart material of her taupe dress was impossibly thin, stretching flat down her front to mid thigh. Glistening copper swaths around the neckline and down her sides clung tight, bordering the completely open back.

  Perhaps it took an outfit like this for him to notice how amazing she looked in her own slender way. He caught himself staring, and she noticed.

  “I… uh, you look ready to smelt metal. I mean—”

  “It's okay to think I'm good looking, you know.” Her earnest expression disarmed him.

  But just as quickly the situation became uncomfortable as the garish couple began passionately kissing with no regard to onlookers. Jordahk likened the male's outfit to a clown, and the girl's colors were so cla
shing her costume could be used as a landing beacon.

  Jordahk probably did a poor job hiding embarrassment.

  “Yes, I know,” Solia sub-whispered so only he could hear. “A little much.”

  The side of the lift facing away from the core was crystal, and those not lost in kissing viewed level after level of crops dimly lit in night mode. At the top the doors opened to an onrush of sound and color.

  Rapid, complex notes, playing across octaves impossible for traditional instruments, assaulted their ears. He identified the same melody being played in two channels, a few beats apart.

  “I never much cared for machine music,” Jordahk sub-whispered.

  Solia nodded.

  Designed by so-called music AIs, it was popular among hipster circles of long adolescents. The phase was usually cast aside by Investiture.

  Apparently not this crowd.

  The party was in concentric rings. They stepped on a skim plat probably designed for one, and zoomed toward them. The plat's grav weave must have been old or malfunctioning, because they felt the toppling push of inertia. Jordahk grabbed Solia's sylphlike waist to keep them both from falling.

  Her face seemed red. Was the whole scene too much?

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She ran her hand down her dress, straightening it, although it didn't need it, and brushed him in the process on the tiny platform.

  “Uh huh.” She didn't meet his eyes and let out a deep breath.

  The plat stopped at the outer perimeter of VAD walls. They continued on, walking through a spoke passage toward the hub. In the outer circle the VADs formed semi-private chambers. They could peek into some. One contained a group, together, but not seeing each other as they were lost in the social nexus. In another, some boys were playing a gambling game with huge VAD scoreboards. In a small one the garish couple continued their elevator action.

  Jordahk shook his head and looked at Solia for understanding. He had to raise his voice to be heard, momentarily forgetting he could sub-whisper. “Are we so out of touch?”

  She shrugged in that casual, dismissive way used at the range when a particularly bad shot needed to be disregarded and moved past.