Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  This crisis has caused some investors question the normally unquestionable stability of the UnC, and markets across human space have taken a tumble. While each banking world is functionally independent, they all answer to a board of directors which steers the four-state sovereign enterprise. By treaty, that enterprise carries no significant starkeel fleet, so they have asked a coalition of concerned Asterfraeo worlds to send a task force to ensure the stability and neutrality of Aventicia in its time of restructuring.

  The force is staging at Patram, and Adams Rush is sending a significant contingent of ships. Joining them will be the same winning representatives dispatched to the Palisades last year. Among them, our own local hero, Darren Starr. Ambassadorial task forces are also being sent by the Perigeum and the Svalbergen Black Sea Corporation. Everyone is hoping for peaceful resumption of trade on the Transcultural Exchange, and Aventicia's financial brokering to remain fair and neutral.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “Will the ship cannon fire or not?” Janus demanded.

  He rarely raised his voice, but it seemed more necessary of late. This crew of flunkies and old salts didn't have much respect for anything.

  “Probably,” a gray-haired man with a squinty eye said from a comm VAD.

  “That's probably, Prime Orator,” Janus emphasized from his command chair.

  “Look, Prime Orator, sir. Are you going to want downhill drive for the hop to Aventicia? It's not egresses the whole way you know.”

  Capt. Gimmelstau Zolak spoke with casual irreverence. It reminded Janus of an ancient renegade sea captain, when “old salt” meant something. He also spoke like somebody looking to get spaced.

  “Thank you for the primer on the location of our greatest assets, captain.” Janus spoke with ice, and an expression to match.

  To Gimmelstau's credit, which wasn't much, he finally realized he was pushing his orbit a little too close to the sun.

  “Excuse my, ah, short answers, Prime Orator. I'm on the comm right now with the master engineer and the startkeelwright. The ship's not ready and everyone's got problems.”

  “Make it ready, captain. I'll be monitoring.”

  No communication occurred aboard ship he couldn't monitor. His AI brought up the VADs. The greasy master engineer seemed like an old salt similar to the captain, only less refined. The starkeelwright, skinny with bulging eyes, was more in the flunky category.

  “What about the Artemis functionality?” Gimmelstau asked.

  “The radiated ship cannon? Now?” The master engineer sighed. “It'll probably fire. That's after I install the final hybrid capacitors. I've never worked with them before. They hold a lot of energy—we don't want them to blow up, right?”

  “Captain, I must insist on other priorities,” the starkeelwright whined. “Were obviously going to need downhill drive first. A split starkeel design is not something to be trifled with. I need another squad of maintenance bots to align the outputs of the port and starboard reactors.”

  “Take it up with the bot wrangler,” the master engineer said. “I can't give up any more.”

  “I'll have more bots released from bay duty,” Gimmelstau said. “Cargo distribution can wait. I want downhill drive and no more excuses.” The starkeelwright's VAD cut out sharply. “As for you, master engineer, the Prime Orator wants his ship cannon. Would you care to tell him otherwise?”

  The master engineer swallowed, and shook his head as his VAD winked out.

  Janus put a hand to his temples. Now he knew why assembling this crew was so easy. He could make them all fear for their lives, but it was too early to pull that card. For the moment he had to make do with these useful idiots.

  A brief, subtle wave of indescribable distortion passed through him. They must be close to the syncing egress. He brought up the nav. The trimensional VAD showed everything going on around his ship. Indeed the egress was before them, and his escort for this “envoy mission” was lining up behind to pass through.

  The First Cruiser was trailed by a heavy mixed squadron of two cruisers, four destroyers, and six frigates. It was well-rounded, powerful and versatile.

  Centered in the front display was the latest symbol of Perigeum power. The new Earth egress. The first built in over a century. He could see why, considering the strain it had put on the economy. It gleamed with shiny surfaces not dulled by age. Heavy reliance on the Martian Tech Clusters was necessary to build it. The know-how to construct such a thing was becoming rare through disuse. That was disconcerting.

  The egress hung in black space, but its inner hexagonal edge was washed in the unmistakable pink light of Garlande. His outlook had changed in the last few years. He no longer thought of Garlande as just the tourist powerhouse of the Perigeum. So much traffic was routed through its egress because of its central location. The tourism and coin it generated overshadowed military importance. But it was a tactically critical target, if any fleet ever dared to invade the Perigeum. Something he doubted.

  We'll collapse of our own weight before that happens.

  A shuttle whisked through the egress from the Garlande side, disobeying protocol to wait for the First Cruiser.

  Probably some self-important government VIP.

  His AI informed him of an incoming comm, and seeing who it was he decided to take it.

  “Janus, my old friend!” A familiar but unwelcome face boomed. The man was heavyset with a dark goatee. His oversized irises were disconcerting for the uninitiated.

  “If it isn't Gov. Sedge Braksaw.”

  “That's Orator Braksaw now, but who needs formalities, yes?”

  Janus had to admit the outward depiction of everyone's long-lost uncle from old Eastern Europe was working for the conniver. Everyone knew Braksaw, but few knew how dangerous he was.

  “Surely, Sedge. By the way, I've got Orator Parium aboard. He has concerns about the trade deal. I've offered him the opportunity to personally negotiate.”

  An almost imperceptible twitch marred Braksaw's otherwise jovial face. The man wanted power; he wanted to be Prime Orator. Most who feared him getting it would secretly support milquetoast Parium. It wouldn't hurt to add a little “war hero” quality to the boring man. Janus would much rather deal with Parium in the future than Braksaw. And sticking it to the former governor was a welcome side benefit.

  “Well, I wish him all the luck,” Sedge lied.

  Janus smiled. “Why don't you dock and come aboard? No doubt the Perigeum would benefit from your experience.”

  “Thank you, Prime Orator. But alas, I also have pressing issues vital to the Perigeum that cannot be postponed.” The exchange of lies was almost a dance. And no doubt Braksaw didn't want a repeat of his last adventure with the Prime Orator. Though it had not gone well for Janus, Braksaw was also diminished in the political blowback. “But why the rush to egress out? My technicians haven't quality checked the First Cruiser's refit. Some parts were erroneously sent to the Martian Tech Clusters. I didn't know you were performing the refit at Luna. Why not use my yards? Who could do it better than Umbria Magnus?”

  He still thought of the production at Magnus Cemtar as his own. That was mostly true, unfortunately. The power he wielded there was akin to a fiefdom.

  That's the deal I'm going to swing very soon.

  “A special projects yard opened at Luna. The timing was convenient and the privacy expedient.”

  “My techs were denied access.”

  “You know how security is when it comes to special projects areas. My staff must have neglected to put your techs on the green list. I assure you, I want them to give the First Cruiser a full check when I return.”

  The special projects yards had been perfect for isolation. Few people worked on the unorthodox refit, and hundreds of bots already had their memories wiped. The ship wasn't in tip-top shape, but it wasn't necessary for Janus's mission.

  At least the first part.

  But Braksaw wanted the ship to be grand, if only for the future use he dreamed of. Much c
hanged once the former governor found out Janus wasn't running for a third term.

  Braksaw dropped some of his friendly façade. “Perhaps, while you're out there, you can investigate some disturbing rumors I've heard about Consortium activity. During this time of… financial readjustment, we don't need any of their kind of trouble. Also, riots have broken out on two outer sector worlds.” Braksaw glanced to the left and right. “And I hear Beuker is on the verge of open non-conformity.”

  Janus snorted. “Beuker? The low-information plebes don't even know where Beuker is, and the nationals could care less about the entire sector. I think Confederated Comm will agree that it's not newsworthy.”

  “I see.” Even Sedge, it seemed, desired a certain amount of success from the Aventicia mission, for he wanted to inherit a position of strength, not a mess. “Well I trust this is the last refit the First Cruiser will require during your tenure as Prime Orator.”

  “Oh, I assure you it will be.” Janus allowed a Cheshire edge to his political smile.

  They were both playing games. Dangerous, multilayered games. And this was Janus's greatest gambit yet.

  I don't think you'll find the Prime Orator's seat as satisfying as your sweet deal at Magnus Cemtar.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Jordahk got a hold of himself and gently put Sloan down. She seemed in no rush. With a smooth deftness, she shimmied her translucent dress back down over the leggy show.

  “Talk to you later, hero.” She sauntered off triumphantly into a gaggle of friends.

  “There's no way that's standard.”

  “I think she's 100% natural, kid.”

  “Funny, Max.”

  “Gotcha for that one from before.”

  Society didn't put up with nonsense from AIs, but Jordahk and Max had been through a lot. A little banter was allowed, and Max was experienced enough to know how far to take it.

  “The programming?”

  “Yes, I detect something was off. Look at those fans.” A few wisps of smoke rose from mini fans embedded in the mat. “Those were burnt for the wind effect. And routines were rewritten to fluctuate power to the the grav weaves. The oscillations were very fast and convincing. They also ended up smelting the weave.” Max switched to link. “That is, the one we didn't, ah, push back against.”

  “An expensive prank. I doubt anyone here can pull off something like that. Right Wixom?”

  “He might've done it,” Max said. “He's got ways out I can't detect.”

  “Oh, he did it.”

  A resonant laugh surrounded him, coming from the game's audio system. “You needed a challenge worthy of a—”

  “Wixom!” Jordahk cut him off.

  The Bitlord's creation continued in his ear only. “A Sojourner.”

  Jordahk shook his head. What was he going to do? Risk Max with another war within his own compy? He needed a plan, or at least more knowledge for a long term Wixom solution.

  “Very convincing. You should work at an amusement center.”

  Solia was nowhere in sight. Sloan was receiving congratulations, presents, and a fair amount of envious looks. The crowd made traditional sounds as she received various gifts. The boy who had rushed to her during the declaration was among them, although his demeanor appeared reluctant.

  “Who is that guy, Max? Her boyfriend?”

  “According to the social nexus, Sloan is still unattached. I'd say they're dating.”

  She'd entered no long-term relationships since they were an item. But he wasn't criticizing. He'd been in no real relationships at all since then, aside from brief infatuations. Staying friends after a relationship wasn't his strong suit, and he'd had little opportunity to practice. But that challenge seemed less daunting now, since his adventures with Aristahl.

  Lost in thought while observing the group, Jordahk became aware of Sloan's date staring him down.

  “How do I get drawn into decaying orbits like this?” Jordahk tried making a friendly smile, but failed, only succeeding in keeping his expression neutral.

  A small victory still.

  He wondered who the guy was. Max picked up on it.

  “Lansing Twelve.”

  “I didn't ask where he's from, I wanted to know his name.”

  “His name's Lansing Twelve.”

  The boy's fashion name brought a smirk. Interesting that his mind referred to him as a boy. Lansing was openly drinking CwanJaan, Jordahk's height, and more filled out with muscle.

  One of Sloan's gifts got a less exuberant reaction than those garnered by the baubles. He couldn't see what it was until a moment later when an espy rose a meter above her head. Sloan was one of the least security-minded people he knew. The gift seemed poorly chosen, unless somebody was trying to encourage her to pursue areas about which she had little interest.

  His eyebrows came together in concentration while staring at the device. Without direction or trying, he reached out to it enough to realize it was mystic. Maybe because it was mystic he naturally connected to it. Not a gift Sloan was going to love, and definitely not the right technology. She was a scientum girl who only indulged his relic hunting. Judging from her fake expression, something he was still able to read, she'd activated the device out of politeness.

  A stirring to his left flared up around a scantily clad girl. She passed in front of the CwanJaan bar wearing little more than luminescent paint and a couple well-placed glowing hoops. It was purposely outrageous. Such clothes, and he used the term loosely, were well beyond cultural acceptance on Adams Rush, even in the state it had fallen to of late. It seemed more appropriate to the Hex's urban centers, or anything-goes Chryson Genos.

  The foolish girl succeeded in getting the attention obviously desired, largely from the rowdy group of boys previously looking at the violent content. They leered at her, and a couple followed making inappropriate comments. Jordahk noticed Lansing's eyes also glued to her colorful assets.

  A moment later Jordahk noticed Sloan had slipped up next to him. “I don't need that at my Investiture.” The espy still hung silently above her.

  Jordahk offered a relaxed smile, the first they'd shared that evening. “You and I are riding the same beam on that one.”

  Sloan saw Lansing continuing to display undisguised… admiration for the girl, although admiration seemed too sophisticated a word.

  She put a hand on his arm. “I hear you're going to Patram.”

  “Yeah, some conference of newly aligned worlds. Maybe it's connected to all the financial trouble in the Hex.”

  “What, something major?” He'd been plunged into the river of political shenanigans—up to his Achilles' heel, for two years. But aside from the Egress Incident, it was a universe apart from Sloan's day-to-day interests. He shrugged and she continued. “You're traveling by Crown Nebula?”

  “We don't usually take luxury starliners, but the conference budgeted travel vouchers to get everyone there fast. Crown Nebula was the quickest fit.

  Her eyes grew big with sudden earnestness. “Take me with you.”

  “Huh? What about Lansing?” Jordahk motioned with his head.

  Maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to say, and certainly not what Sloan wanted to hear. By the end of long adolescence you'd think he'd have more mastery over the nuances of relationships.

  “He's a boy. And he won't accept being just friends.”

  Jordahk had more of an excuse for not finding that easy. His relationship with Sloan had been lengthy. They'd experienced together a number of tough, long adolescent years. What was Lansing's excuse?

  “Looks like he's more interested in accepting something else at the moment.”

  I shouldn't have said that either.

  “Hasn't security escorted her out yet?” Knit brows marred Sloan's face. “The girl's gotta change.” Lansing continued giving her undivided attention and joked with a couple of his friends already following her. “He doesn't really want me for me.”

  Those words coming out of her mouth touched his heart
. He still cared for Sloan, and he'd always watch over her. He pulled her into a compassionate embrace which she gratefully accepted. She was a societal catch with significant finances. Adams Rush was good that way. You didn't need to be a Hodges, or Adams, or other founding family to be well-regarded.

  Lansing spotted them and stomped over. Sloan glanced up for a second and Jordahk sensed a change in the oddly shaped espy. He couldn't help it, the mystic device was so close. First he'd pushed back against the game with surprising results. Now this. Sojourner actions were becoming instinct. He resisted worry, but it was dangerous power, especially for those around him. He just didn't trust himself yet. When would he?

  “Just leave me alone, L12,” Sloan stated. Her tone was flat and to the point.

  “Who's this guy?” Lansing spouted.

  “Look, he's nobody—” Sloan's expression grew irritated. “No. You know, he's somebody. All right? He's somebody special. Now leave me alone.”

  Jordahk sympathized for Sloan. Even though she'd just dropped him into this situation, she didn't need such antics at her Investiture.

  “Nice coat. Run out of colors?” Lansing said. Then he talked over his shoulder. “Hey pawns, it's Mr. Bland from the Walkover game.” Pawn was usually a pejorative applied to Hex citizens by people in the Asterfraeo. “What's with you, faux? One partner not enough?”

  “Just let it go, L12,” Sloan said. “Let's go, Jordahk, please.” Lansing went to grab her arm. “Don't touch me!” She pointed to the espy. “You want the world to witness your brutish behavior?”

  Lansing was unfazed and undeterred. In the span of two seconds Jordahk expanded tenfold the capacity of the mystic freecells powering the espy. He'd made no specific effort to do so. The capacity overflowed and the energy needed a place to go. Now he did think specifically.