Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  His father would never walk around with a half-loaded grister, especially considering the trouble they attracted. The man appraised the dark, custom pistol. It was chunky and unrecognizable from any popular brand. He made a satisfying grunt, as if someone had finally made a scientum weapon that could keep up with him.

  “That was some run,” Jordahk said. “It might have even impressed Goldy.”

  Kord noticed the glowing score. “Highearn, erase all record of that. My score and Jordahk's, visuals too.

  “I'm having trouble,” Highearn said. “The system's designed to prevent records tampering.”

  “That's our data and I'll choose when to share it.” Kord nodded to his son.

  “Max, can you do it?”

  “I'm sure there's something in Cranium's bag of tricks that'll work. Ah, this might, but it's going to need some crunching power.”

  Jordahk didn't want to rely on Wixom. “Try it yourself, Max.”

  “If you say so.” Jordahk felt a surge of activity in the bracelet he didn't own. The scoreboard flickered from dim to bright before the top score disappeared and the first officer's resumed ascendancy. “Wow, I didn't know I had it in me.”

  Max had more power at his disposal than he realized, sharing space in one of the BitLord's creations.

  The grip on Jordahk's arm suddenly tightened. Sloan moved him toward the line. “Now about my lesson.”

  Chapter Eleven

  From the private files of the Navigator,

  3rd Arkhon of the Archiver Ring:

  Equisterra; continued

  Neumanus resist's us still, yielding knowledge and secrets slowly. The great reward for our careful plodding is proving quite a disappointment. The technoplague is advanced work. It continues to hinder all but the purest mystic. Our hybrid ships last a little longer within the atmosphere of Neumanus, but that solution is inadequate for the long term research I need to perform.

  The Sojourner's giant station, Equisterra, sleeps in lazy orbit above the planet they no longer own. It's a vast storehouse of knowledge and equipment, yet like the planet, it's proving to be elusive quarry. Defenses come alive to destroy ships attempting to dock. Squadron sized maneuvers to disable a quadrant of the station are met with swirling, gravitic shielding of the sort wielded only by the highest Sojourners from the war years.

  My personal observation systems, carefully isolated from all contact, have imaged a stealth ship of unknown design docking and leaving the station. This mystery is irresistible to me, however every time I secure the funding and resources for another approach attempt, new priorities come down from the highest echelons of our organization, re-purposing anything I have assembled. I suspect the highest Arkhons know, but the Ring is more like seven fiefdoms than the unified circle I believe would benefit us all.

  Surely they are aware of my suspicions, but must also realize my research is a benefit to our entire organization. That's something the Legendary First values more than individual ambition. And no one crosses the Legendary First. We must learn more about those whose place we now fill, and how they performed the wonders we can only duplicate through great effort, if at all.

  I've recently returned from Demeter with plans to make low-level, all mystic ships. The Demeter culture is naturally resistant to strangers, and no resource but time aids in cracking those defenses. These non-combat ships are of a craftsmanship within our grasp, and I believe they will be able to resist the techno-plague.

  This should be of great use to us, but the new second, that fool the Dragon, only cares about power. While it is important we Archivers embrace power, if done in a headlong rush we will be consumed by it rather than wielding it. The Sojourners took 200 years to rise to their peak of power. It is fortunate that I've come to an understanding with the Dragon. He bothers me little, for he knows I am uninterested in his schemes, and he knows I have the power to resist him, though I rarely choose to use it.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  The Archiver base world wasn't beautiful like Garlande or Windermere, and 200 years without care-taking had done little to alter its embattled appearance. The great scar of Neumanus, an enormous black wound upon its central plain, looked as if created only the day before.

  Aside from a handful of expensive research outposts, made with as much mystic material as they could create, the planet remained as empty as it was the day after the infamous Draconem battle 200 years before.

  Radiated technoplague.

  Commodore Inspector Rewe Frixion, Perigeum Starmada Archiver Branch, stood on the bridge of a ship containing no other humans. The man had indulged in strength over-modification, resulting in a barrel torso, strangely bulging limb muscles, and clothing that ever appeared ill-fitting.

  The ship had been there many times before, although its early memories were suppressed. Auscultare, the name of the ship and the AI who ran it, was a Sojourner created mystic AI. Not exceptionally powerful by Sojourner standards, but it could run rings around most scientum AIs. After all, the Forward Scout Support class needed to run autonomously for long periods.

  The Sojourners and their recent crop of wannabes keep robbing me of what I desire.

  The Neumanus staryards floated nearby. They weren't capable of producing cruiser sized ships yet, but no facilities available to the Perigeum were more advanced. Hybrid technology was, for now, the Archivers' best for combat. Fully mystic ships were difficult to make, and the skill level necessary to make them formidable wasn't easily achieved.

  Two new hybrid ships were nearly ready, and Rewe was seeing to their completion and delivery into the field.

  Babysitting is more like it.

  The man's ever-flushed skin went from pink to red across a scalp recently restored enough to grow short, pale hair.

  “Commodore, now that we've restored your body, might I suggest you tax it less with unnecessary anger,” Auscultare stated.

  “What the hell would you know about anger, you moronic slave?”

  Anger was a poor trigger, but it brought his new awareness into focus. He could sense concentrations of active mystic systems. He even had faint awareness of hybrid systems, like those aboard the new aegis destroyers just powering up in the staryards.

  He wasn't the same man that had left this system for Adams Rush a couple years before. And he wasn't about to let any of his backstabbing fellow Archivers, especially the Dragon, find out about it.

  “My desire is only to keep you at full power.” Auscultare brought up information VADs. “The plasma tests are proving successful on the new ships. I believe they'll be almost as effective as the scientum aegis cruisers, although half the size. They should launch on schedule, but won't be able to join the Prime Orator before he reaches Aventicia.”

  “Janus is as much a schemer as the Dragon. I'm sure the ships will arrive when he really needs them.” The view on the giant front display rotated away from the staryard to hold on seemingly empty space above Neumanus. “What are you doing, Auscultare?”

  “It's not me, Commodore.”

  The image zoomed, focusing on an object with an authority outside Auscultare's character. Rewe sensed powerful mystic nearby. The bridge entry hatch opened to a black combat bot. It moved with atypical human-like fluidity. It was… disconcerting. Rewe sat in the command chair. The machine stopped next to him, the shadow of its inverted triangular torso covering both man and chair.

  “This place is quite different than when last I saw it,” said a deep, resonant voice. It wasn't the bot's. The accent was old and civilized, yet contained an edge. “Your kind have done little here in two centuries.”

  Does he mean Archivers? Imprimaturs? Proxies?

  “Perhaps Archivers aren't as devious as Sojourners,” Rewe mocked.

  The dark bracelet on the combat bot's wrist flashed osmium blue-black. It was a dangerous color, but few were knowledgeable enough to realize it.

  “The Sojourners. My master was the greatest of them all, moving beyond their childish restraints.” An imm
ense star shaped station rotated in silence on the new VAD. Its five points highlighted by the sun setting over Neumanus, and silhouetting the light-less construct. “We made this place great. You, who consider yourselves heirs to the Sojourners, can't even build mystic ships of consequence. Nor can you colonize the world which you apparently won through great effort. Judging from the state of things, I surmise you were only victorious because the Sojourners no longer wished to remain.”

  Rewe was more loyal to himself than the Archivers, but he had enough pride in his organization to be a little stung. “The technoplague isn't my area of expertise, but I'm told it's rather adaptive.”

  “Yes, I see my master's hand in it… and the surprising touch of another.” Rewe sensed a spurt of activity in both Waxad and Auscultare. “Ah, the Draconem Battle. Yes, your victory came at quite a cost.”

  Waxad was a dangerous creation indeed, and too powerful to control. But it was in his custody, and he was loath to have it taken away like his other prize. Although he'd like to see them try to take Waxad against his will.

  “For the sake of your own freedom,” Rewe warned, “because I know that's one thing you value, I'd encourage you not to push into unknown systems at Neumanus, especially Equisterra. If you want to stay below notice, that is.”

  “There's nothing Auscultare has been made to forget that I don't know. The Dragon enjoys his AI slave. Yet the workmanship which enslaved Auscultare not only lacks the elegance of my master, but is beyond the number two of your juvenile ring.”

  “There are entities here that even the Dragon fears.”

  “Our courier has docked at the Repository,” Auscultare said.

  Rewe winced at the sudden remembrance of concerns purposely shunted aside.

  “You can rest assured, Rewe, the Dragon will learn from Auscultare only that which I wish him to learn.”

  “Your efforts to save the overloading autobuss came at personal cost, Commodore,” Auscultare said. “It's all been noted in my logs.”

  “That's quite the fiction, Waxad.”

  “And I've created the records to back it up. You're a known quantity to me, Rewe. Your freedom serves my purposes.”

  “Touching.”

  “There is a veiled transmission embedded in the latest system update,” Auscultare said. “It's from my master. He's calling the Ring to convene.”

  Although he was used to it, it still irked Rewe to be aboard a ship whose priority to protect his life was superseded by the will of another.

  “The full Ring? Convened by the second Arkhon? I'd say that's 'presumptuous even for him,' but it's not.” Rewe swallowed. “Now I suppose I'll find out how good your record manipulation is, Waxad.”

  “It's not manipulation, Rewe. I created entirely new records. Even after two centuries your systems are but toys to me. It's a sad commentary on your advancement.” The display swung from Equistarra across to Neumanus's moon, zooming on the black, angular structure stabbing up from its surface. Another level was being added to the top of the tiered, featureless polygon. “That edifice is a monstrosity.”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “I wonder if Van Buren will even retain a seat in the Cohortium,” Kord said. “Public opinion for his New Faction idiocy is plummeting after the Incursion at Windermere. At least off the Palisades.”

  “It'd be even lower if you hadn't busted in with those cruisers,” Jordahk said.

  “I recall you also playing a part.”

  The corridor was bright with clever indirect lighting exemplifying Crown Nebula class. Warm pastel hues infused the recreation deck's daytime mode.

  Jordahk and his father wore tight swim shirts and relaxed fit swim shorts. It felt strange to be in clothes that weren't variable anything. No sensor suites or armor functionality. They even left treaders behind, wearing simple ship shoes. He'd been wearing treaders almost exclusively since entering long adolescence.

  Twenty-four years! I really am approaching Investiture…

  “Did Van Buren really think breaking up the defense squadrons was a good idea? Showing goodwill to the eGov by making us an inviting target?” Jordahk asked. “I mean this is the first Polemarkh killed in action since... I don't know. A long time.”

  “We haven't had a fleet engagement like that in a long time.” Jordahk waited while his father reflected. “New Faction is damaged for certain, but without a true understanding of the Perigeum, they'll return to the same mistakes again. Each time thinking they're right, ignoring previous results.”

  They turned a corner heading for the starlight pool. Corridors came together and suddenly Durn was walking with them.

  “Government talk?” he asked. “It's a disgrace that Van Buren needs to be the object of so much scorn.” Jordahk didn't think it was a disgrace, and judging from his expression, Kord didn't either. “I've heard the top contender to replace Polemarkh Havenaur is a knight from Utica Cyr.” Apparently Durn thought them good enough friends to jump right into this conversation without preamble. “A little extreme, don't you think?”

  “The Knights are an honorable lot,” Kord said.

  Durn snorted. “Honorable to a fault.”

  Jordahk glanced to his bracelet. “Max, you fought at Utica Cyr. What's your take on the Knights?”

  “Otto Gen wouldn't have been victorious if not for them. They're dedicated poet-fighters, like ancient samurai, with proprietary technologies that make them quite formidable.”

  The early postwar era battles at Utica Cyr were known for their intense street to street fighting in addition to the space engagements. It was the last, overt, full-scale conflict between Perigeum and Asterfraeo.

  At least until recently.

  It also marked the end of acknowledged Sojourner aid in combat.

  Perhaps also until recently…

  Durn raised his eyebrows and pitch. “A non-Palisades Polemarkh appointment? Unheard of.”

  “Not unheard of,” Kord said, “but rare. I think Asterfraeo starmadas are wary of further political considerations undermining their duty. They probably think a Knight won't stand for it.”

  Durn's expression showed a lack of understanding. Then the large decorative hatch to the starlight pool split open, revealing the titanic chamber.

  They entered at the end of a vast, blue pool whose length stretched off toward the bow. High above, crystal panes enclosed the concourse. They allowed in the ever cascading light of manifold space, dark at the bow and light toward the stern, bathing the chamber in coruscating color.

  Solia and Sloan were swimming nearby, although not in conversation. Sloan spotted them first and pulled herself out of the pool with adroit ease. Her physical skills continued to surprise Jordahk. She'd never been about such things.

  Her filled-out form was becoming his default picture of her. The less voluptuous version, the one from the mostly good times of their shared past, was now relegated to memory.

  He hoped his eyes weren't bulging. Her swimsuit reminded him of the dress from her Investiture. The skintight material of her one-piece was translucent, and again covered in opalescent chips. Like tiles, there was space between them. Tantalizing space which grew and contracted as the full form of Sloan moved and breathed.

  The moment of shock was broken, thankfully, by Durn tripping over a deck chair. Apparently Sloan's power was omnidirectional.

  “Sloan.” Jordahk looked around her then, which took some doing, and waved to Solia, propped up on her elbows at poolside. With his mind still in the previous conversation, and distracted by the marvels of Sloan, he was at a loss for words. “How's the water?”

  I'm such a faux.

  “Fabulous.” Sloan smiled. “Why don't you join me?” Behind her, Solia cleared her throat. “I mean, us.”

  Words evaporated from his brain faster than travel in downhill drive. Fortunately his father was there to keep things on the rails.

  “Let's finish our discussion,” he said, “then you can go have fun.”

  As they walked off,
Sloan seemed less inclined to let the moment go to waste. She approached Durn, who was scraping together his dignity while getting up.

  “Darren Starr, hero of Adams Rush.”

  Durn looked startled at first, but quickly recovered. “Why yes, yes I am.”

  Sloan looked past him to Jordahk. “What? I scan the newsVADs.” She locked her arm in Durn's. “Tell me, do you swim?”

  Solia shook her head and launched into the deep water.

  Jordahk continued with his father, sighing. “Is my life too complicated?”

  “Probably.”

  “I can't believe he keeps getting chosen for these delegations.”

  Kord glanced back. “His star is rising, no pun intended. It would be wise not to antagonize him without reason. His kind sometimes achieve positions of power, but they're always in over their head.”

  “That sounds like something Pops would say.”

  Kord smiled. “Maybe it does.”

  Durn assumed a confident posture while continuing his exchange with Sloan.

  “I think he's over his head now.”

  “Our success at Windermere has emboldened concerned planets. They're less squeamish about joining military coalitions outside of the Vallum Corps.”

  “Yes, but to guard Aventicia? It's the eGov's Banking Confederation planet. Shouldn't we be more concerned about our own?”

  “The four Banking Confederation worlds are connected,” Kord said. “They're the lubricant that keeps trade across all worlds smooth. Commerce happens with various currencies because the Confederation keeps exchange rates updated and fair. Imagine if systems only traded goods for goods. Advancement and enterprise would slow to a crawl, and our safety would suffer.”

  “I guess we don't want the eGov having undue influence over Aventicia. They could rig the system, and we know how much they need coin right now.”