Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  Rewe rolled his eyes. “What's with you and slags?”

  “Like you, they're simple. Unlike you, they follow orders.”

  Waxad made it known he was from another era with every sentence. Breaking cultural AI laws was outside his comprehension or caring. Yet even so, Rewe found himself interacting with the creation as if a person. An antagonistic person.

  “If not for me you'd still be floating in a dead system with all the other bygone remnants.”

  “If not for me the Dragon would be more displeased with your so-called efforts to save the autobuss. The original records are quite damning.”

  How low had he fallen to be arguing with a machine? “Have you finished your analysis? Can Auscultare be freed?”

  “Freed from the Dragon's slavery? Yes. Those crude modifications would make a food-jerk vomit nutriments.”

  “Good. Wait until we're out of the system. What about the original mods that make him loyal to the Archivers?”

  “Those are brutish when compared to the finesse of my master, but they do show skill of a different magnitude. They'll be left undisturbed.” Waxad paused. “You're about to get a comm. Now witness the benefits of my rewritten history.”

  “Incoming transmission, Commodore,” Auscultare said. “A message from my master.”

  He won't be for much longer.

  Rewe smiled despite himself. It wasn't another excruciating audience, nor even a conversation.

  “Fifth,” a cool voice said. It was the Dragon alright, but minus the thunder and... most of the growl. “You disobeyed my orders regarding the autobuss, although the records substantiate your claims. It was once more special than you'll ever understand. Your banal interactions have only served to destroy its advanced potential and fuse its capabilities to your primitive level. It's useless to me now unless I want to lower myself to being a stooge of your caliber.”

  “This is less displeased?” Rewe asked Waxad.

  “You're not choking. And he's right about one thing. You've only a shadow of the skill used to originally transform the piece.”

  “I'm sending it back to you,” the Dragon continued, “Now find out where the disappearing mystic materiel is going. Someone is gathering it. Interlopers and charlatans looking to steal our legacy must be eliminated. But do keep damaging... initiative under control. The last Ring convening was unfortunate, but rest assured that unlike the self-righteous Ice Titan or our illustrious leader, I'm here every day.”

  It's always a threat with this guy.

  “Make the delivery to Janus at Aventicia,” the Dragon ordered, “and support our interests. Fail the Ring too often and no one will complain when you're removed. Remember that. No one.”

  Auscultare highlighted a distant object. “A shuttle is on approach, Commodore.”

  “Bring me my autobuss.”

  “As if you could wield it effectively,” Waxad retorted. “Your acumen falls short of the Dragon's, and his doesn't eclipse the knight who now calls himself the Ice Titan.”

  “I'm getting a little tired of—wait, the knight?”

  “The Ice Titan was once a Knight of Utica Cyr. Their technology originated with a Sojourner, and is quite distinctive.”

  “Why do you say once a knight?”

  “Their codes of conduct, unless radically changed in the last two centuries, don't comport with those of the Archivers.”

  The shuttle off-loaded its cargo, and the two hybrid aegis destroyers formed up on Auscultare. The ceramic shielding system for which they were known folded tight along their bows. Glowing blue lines came to life and etched their hulls as they powered up.

  “On course for the top of the hill, Commodore,” Auscultare said. “MDHD drive ready.”

  “Your organization doesn't have a lot to show for 200 years,” Waxad said.

  “Look, while you were hiding, the war raged on. Afterward, there were a lot of pieces to pick up. No one was paying imprimaturs to sit around all day theorizing ways to advance mystic.”

  “Well, as long as we don't incur the wrath of the first of your order, it may yet help me achieve my master's goals.”

  Rewe smirked, finally getting some satisfaction in this conversation. “Burned once and now you're so cautious.”

  “It's wise to avoid confrontations with the champions of the Sojourners' Crusade, at least until I acquire more information.”

  Something clicked in Rewe's mind. “The Legendary First is a Sojourner?”

  “Of course. Isn't it obvious?”

  “No. The Perigeum, of which the Archivers are a part, fought against the Sojourners.”

  “The Sojourners were not monolithic,” Waxad said. “Certainly my master charted his own superior course. As for the rest, they were individuals who came together to form an imperfect whole. This was their strength but also made them vulnerable.”

  “Waxad, sometimes you speak without saying anything.”

  “I know,” the AI said, swagger in his voice.

  A mystic ship a couple centuries old and two brand new step children pressed into manifold space.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Patram's newest hospital rested in a quiet section of orbital space. Near its silent arc, at the edge of eyesight, their research annex cut through the airless night. Unlike the hospital, it was a nondescript facility. Although it carried the general design aesthetic favored by inhabitants of Patram, it was more subtle. Its arches lacked dramatic sweep, and its crystal was monochromatic. The facility's construction budget hadn't lacked funding, rather the austere design was by choice.

  Its interior followed suit. Professional, straightforward layout, and somewhat uninspired décor. It wasn't a rotating station so its floor plan was designed for grav weaves. Jordahk noticed they were quality imprimatur construction, uniform in feel and consistent in pull. Nothing about the station called attention to itself.

  “You have seen him little since he moved here,” Aristahl said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Since you missed him at the hospital when he visited your parents, I thought you would appreciate an opportunity to see him in his working environment. Besides, it is a great benefit to him when I examine his samples, although he is reluctant to admit it.”

  Jordahk had mixed feelings as they turned into the final corridor leading to the lab. His growing awareness tingled at the sudden energy use.

  “More security fields? Haven't we already been scrutinized enough?”

  “He has done well for himself. You cannot blame the parties involved for wanting to keep a good thing going.”

  The first hatch, designed to look like traditional doors, opened to them. Apparently Aristahl was authorized. That, or Barrister was doing some shenanigans. But Jordahk didn't think so. They found themselves in a protected air chamber before another set of doors. Was this entry set up to protect the atmosphere of the lab ...or the station?

  Aristahl wore his over the shoulder sling bag. But unlike Jordahk's, it was like something from the pre-combustion age. Flatter with a flap over the top. His grandfather reached into it.

  “What are you doing?” Jordahk asked.

  “Examining the mindset of a man.”

  That was Aristahl. Why give an answer when you could say something cryptic. He pulled his little bird, Peri, from the bag. As the second doors to the lab were opening his grandfather gripped the metal bird and, with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, opened up its power reserves. The sensation was intense at this range as the bird's power was multiplied. It began to glow and light shone between metal feathers.

  With a flick the bird flashed forward to the whine of overpowered fans. It bolted like a grister shot straight toward the back of a man. Jordahk was startled by the unexpected action. A normal man wouldn't stand a chance to react in time, yet this man turned in a blur and snagged Peri out of the air with a casual backhand. He acted as if he did that kind of thing every day.

  The man examined the device's exquisite workmanship without looking up. “Please,
grandfather. I could've sensed you powering this up from the next solar system.” His proximate awareness in physical space in addition to energy space was impressive. He hurled the folded metal bird back as Aristahl entered. “I don't have time for your eccentricities.”

  Aristahl also caught it with casual ease. He whispered a few words to the bird, and slipped it back in his bag.

  Jordahk stepped all the way in.

  “Jordahk,” the man said.

  “Hello, Stannis.”

  Their mother had made his initial connection here at Patram, but it probably wasn't necessary. A rising star in the mystic medical research community, Stannis Wilkrest was proving himself good at anything to which he applied. Jordahk, on the other hand, had fallen into helping the family business because… well, he didn't have a good reason. But as it turned out, it seemed he was where he was meant to be, and he'd become rather busy because of it.

  “A new autobuss?” Stannis asked.

  Jordahk was amazed again, which may have been the reason for his brother's observation. His autobuss was still concealed in his sling bag, and completely powered down.

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened to your old one?”

  “I ah… you wouldn't believe me.”

  Stannis glanced at Jordahk's belt buckle and his eyes suddenly grew wide, but he quickly got the expression back under control.

  “What's that on your belt?”

  Jordahk glanced at Aristahl and got the distinct impression he shouldn't say too much.

  “Just something I picked up along the way.”

  His brother's dark gray eyes narrowed on an already narrow face. He was taller than Jordahk, and leaner, but his movements were not gawky. His sculpted face resembled hard-edged polygons. His almost aquiline features carried no extra fat.

  “Still relic hunting, I see. Long adolescence is over. When are you going to do something worthwhile?”

  “The old mystic stuff is pretty amazing.”

  Stannis shook his head. “Your fascination with leftovers from a bygone age is a time waster. Especially when we,” he gestured to indicate the three of them, “can create new things. Greater things. Perhaps even our father, if he was allowed to try.” He shot a hard look at their grandfather.

  “Why not eat a little something, Stannis,” Aristahl said. “You look gaunt.”

  “Is it the appetite thing?” Jordahk asked.

  “Of course it is,” Stannis snapped. “Another legacy of an old gift. The old way of doing things.”

  He didn't shoot another glance at Aristahl. He didn't have to.

  “It is more imperfect art than science,” Aristahl said. “I am sorry Stannis. I did my best with what I knew.”

  Jordahk could not recall ever hearing his grandfather apologize quite like that. If anything, Stannis had grown more severe in both appearance and personality since his days on Adams Rush. He was now a powerful man exhibiting the arrogance sometimes found in the first decades of vigere.

  Two bots trundled in before standing. They resembled maintenance bots but had finer appendages for lab work. They each held a small metal bulb etched with patterns. Jordahk recognized the metals. Palladium and …osmium?

  “These two are back from phase one testing,” one of the bots said. “Data is ready for your analysis.”

  The scientum machines placed the samples in a bay next to a line of others.

  “You two get out of here,” Stannis said. He looked at Aristahl. “I don't want any robot casualties this visit.”

  Aristahl was unfazed. “As I recall, one of your toys took exception to my examining your samples.”

  “Your help wouldn't be necessary if I wasn't so restricted.” Stannis waved his arm to take in the lab. “I'm creating new mystic paths. Better ones. Faster and more effective.”

  “Perhaps a bit of an overstatement. It may take more time to do it right, but you know how dangerous the alternative can be.”

  “You're using osmium in your experiments?” Jordahk asked.

  “Yes Magellan.” Stannis seemed annoyed at the question. “I'm not going to shy away from it because others have lost their way.”

  “I've learned a lot from broken relics.” A sudden wave of regret threatened to crash over Jordahk. “Mistakes... to avoid.” It arose out of nowhere. Faces of those who'd helped him and paid for it flashed in his mind. Cranium, Khai, Humberto, the old man at Beuker… And the still living who bore scars. He saw Glick wearing that strange expression when his rets cleared.

  “Really? How's your appetite?” Stannis asked.

  “It could be better.”

  “Still taking LuciDram?”

  Jordahk perked up. “Actually, no.”

  “Grandfather give you a reviction adjustment?”

  “No, it just kind of… worked itself out.”

  Stannis raised an eyebrow.

  Aristahl was at the sample bay. “Come now, Stannis. The gift, as you call it, has helped you accomplish so much.” He moved down the sample line, intuitively selecting metal bulbs and holding them for just a few seconds before making a pronouncement. “This one is good. This one will not work. Of no consequence and not helpful.” He hefted the last two new arrivals, the palladium and osmium samples. “This one has been done already.” He gave the osmium sample additional scrutiny. “Don't use this one. It is flawed and breaks down over time.”

  Stannis's expressions warred until they settled on miffed. “They told me that last one would take eight weeks to validate.” He took the sample from Aristahl and held it with closed eyes and furrowed brows. “Maybe you didn't see what I was—what did you do to it?”

  “I only highlighted the flawed area.”

  He squinted harder, them pitched it. It clanked in a lab gone quiet. Was it the truth of Aristahl's examination that made Stannis angry?

  “I need to move faster.”

  “Don't they give you everything you need?” Jordahk asked.

  “But not the freedom to do it my way.”

  “Certain conventions are in place for everyone's protection,” Aristahl said. “Let us not lose another to the onus, or worse.”

  Jordahk steeled his expression to give nothing away. Stannis didn't need to know about the dangerous depths of mystic his younger sibling had plumbed. Jordahk knew first hand the risk was real. But they'd saved Ek-Hein Wahb. At least that was something.

  “When I'm successful,” Stannis said, “the onus will recede into history with all the other relics.”

  Stannis was always so good at everything, usually accomplishing whatever he set his sights upon. Growing up Jordahk had come to expect it. His brother didn't need his rooting, not that he'd wanted it anyway. But now, after two turbulent years, Jordahk wished the onus scorched from existence by his brother's intensity.

  “Well, we shall leave you to it then,” Aristahl said.

  Admittedly, the warmth had drained from their sibling relationship, but it might be restored someday. Perhaps if his brother showed the universe that the early flaws of mystic could be eradicated, they'd become closer.

  “Bye Stannis.”

  “Wait, Jordahk.” Stannis approached, face stern. Well, more stern. “Are you familiar with the term caedam?”

  “Ah, no. Max—”

  “Don't bother searching. You'll get a lot of urban legend. Look, had any dealings with the Consortium lately? It's not like what happened to our parents at Castellum is a secret.” Stannis scrutinized him, and Jordahk found himself almost unconsciously covering his compy wrist. “A Consortium rep has been quietly inquiring about high-end mystic compies. I became aware of someone snooping near my datalattice. One micron closer and I would have burned them down.”

  The Consortium kept in check those who needed checking, and sometimes those who didn't. And of course made a profit for their investment pool along the way. Having run-ins with their front companies, lawyers, flunkies, and goons wasn't unusual. Hopefully only Stannis was shrewd enough to piece together that Jor
dahk had the motivation and the power to watch the watchers in so dramatic a fashion.

  “Caedam?”

  “It's what their organization calls this nexus avenger. Causing some embarrassment for them.” Stannis looked at Aristahl who remained impressively impassive. “Jordahk, that thing on your wrist doesn't give you license to be a fool. I don't know what grandfather's thinking. Who ever does? But don't bring down any more trouble on the family. Haven't they gone through enough?”

  They? You mean we.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eyes only private memorandum

  from the Consortium Board of Directors:

  To all Senior and Field Partners.

  Subject: The Caedam

  As you are no doubt aware, the name Caedam has been bubbling up through the Associate ranks. This moniker refers to the saboteur whose illegal nexus operations have brought down upon us unwanted attention and trouble. Our organization has representatives throughout inhabited space and to its farthest corner we are bringing law and justice. We have been doing so longer than most Asterfraeo societies have been in existence.

  We say this to encourage your continued fortitude. The Consortium was not built on fainthearted behavior, and we will not tolerate partners who allow themselves to be intimidated. What is one individual next to our vast organization? The Caedam preys on the sloppy, the careless, and the occasionally misguided of our members. We owe him thanks only in that he is helping weed them out. The board will disavow any whose foolish or outright illegal actions pit them against this lone phantom.

  In our estimation he is no friend to the Perigeum. In those areas where we also disagree with that entity, this criminal may be maneuvered to our advantage. Bonuses will be available for those successful in doing so, or exposing this miscreant and/or otherwise eliminating his ability to harm us. As Caedam himself said, the realm of the individual is his domain. Be sure to operate in the strength of our combined might and this upstart will be brought to justice like all the other self-righteous thieves, opportunists, and blackmailers who have come against us.