Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “You managed to get Goldy back online,” Kord said. It was welcome good news.

  “Was there ever any doubt?” Barrister responded.

  “You didn't see him blow up.”

  “He is stout for a scientum creation. Simple, but stout.”

  Kord smiled like a boy whose favorite toy just got fixed. “I'll take it. And the eGov has donated more than enough robot bodies for him back home.”

  Jordahk found the corners of his mouth inching upward. It was good for them all to be together, even if only for a short time on a military shuttle. The Frulieste cruiser, captained by Kord's new friend, would serve as flagship for his civilian authority over the Banking Confederation Confidence Fleet. Its shuttles were at his disposal.

  Most things Frulieste, even military things, were more luxurious than necessary. Certainly this flag shuttle was far from military utilitarian. His grandfather sat in a comfortable chair examining Kord's dragonfly. Aristahl had an affinity for little mystic flying creations, like his ladybug and the bird, Peri. But if Jordahk was correctly reading things, Aristahl was having little success building a satisfactory interaction with this particular example.

  “I reinforced the new behavioral protocols you implemented,” Barrister continued regarding Goldy, “and saved all the recent growth. However, some of his long-term memory was unrecoverable. Those occurrences are now non-experiential backup data.”

  “Well, I've finally gotten used to his annoying demeanor,” Jordahk said. “I'm glad it wasn't for naught.”

  Torious piped up from his locked down position behind Aristahl's chair. “Don't tell me I have a rival?”

  Aristahl didn't look up from his examination. “Surely you are safe on that front.”

  “Veritas,” Kord added.

  “You said something, Junior?” Torious said.

  “What about that favor, Father?” Kord asked, ignoring the bot.

  Raising his eyes at last, Aristahl flicked the dragonfly back at Kord. The little creation put its wings out only enough to make the glide before curling up into a metal ball in his father's palm. Jordahk had never seen the fiery flyer so subdued. Aristahl wasn't pleased with it. Jordahk sensed it. And perhaps so did the dragonfly. Maybe it's self-preservation algorithms realized how close it was to being crushed into a metal marble.

  “That creation is still as flawed as the day it was locked away,” Aristahl said. “Those objects are there for a reason. This one has great power worth studying, but its priorities are skewed. In a time of crisis it cannot be relied upon.”

  “I don't think it's a threat to us.” Kord slipped the dragonfly into a pocket. “It practically ignores organic material. Metal and machines are its prey.”

  “Yes, likely to a fault.”

  “Junior has a way of getting into the cookie jar,” Torious added.

  “What's a cookie jar?” Jordahk asked.

  Aristahl took a breath as if to start fresh. “As to your favor, are you still determined to move forward with yet another dangerous scientum toy?”

  “Come on, Father. Were you able to do it or not?”

  Aristahl shook his head, but reached into a pocket, withdrawing a small container.

  “Barrister and I created a rudimentary AI kernel from a blank mystic cylinder. It will be safer and more predictable. Mind you the task was not easy, and required considerable skill. It illustrates why a man like the Bitlord rose to such corrupting power.”

  All eyes suddenly stared at Jordahk's bracelet. He smiled uncomfortably and covered it.

  “Think of it as securing the home front,” Kord said. “I've got ideas.”

  “Not public ones, I hope,” Jordahk said. “People would smelt down.”

  “Have you considered a real dog?” Aristahl asked.

  “A real dog can't do anything about combat bots, except smell them.” Kord flashed his boyish grin. “Hopefully Arceneaux can get me some time on his ship's forge.”

  “Speaking of which,” Highearn interjected, “the Fleet commanders are online and ready to brief.”

  “Put them on.”

  The VADs of two military men appeared before Kord. Jordahk recognized them both, but only knew one of them.

  Arceneaux was a senior captain from Frulieste. The luxury fixated world wasn't exactly an Asterfraeo powerhouse, but their reputation was on the rise because of Arceneaux's timely arrival at Windermere. The man's square face was thick set. His black hair was slicked back, and a thin mustache adorned his lip.

  “Is that Frulieste fashion?” Jordahk sub-whispered.

  “As a matter of fact it is,” Max link-said.

  Mason Steede he remembered as the proud Adam's Rush naval officer with his chest puffed out, standing next to the Iron Commander at the Egress Incident briefing. He didn't know the man then, but since learned how the Iron Commander had trusted him, even planting his flag on Mason's humble bridge. Jordahk came to know the man personally during the Incursion at Windermere. Their mettle was tested, and they had both survived. Mason looked the same. Thick necked, short cut blond hair, and an obviously broken nose left to heal just a little crooked.

  “Kord, both Confidence Fleet squadrons are formed up,” Arceneaux said. “Alpha Squadron reports go for hilltop.”

  “Beta Squadron's still waiting on a couple check-ins,” Mason said. “These guys have never deployed as a unit, but we're squeezing out the kinks.”

  “Not the easiest gig,” Kord said.

  Mason smirked. “Poor Thad is back at the Palisades trying to put deployments back in order. I definitely got the better gig.”

  Mason seemed like his father. Both would take action over administrative tasks.

  Arceneaux looked off to the side. “Comm ship's about to hit hill bottom. We'll get the dump before we move out.”

  “Okay. Vitorra and I will be there shortly. The shuttle's making another stop.”

  “Don't take too long,” Arceneaux added. “That Darren Starr character is bound to find his way to the bridge before downhill.”

  Kord let a quick eye-roll cross his expression as the VADs winked out.

  “Pops, you wouldn't happen to be heading for the Demeter delegation, would you?” Jordahk asked. A familiar sensation rushed back, similar to what he'd felt on initial approach to Patram. Even now, with little concentration, he could point in its general direction. “The Aurora wouldn't happen to be disguised out there, would it?”

  “You mean over there?” Aristahl pointed in the direction Jordahk would have. “Why yes, it is.”

  “I knew it! —Wait, no vague answer?”

  “I will be accompanying the Confidence Fleet to Aventicia. I would like you to join me. The Aurora is still far from one hundred percent. Your help on the mystic forge would be appreciated, and good training.”

  Vittora got up and stared out the crystal panes. She'd been quiet. Kord started to go to her, but Aristahl put a gentle hand on his shoulder and motioned to Jordahk. Why did he suddenly feel such trepidation? He went to the panes next to her and also stared out.

  “Did your conversation with Stannis trouble you?” Vittora asked, still staring out.

  Jordahk was surprised by the question. “We... don't really relate.”

  Interacting with Stannis often left him feeling inferior.

  “Similar giftings can bring forth diverse fruit. And those whose abilities are far apart can come together to accomplish a greater purpose.”

  He listened hard, but ears weren't enough.

  “When it comes to me and Stannis, maybe both are true.”

  “The creator fashioned you in ways no man can touch. It's beyond lifetime therapies and proto-genetics. The integrity upon which you have so greatly labored is yours alone. Rely upon it in your moment of trial.”

  His mother's gift from God, as she called it, gave her glimpses of future nexus points. At least that's how he thought of it. For they had played out that way during the Egress Incident and at Windermere.<
br />
  “Trial?”

  Vittora turned to him, her expression grave. “A choice.” The sudden intensity left him speechless. “Don't play God in the moment of crisis. Stay true to who you are. Who you were created to be.”

  An urgent tone sounded.

  “I have a priority comm from Senior Capt. Arceneaux,” Highearn said.

  A VAD opened showing more activity on Arceneaux's bridge than before. The tenor of their preparation had risen.

  Arceneaux turned to the tech-eye. “That dump changed things.”

  “What's happened?” Kord asked.

  “Things are a lot hotter at Aventicia than we thought. There's been squadron level clashes.”

  “Multiple parties beyond Aventicia Defense and the Perigeum diplomatic envoy,” Highearn interjected. New VADs appeared showing different forces. “I've confirmed a Svalbergen Blacksea Corporation heavy squadron, and undoubtedly a Consortium Law and Commerce Fleet calling itself the Trade Union.”

  “Your AI is right, but it's worse,” Arceneaux said. “There's been an incident. Apparently... the First Cruiser has been destroyed.”

  They all looked aghast as Highearn displayed visuals of explosions ripping the First Cruiser into huge spinning chunks.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Two squadrons comprising the Banking Confederation's Confidence Fleet sped out toward Patram's hilltop. An urgency pervaded activities normally routine. The Thunar class cruiser Verdant, of the Frulieste Defense Agency, was the task force flagship. On its bridge Kord was working out as many details as possible before they slipped into the low-communication constraints of manifold space.

  He sat upon a station raised from the deck to sit above and to the right of the captain. It was the traditional seat of the flag commander, charged with overseeing task forces or fleets. Kord was not a man who lacked confidence when it came to matters of tactics. He was well capable of handling the role of military oversight. But others looked askance at a civilian, one not even from their world, atop that newly raised chair.

  Fortunately, Arceneaux had full confidence in the man who had plucked him and the Vallum Corps from fiery disaster. And since Frulieste was a status oriented culture, the support of Senior Capt. Arceneaux, whose star was on the rise, carried the day.

  Indicators flashed before Kord as VADs piled up. Data riders were looking for any edge in potential information warfare. What kinds of tricks might they expect from the opaque Svals or the peculiar Trade Union. Tacticians were focused on the Sval's formidable defensive capability and wanted his opinion on the best formations.

  Outside of the Incursion at Windermere, Frulieste officers have no field experience.

  Nonetheless the backbone of Alpha Squadron were the three Frulieste Thunars...

  Mason stared at him from a VAD, not speaking. Beta Squadron had problems of their own. Kord was grateful for a few seconds to think.

  “Mason, what happened back there? Our VADs lit up and your ships broke formation.”

  “It's the emergency spacing protocols.”

  “I thought we overrode all previous defaults for a new unified standard.”

  “We did.” Mason shook his head. “But a different set of emergency protocols were triggered when we set for downhill drive. Every starmada has their own standards rooted deep in their systems. Many don't have Vallum Corps protocol options installed.”

  “Get your bitsmiths on it.”

  “They already are.”

  Kord's mouth tightened. “This mission was supposed to be a show of formidable support. If it ever really came down to shooting...”

  “What, you're not sure we can even fire on the same beat?”

  The levity did him good. He grinned. “Get back to me before hilltop.”

  Arceneaux's words drifted up from the bridge floor. “We can't have those kinds of variances.” He talked over the shoulder of a junior bitsmith whose face was buried in VADs. “If we don't come out of downhill together you might as well comm your mommy now and tell her you've joined the Svals.”

  A ping brought their attention to the huge active surface viewport making up the bridge's front bulkhead. A small ship was approaching from behind.

  “It's coming up really fast,” the Verdant's TacOfficer said.

  The image zoomed, schematics flashed, and IDs branched off.

  “High-speed executive courier,” Arceneaux said.

  “They're requesting docking.”

  “Tell them we're not slowing down.”

  The ship could easily halve a starliner's time from hill bottom to orbit.

  “Those Frulieste clearances look high,” Kord said.

  “Clearance from the Prime Minster's office,” Arceneaux noted. “High clearance from the Ministry of State. Don't they know we're a little busy?”

  “I hope they're not expecting an official tour.”

  “With those clearances it will be a breach of etiquette if somebody high up doesn't greet them.”

  Kord didn't want the Frulieste cultural mindset working against him, but they really did have their hands full. And he wasn't about to dump it on Vitorra. She needed a break. Setting up his special project on the Verdant's forge with Solia was just the mission to help her forget what Jordahk might soon face.

  A pocket of stillness on a bridge full of activity stood out in the corner of his eye. Darren Starr was sitting at the back of the bridge. His feet were up on a console as he leaned back and spoke toward a VAD with sound shields up.

  “What's he doing, Highearn?”

  “I believe he's dictating another postbook, sir,” the AI said. “I recognize the literary AI he's using.”

  “Ugh.”

  Darren's first postbook, For the Honor of the Asterfraeo: How We Beat Them in the Egress Incident was, in a word, awful. Kord couldn't read through it, nor even stomach the condensed simVAD. It belonged in the fiction category.

  Arceneaux followed Kord's eyes and understood.

  “Representative Starr, may I ask a favor of you?”

  “Captain,” Darren mouthed. But no sound came out. He made a quick gesture with his hand, dropping privacy. “Captain, what possible duties might require my services two hours from hilltop?”

  “A high level delegate from Frulieste is about to dock via executive courier. This delegate's clearance requires a greeter of similar stature.”

  “High level, you say?” Darren's feet hit the deck. “Well, if duty calls.”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  It was only right the Banking Confederation pick Adams Rush to be the key partner on this mission. After all, with his help Adams Rush repelled the Perigeum during the Egress Incident. And again with his help, pushed them back at Windermere. His current group of Adams Rush representatives were getting a reputation for untangling misguided government efforts.

  Of course the Wilkrests also played a part. Although he didn't care much for them, they did have a knack for finding the heart of a problem. Staying close to them invariably brought his ability to save the day to the surface, and uncannily at the right moment. He wasn't going to belittle destiny's gift to him.

  “Representative Starr, the executive shuttle is on final approach,” the bay AI transmitted.

  The FDA Verdant was the first Thunar class ship he'd been on. He was still getting used to its size, which he was told, was greater than other cruisers. The main bay was certainly larger than any in his experience outside of his old post on Fort Franklin. He stood in the official greeter's box on the main deck, staring into space looking for the ship he should be able to see by now.

  Bright gushes from thrust rings surprised him. The ship was close indeed and he hadn't seen it. He pulled up a VAD.

  “Enhance.”

  The shuttle, seen from cam-eyes mounted on the Verdant, was glossy black. A single red stripe ran diagonally across its frame. He recognized it from his days in Orbital. Shade Momentum, one of the most exclusive—if not the most exclusive courier service. They had franchises on many worlds includi
ng Adams Rush, and apparently Patram.

  Known for the fastest ships and the tightest lips, as they say.

  It would take a Shade Momentum ship to catch them this close to hilltop. They'd been accelerating for hours. It switched to final approach, finally illuminating its own light strips. Two manipulator arms outside the main entrance extended to grab the shuttle. Flex metal tendrils stretched from their tips to cushion contact.

  It was the best way to bring it in at these speeds. He never would've allowed such a thing in his Orbital capacity. Synchronizing engine output, not to mention the variables of space, made it harder than it looked.

  This delegate is quite the daredevil.

  The sleek black ship was more engine then passenger compartment. They shut down as the arms pushed it through the soft air of the bay barrier. Steam rose from superheated engines as jets of coolant were applied. Its landing gear, beefy while trying to not look it, extended for a light touch upon the deck.

  The Verdant's maintenance bots stood ready but were not authorized to approach.

  And they won't be authorized.

  These kinds of things were his old purview. He knew Shade Momentum guarded its proprietary engine technology closely. The rear maintenance door opened and shiny black bots with their own red stripe began attending to the ship, proving the point.

  The front executive hatch opened and a plat with a single handrail slid down toward the deck carrying one person.

  A woman?

  She was stunning. He had to blink away surprise at the allure of someone with such influence. She wore black multi-function treaders that came up to her shin. Her white pleated pants were slit, revealing smokey topaz flesh. The cut was… very feminine.

  Her plat no sooner touched the deck that she strode directly toward him. Jet black hair swayed across bare shoulders. He bucked himself up to cover being startled. Close inspection showed her black blouse to be all skintight lace and lines.

  “Representative Starr,” she said in a strong alto.

  “Ah, why yes. And your name— Ah, your name wasn't on the manifest.”

  “You may call me Zoraida. I've received a last-minute appointment to watch over Frulieste's interests in this endeavor.”