Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  At least Jhapa was grasping that Zoraida wasn't someone needing to know anything more than the minimum. Jordahk was grateful for that, and for the repairs, he had to admit. But who was this old coot?

  “Aurora, continue with caution in front of Zoraida,” Jordahk sub-whispered. “I don't trust her. ” He requested one more thing from Aurora before addressing his growing list of problems. “Jhapa, what are you doing here in Hex space?”

  “The Banking Confederation is neutral territory, sonny. An imprimatur has to make a livin'.”

  Jordahk didn't recall much in the way of mystic ships being employed by Aventicia, but it was true that grav weaves were always in demand. They were the single largest gig for imprimaturs. But before Jordahk could pursue the man's area of expertise further...

  “With the comms back open, there's news coming in,” Max said. “Big news. I think the Jetty has just declared independence.”

  “What? From whom?”

  “Apparently it's the seat of a coup against Aventicia's Ruling Board and the Banking Confederation.”

  “Pops. Pops? Moon Weaver, what's going on with the comms?”

  “It's not on our side,” the ship AI said. “Communication with the Jetty is down.”

  “Our fleet is on the move,” Max said.

  Both Jhapa and the girls were looking at him as if he had answers.

  “We need to move, now,” Zoraida said.

  One of Aurora's many faceless maintenance drones took Jordahk's coat and handed over his autobuss. Jordahk made a show of opening the breach and checking the condition of his weapon. It was good habit, but unnecessary as he knew what was in the mystic pistol just by contact. But there were other considerations. He was the authority on board until Pops returned. Aurora was too powerful to be swayed to illegitimate purpose.

  Jhapa's eyes grew wide. “Oh, an autobuss. Uniquely modified too. Best not to brandish that one around, sonny.”

  Zoraida looked at Jordahk with satisfaction. “So, you are an imprimatur.”

  “See?” Jhapa said.

  Jordahk's irritation at the man flared. “Look, you need to leave. Where's your shuttle?”

  Jhapa shrugged. “I took a tender.”

  Jordahk deflated. There was no way another tender was coming out, especially to bring someone back.

  “The Jetty has gone shields hot,” Max said.

  “What about the ships in manifold space?” Jordahk asked.

  “They're about to hit hill bottom,” Aurora answered.

  Jordahk felt trapped. Saddled with two people that constrained what he could do to help. If he did something anyway, his identity would be associated with it, incriminating the entire family.

  Solia wordlessly urged him to make a decision. She was the only one on board he could trust until he had a chance to check all the AI systems. He tossed her the incapacitator.

  “I've got to get to the bridge. Stay with Jhapa. You too Gasket.” Jordahk looked to the Fruileste Rep. “Zoraida, for your own safety, I'd like to confine you to—”

  “Not a chance,” she cut him off.

  Ugh. Was he ready to make a diplomatic incident? It wouldn't be fair to his parents who had worked so hard to put the Confidence Fleet together.

  “Alright, come with me, but don't touch anything.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Aristahl looked at the sealed security hatch, brows furrowed. “Are you sure this is the one?”

  “Yes, sir,” Barrister responded. “I have simulated an authorized query. Only a handful of crewman and the captain are on board.”

  Soon after landing the Jetty devolved into pandemonium and malfunction. Communications were limited to interior only, when functional at all. They were isolated from the looming threats beyond.

  Just getting to this bay had taken too long. Lifts and hatches worked sporadically. It was worse than them being totally down. Crews were trapped all over the station, often ending up farther from their destination when a lift decided to move.

  “These hatches are intruder hardened and totally dead. I think we can rule out crew level access points. Perhaps we can get to it from below on the service side. If we can get in the bay, the captain can allow access.”

  They moved into the service passages, making their way lower. The father they got from the main arteries, the less polished the interior became, and the more irregular the grav weaves. Some pulled only half a gravity and a few were out altogether. Aristahl negotiated such gaps with a practiced glide, but Torious, switching between trundle and bipedal mode, reentered an active weave and fell like a tree.

  “Whoa,” the bot yelled, unnecessarily imitating a human.

  “How can a bot so precise with incisions still be so clumsy?”

  “These maneuvers are outside my specifications.”

  When they finally arrived at a small service hatch, it too was inert.

  “I can crack access, but you will have to energize the lock motors,” Barrister said.

  “Go ahead.” Aristahl opened his sling bag. “Come on out, Peri.”

  The little metal bird alighted on his hand, spreading its wings. Seams of light multiplied along its surface. Its metallic feathers separated like panels turning the corridor bright. Aristahl reached toward the door with his other hand and four loud clunks reverberated in the silence. The hatch cracked halfway open with a hiss. They got their first up-close look at one of Aventicia's grand galleons. The size might leave the less-seasoned awestruck.

  The expansive bay's wide walkways had long been stripped of grav weave plates except for critical paths. The galleon was held in place by a gantry with tried and true metal beams. It had no plats, only real stairs.

  “The entry's a long way up, don't you think?” Torious asked.

  “Come now, we only need to traverse a little ways.”

  Torious switched to bipedal as they climbed. Since grav weaves have little influence after a few meters, Aristahl soon moved into the open central shaft. With a skillful pull he floated upward. Traversing half the ship's height, he slowed under the peripheral influence of the main access-way grav weave. As he pulled himself to its door, a whining drone came up from below. Torious was cartwheeling up through the open space.

  “I'm not designed for thiiiiss.”

  Aristahl reached out to the rapidly ascending robot. The sleeve of his frock coat folded back of its own accord revealing a slim profile bracer of baroque design. He squinted and the bronze and copper device came alive with a glowing purple band. A low rumble echoed as the robot was drawn into Aristahl's hand and swung onto the deck in front of the door.

  Aristahl exhaled. “Really Torious, try not to be such a bother.” The main access-way allowed up close inspection. It was disappointing. The galleon suffered not as much from lack of care as making do with less. Certain granix plates seemed of a different batch, as if taken from another ship. “Are there not supposed to be ten galleons in Aventicia's fleet?”

  “Yes. We saw two in the Capital Squadron, one now lost to the Svalbergen Blacksea Corporation, and the six that malfunctioned. Records are opaque, but it seems the last two are listed under 'long-term repair.'”

  “Hanger maidens? Being stripped for parts is a sad, premature end to one of these grand old gals.” It was an offense to anyone with pride in fleet. Aristahl shook his head. “Aventicia's galleons are a deterrent only by reputation.”

  Placing a hand on the ship, Barrister went to work through resonance transmission.

  “Ship's comm accessed,” the AI said. “No officers but the captain. I have located him. Sending legitimate codes. He is coming down to let us in.”

  Round sections within the hull turned in a few minutes, sending clanks echoing throughout the man-made cavern. Thick layers of granix pulled aside to reveal a slight man, with black hair cut short. He wore the warm gray trousers and vest of Aventicia Defense over a black turtleneck. A golden bar adorned his right shoulder, it was the only indication of his rank.

  T
he hatch stopped opening with an abrupt groan that made the captain wince, though he tried to ignore it.

  “Permission to come aboard, captain.”

  The age-old request seemed to straighten the man's spine. Such formalities must have long since fallen out of favor.

  The captain sized him up. “Your codes check out. Permission granted. I am Capt. Benziger. Welcome aboard the Drattehorn. To what do I owe the honor of a visit by a registered imprimatur? We have few mystic components on board, and none are the source of our recent troubles.”

  Aristahl stepped across the threshold. “I am also a bit of an information specialist. I believe I can help.”

  “How'd you even get here? Personnel are trapped all over the Jetty.”

  “We are… rather resourceful.”

  The captain displayed a certain air of detachment. Perhaps resignation. He motioned Aristahl inward toward the lifts. Torious followed as the hatch groaned closed behind them.

  “I know I don't rate an introduction,” the robot said, “but you don't exactly inspire me either.”

  Capt. Benziger shook his head. “What an… unusual robot.” He seemed inclined not to offend. “Does he help your work?”

  “He has his moments.” Aristahl waived a nonchalant hand. “No one requested your commentary, Torious.”

  “Where to, Mr. Wilkrest?” The captain asked at the lift.

  “The bridge is the nexus of the computer systems.”

  “I don't mean to second-guess a gift, but the best bitsmiths have been unsuccessful. Our squadron is thoroughly beached.”

  Sometimes it was best to just come right out and say something.

  “Tell me captain,” Aristahl asked, “What are your feelings toward this Shadow Board?”

  Capt. Benziger scoffed without missing a beat. “The Shadow Board. Connivers who inexplicably overlook that Aventicia is successful because of its affiliation with the Banking Confederation. Idiots. Do they want to be annexed by the Perigeum? Because it's not our hobbling galleons holding their fleet back, it's the Confederation.”

  Aristahl had heard more than enough to determine the man's position. “You are not one to mince words.”

  The captain hinted a shrug. “How did such an organization even get ensconced on the Jetty? When you spend as much time here as I, you get to know every political nook and cranny.”

  “Perhaps this is a sore subject?”

  Smiling for the first time, the captain softened his stance. “I tend to get rather animated when it comes to corruption and nonsense. I'm not good at looking the other way. It's why I captain the least favored galleon, and why I'm soon to be replaced. Being too much of a traditionalist doesn't go over well with the new thinkers.”

  The man was free. He had chosen principles over career, and there was nothing more they could do to him. His questions about the Shadow Board were apt. They dovetailed with the bewildered reactions from station personnel, and their frantic search for these so-called rebels right in their midst. A search Aristahl suspected would be futile.

  “Political differences affect just about every human endeavor. Even the Sojourners were divided regarding their great Crusade.” Aristahl noticed his words were being taken to heart. “But the moral conundrums they faced were less clear than yours. You have made the right decision, captain. Many Asterfraeo starmadas are looking for officers with experience and character.”

  The man stood straighter. “All comms went down after the Shadow Board transmission. What's going on out there?”

  “With confusion and malfunction reigning on the Jetty, forces outside may be considering plans most dire to deal with the seat of a coup.” The captains eyes grew wide at the implication. “Let me show you where things stood just a short time ago.”

  With a wave of Aristahl's hand illumination dimmed and a magnificent VAD filled the lift. Ships and stations came alive before the backdrop of Aventicia and Granamar. The Jetty, pinned in orbit, had two groups of ships hovering nearby.

  “The Trade Union...” Capt. Benziger said.

  Aristahl highlighted details of the two groups. “Yes. A flotilla like that goes by many monikers. The Consortium is not an organization to pass up opportunity.” The differences in the two ship groups became apparent under Aristahl's manipulations. “Aventicia Defense's starkeel ships are numerous, but escorts only. Nothing larger than a destroyer aside from the last active galleon. The Trade Union's fleet is mixed, with escorts and ships-of-the-line. They also brought this.” The carrier, the largest ship anchoring the rear third of the formation, zoomed large.

  “It's impressive,” the captain acknowledged.

  “Indeed. The Drexalis was forged in the orbits of Aner Betera. One of their mighty ringed carriers.”

  “Aner Betera... I've heard of it.”

  Aristahl looked past the VAD for a few seconds. “A planet whose culture was lost to history. Even its name.” Aristahl grabbed the Trade Union flotilla and pressed them forward. “But the Drexalis, even if housing only scientum starfighters, in combination with that mystic cruiser and the other heavy hitters, will force Aventicia onto the defensive.” The lift was alive with tactical projections. Aristahl indicated the other side of the planet. “And these mystery ships approaching in manifold space will make hill bottom at any moment. I doubt they have goodwill to offer.” Aristahl moved the focus again. “Then there is the Perigeum contingent.”

  “I'm not an Aventicia native,” the captain said, “but even I know Janus has extensive dealings and connections here.”

  Aristahl nodded. “They are perhaps the most dangerous piece to this puzzle. Their squadron is rendezvousing with recent arrivals and angling our way.”

  Capt. Benziger was growing more alarmed by the second. “What about the Confidence Fleet?”

  “I believe they will have their hands full.”

  “So we're trapped. Stuck on a protected island, with no means to affect the outcome.”

  Aristahl waved again and the images faded as the lift doors opened. “Unfortunately, the protection of this base may be illusory.”

  The bridge was grand in scale, befitting a galleon, but dimly lit, with stations dark or minimally functional. The three-tiered design lowered toward the active-surface forward bulkhead, which was dark.

  “Thank you for that glimpse.” The captain motioned Aristahl forward.

  “Captain, how would you like to be the first galleon out of this trap, and lead the others in your wake?”

  The captain's eyebrows rose, but there was hope mixed with the incredulity.

  “I've no data rider to aid you, and of course, the ship AI is down.”

  “Regardless, if you will permit it, I can find us a path out of this darkness.”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Kord sighed.

  We might as well be in parade formation.

  But he knew there was a time for everything under the stars. Echelon formation was good for basic maneuvers of the non-aggressive sort they needed.

  It's also good for target practice.

  He swallowed back his own digression into cynicism. Echelon was good for taking up space. It sent the right signal to the Perigeum. Come no closer. Besides, tactical formations were up to Arceneaux and Mason, freeing him up for strategic planning. And they could always rig for combat later if needed. Hopefully it wouldn't be needed.

  A thin hope.

  There was that cynicism again. He usually played the optimist to Highearn's cold statistics, but the situation had worn him down. The so-called coup attempt had, in one brilliant, or diabolical stroke, depending on your perspective, made it legally open season on Aventicia Defense. Later it could be claimed that they were in league or even suspected of being so with the Shadow Board.

  He stared at the tac VAD. Their two squadrons plodded closer to Aventcia's expensive orbital ring of facilities, and closer to an intercept... The First Cruiser and its Artemis cannon had survived faux destruction. Perhaps that entire battle had been faux.

>   “They're veering,” Vittora said.

  Her tone caught his attention.

  “Incoming manifold space ships changing entry vector,” the data rider said.

  “Where to?” Arceneaux demanded.

  “It's directly behind us!”

  Twelve sets of smoke rings expanded into dissipating complexity. Four of them were larger than usual. The Verdant's cam-eyes zoomed out to hill bottom and enhanced.

  Arceneaux grimaced. “Thunars.” The ships were dull black, like the rest of the squadron. “The Svals are back.”

  “I don't think they ever really left.”

  “They're adopting attack formation,” the tac officer said, “and accelerating.”

  “Trapped,” Vittora said.

  Kord pondered the tac VAD. “Yes, bracketed from behind by the Svals and in front by the P-stars.”

  “Are they working together?” Arceneaux asked.

  “Whether they are or aren't we'll be squashed between two fronts if we keep on.”

  “But if we move off and let them merge...” Mason said from a VAD. He let the sentence trail off.

  “A super-squadron.” Kord shook his head. “Backed up by the striking power of an Artemis, it would be game over in-system.” Whatever game Janus was playing, that is.

  The next decision weighed on his shoulders in a situation lacking any good options.

  “You know what Aristahl would say,” Vittora link-said. “When there is no time for reconsideration, rely on your informed, practiced intuition. And take your first, best guess.”

  One side of Kord's mouth inched up. That did sound like his father.

  “Mason, Alpha Squadron's Thunars versus the Svals's Thunars would just get ugly. You think your squadron's lighter composition can outmaneuver them?”

  Mason took it well. “We'll give it our best go.”

  “Keep them from merging. And if nothing else, delay them as long as possible.”

  Mason offered a casual salute, muted his feed, and began ordering his captains. Beta Squadron reversed course, heading for the maw of a foe everyone dreaded. The Svals were ever hungry.

  Vittora looked up at him from her displays. “It's beginning.”