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  What people are Saying about

  Tethered Worlds:

  The best mix of science and spirit since the Force.

  --Tom Moore

  Faccone's characters are rich in detail and engaging. He has built a world that I can see as he described it.

  --M E Riddle

  The action in the story is intense and continual, leaving the reader on the edge of their seat to see what happens next...

  --David

  Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

  (Book Three in the Tethered Worlds Series)

  Text Copyright © 2021 Gregory Faccone

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  First Edition: Deluxe Edition, July 2021

  http://gregoryfaccone.com/

  http://tetheredworlds.com/

  United States Library of Congress Copyright Office

  Print Edition International Standard Number:

  ISBN 978-0-9859076-3-1

  Cover Art: V Publishing Group

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author takes no responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s

  The author remains grateful to the first reader, M.Carl, and his continuing thoughtful exchanges. Also thanks to Austral B., who has jumped in with magnanimity and insight.

  Thanks also to Z, the Galactic drivers, and Charles P.B.

  Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

  Gregory Faccone

  Ships of the Starmadas

  Sovereign Stars

  Chapter One

  My mother is old-fashioned. Though we've sought out the very stars, she believes the flawed nature of mankind persists. I hope she's wrong, but I don't think so.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  The treetops whipped beneath his feet. The conifers grew with less density near the rawlands of Adams Rush. Jordahk Wilkrest began to detect the scent of alien dirt that had never grown anything.

  “I don't know how much water Dard brought, but I'm ready to down a couple liters.”

  He blew grit from his mouth. The wind gusted without obstruction across land still awaiting arability terraformation, sending dust into the sky. But even if it didn't, Jordahk suspected his senses, growing more acute by the month, would detect traces. He was changing, and resigned to it. The transformation had sparked to life during the Egress Incident, not even two years before.

  “We're almost there now,” Max said. “Your father is just ahead.”

  Good old Max. After almost losing the crusty AI during those events, Jordahk no longer took him for granted. Even though the bracelet in which Max now resided was almost as alien as the sterile rawlands of Adams Rush, his familiar presence made it approachable.

  Jordahk lowered his altitude enough to make weaving between the highest jutting treetops necessary. Riding a fanpack was like rolling atop wheelies or, as he'd heard, riding ancient two-wheeled rigs. The trick of it became unconscious habit. Max interfaced with the pack's software, keeping him upright by controlling its four main fans, but riding still required leaning into turns and general care. A fall from this altitude wouldn't be fun.

  The midday sunlight made the perennially snow-capped peaks of the Thule-Riss Range stark against the violet sky. Jordahk so often contemplated those mountains at sunset. Seeing them this time of day sparked new thoughts.

  “Pay attention, were almost there,” Max said.

  Jordahk was deep in reverie. This scouting foray had brought him closer to what he sought than ever before.

  “Kid, lookout!” Max abruptly took control of the fanpack, steering them around an errant branch, but not able to completely avoid it.

  It whacked Jordahk across the knee. “Ingots!”

  The sharp pain made him convulse. The sudden movement rolled the fanpack. Max applied thrust to the outward spars and squelched the warning tone. A fanpack was trickier at slow speeds devoid of stabilizing wind pressure. Jordahk would've slid off the tiny seat if the pack wasn't strapped to his back. As it was, his feet were jarred from the unfolded pedal spars.

  “Come on Max, right us!”

  “I will if you stop moving for a second.”

  Max was a little gruff, but would never knowingly let harm come to his admin. From an AI line of unquestionable loyalty, he'd already put his coin where his mouth was in self-sacrifice. Jordahk had miraculously restored him in a procedure beyond normal science. As they straightened, the results of that strange operation glinted on his wrist. It was more than sunlight shining off the rhodium capillaries of what he'd learned was a high mystic creation by a legendary Sojourner.

  As they darted into the trees, Jordahk took a last look back. He'd been hunting mystic relics as a hobby for much of his almost 36 standard years. But his motivations were changing with his growing understanding of mystic… and beyond. The mountains drew him in a way regular scientum technology couldn't explain.

  “We were close this time, Max.”

  “The Thule-Riss Hold? It's not the first time you've said something like that, but I did note changing brain activity. I'd say 'unusual brain activity,' but for you the unusual is becoming common.”

  They wound their way over a narrow dirt road before whooshing into a clearing. It was shaded by one of the last dense knots of trees near the end of terraformed territory. Adams Rush had a rugged beauty all its own, and for the most part attracted those who could appreciate it.

  His father's head pulled out of an open panel on their vehicle, a “new” used fanicle acquired from a surplus dealer on Castellum a few months back.

  “That was quite a foray,” Kord said.

  “Hey Dard.” Jordahk had always called his father by the local colloquialism. Maybe he always would despite being on the verge of Investiture, the official start of adulthood.

  Kord reached into the fanicle and approached, waving a hand through the dusty landing cloud. The pedal spars folded back into the pack as Jordahk touched down. The fans, control stalks, and little seat all retracted. He manually unbuckled the straps. Apparently some things people preferred not to leave to AIs, or at least fanpack manufacturers thought so.

  He felt his weight as a new thing for a few awkward steps. His father's solid frame no doubt weighed more, despite being just shorter than his own.

  “I don't blame you for being a little stiff,” Kord said, “you were out there for hours.”

  He tossed a canteen bag. Jordahk guzzled as something beyond the clearing grabbed his attention. A double tone chimed from the new “security in a box” contraption his father installed on the fanicle. A previous device like it once saved their skins. Jordahk hoped that was a thing of the past.

  Unlikely.

  A black figure advanced on the clearing, darting between trees faster than any human. It cut through foliage without tearing it up, a billowing train marking its passage in increasingly barren territory.

  On instinct Jordahk reached cross-body to his sling bag. It held an autobuss Max raised to the top, its metal grip was cool to the touch. But Jordahk didn't pull, because his father, the fastest draw Jordahk ever saw, didn't even reach.

  It all happened in a split second and he understood. The figure's black inverted triangular torso came into
clear view. It's faceted head and worn gold trim reflected dully as it emerged from the shadows.

  “Playing your little game with Jordahk again, Goldy?” Kord asked. It's likely to get you shot one of these days.

  “I'm just following your parameters regarding honing his skills,” the combat bot answered.

  Goldy was an older command model once in service of the Perigeum. Defeated by Jordahk's mother, they had repurposed and reprogrammed the machine for anselbot duty, guarding the family. As a bonus, he was a great assistant for their pistolcraft training business.

  Why did others sometimes talk as if he weren't present. “I'm right here.”

  The machine turned to him. “I believe you detected me before the security chime.”

  Jordahk had. “But I don't need you sneaking up on me all the time!”

  The hexagonal Perigeum logo had been removed from Goldy's featureless face, but the result was too impersonal on a bot whose silhouette was already fearsome. So they installed a light array where the mouth would be that animated according to the robot's speech. It was sci-fi retro, but it did work to soften his appearance. Of course, it did nothing to lessen the impact of the bot's purposely deep and menacing mechanical voice.

  “The way forward is clear out to the rawlands frontier,” Goldy said.

  Jordahk shook his head. “Why does everything have to be such a mission with you two?”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  An hour later the fanicle rumbled to the end of habitable territory. Beyond was a kilometer of rough land festooned with discarded boulders and hardened piles of rocky soil. Leftovers from the time of Roy Hodges, when the founder's giant terraforming machines roamed. His father drove them in at what Jordahk considered dangerous speeds. Apparently, he was the only one.

  Kord manipulated the controls with enthusiasm. “She really handles at speed, doesn't she?”

  His father's excitement was contagious, and Jordahk didn't want to quash it. Then again, his knuckles were white holding on, despite the restraints. In the backseat, Goldy moved as if part of the vehicle, fastened by mechanical grip.

  They plowed through a jutting crust of broken earth, creating a cloud of dust with a jolt. The fanicle turned hard, scraping a boulder. Goldy merely turned his head in curiosity at the collision, not at all affected by the earsplitting screech.

  “Oh yeah, she handles fine.” Jordahk had to raise his voice over the din. “At least if that's what you were planning to do.”

  Fanicles lacked wheels, staying off the ground with thrust directed by numerous hard air planes formed on-the-fly beneath the vehicle. The flex metal arms responsible for generating these fields were smart enough to curl up into a protective housing when the vehicle bottomed out. Jordahk couldn't remember a trip where they bottomed out this much. Not even that night two years ago when they were chased by seeker drones, nearly perforated by snipers, and almost torn apart by that damnable DAWG. The thought revived an old spike of fear.

  Stay Kelvin, adam.

  They headed straight for an earthen ramp likely formed 200 years before when a giant terraforming machine turned. His father gunned it and they were airborne before Jordahk could mouth a protest. He felt his stomach rise. The machine created a powerful burst of downward thrust keeping them aloft longer, and softening—at least a little—their landing.

  He wasn't worried about the fanicle. It was designed for rough terrain and seemed to be handling it better than him. He didn't feel sick, but became aware of the breakfast he thought long digested. It wasn't nausea. He hadn't really felt space or motion sickness since the Egress Incident changed him. Yet for his own peace of mind…

  “Max, we have components to make LuciDram, right?” Jordahk sub-whispered so only his AI could hear.

  “Yeah, we got them. But I don't read you feeling sick,” Max link-said, keeping their exchange private.

  Though just about everyone had a link in the bone behind their ear, either scientum or mystic, Jordahk learned that his was special. A high mystic creation from another legendary Sojourner. Links had no processing power on their own, they were merely conduits for interacting with technology. They grew amino tendrils into the brain to interpret synaptic thought patterns. Jordahk's grew many more than the norm.

  Who knows what else it does.

  His father's AI, Highearn, could drive, but his father was having too much fun. Trained hands moved with precision as the fanicle navigated a winding trench of cracked earth and boulders. It bounced off walls of dirt causing rubble to crumble through the vehicle's open side ports.

  “I'm not sure navigated is the right word…” Jordahk mused.

  A personal AI securely communicated with its admin by resonance transmission through the body to the link. It couldn't read minds, but a library of synaptic patterns observed over the years allowed it considerable understanding.

  “You say something?” Kord asked.

  Jordahk shook his head, smiled, and spit out a pebble.

  They'd taken the plunge and got alchemus glands together. Kind of a father-son thing. The artificial organs, when supplied with the right components, could synthesize various pharma as needed. Pain suppression and stimulants were common choices. They'd swallowed a basic chemistry set to cover common compounds, and even purchased a couple advanced component packages, just in case. Their life had become unpredictable, although a prediction of trouble would have almost always been accurate.

  But Jordahk had come a long way, taking a hard look at himself, and establishing dominion over emotions that didn't serve him. It sounded presumptuous, even to himself. He knew the process would take a lifetime, even one that spanned centuries, as their technology allowed and his grandfather, Aristahl, demonstrated.

  “I'm still a little apprehensive about having gone into the vault,” Jordahk said. “I don't think Pops would appreciate it.”

  The wind pushed a cloud of their own making before them, and they drove into its darkness.

  “Look, we can't wait for him to show up every time there's trouble. We need to protect ourselves now, and maybe go out there and face some problems ourselves.”

  Jordahk compressed his lips, closing his eyes for a long second.

  When they opened, Kord was observing him with piercing scrutiny. “We can't undo what's been done. They won't buy that I'm a scientum enthusiast anymore.” Passing through the dusty shroud, the violet sky shone down though the fanicle's open top. Kord made a hard turn. “At least one of them knows I can use mystic at Sojourner level, and sooner or later they'll figure it out about you too.”

  Jordahk had become closer to his grandfather than Kord ever was. It was no indictment upon them. Times were different in the post war period. Mystic was sometimes mistrusted by coin-strapped colonies straining to rebuild foundations broken by war with the Perigeum. It wasn't the best time for a new generation of mystic masters, at least as far as the zeitgeist of the Asterfraeo worlds was concerned.

  Kord wasn't allowed to embrace technology that ran through his nature. One engineered into their family line's proto-genetics by Aristahl, and inherited, Jordahk had to admit, from Aristahl's father. Jordahk looked over his shoulder in an attempt to see the Thule-Riss Range. He couldn't, yet the man for whom the mountains were named made an impression on history that couldn't be obscured.

  “Besides, is he really going to miss a few items out of that eclectic cache?” Kord added.

  “We both know he will.”

  Jordahk recalled the fascination of witnessing his father peel back layers of encrypted mystic runes. When the vault entrance raised from the stone floor beneath their cabin, a passage built itself down into chambers somehow hewn from solid rock.

  Running his fingers along the wall as they descended, Jordahk was intrigued by its feel. “This construction is too smooth. ” His touch activated cool, sourceless illumination.

  His father hid exhaustion from opening the secret place. “Don't ask me how it was made. Veritas, I don't even know for sure who ma
de it. Father didn't let that tidbit slip.” They stopped at the bottom next to empty niches in the wall. Kord touched one and adopted a faraway expression.

  Jordahk nodded. “The last time you came down here it was a pretty hot entry.”

  “You could say that.” For a moment, Kord channeled Aristahl's power of understatement. And also like him, he pushed on without further elaboration. “Chambers exist on either side.”

  There was no apparent entry to them, yet Jordahk knew, sensed, his father was right. “Yeah. One of them seems more… resistant. I think we should try the other.”

  Kord felt around the wall where its entrance should be. “Neither is welcoming, but your point is taken.” The vault, coded to their family line, would yield if one could perceive the workings beneath the surface. Kord felt the wall until a reverberating click indicated success.

  A hatch formed, melting away from the center by retracting in succeeding strips, polygons, and layers. A warm light emanated from the revealed chamber, as if they'd found a long buried treasure of gold.

  Jordahk's mind tingled in that place where mystic flourished. The first compartment was the size of the cabin above, and filled with an odd collection of objects. Each was fashioned with at least one platinum group metal. Their surfaces shined, even in the strange light. Some objects were recognizable while others ran the gamut from unknown to strange.

  “Is that a suit of armor from the Age of Chivalry?” It should be a relic hunter's dream, yet Jordahk's enthusiasm was surprisingly cautious. There was something off about this collection of… of…

  “Junk,” his father said. He held one of the strange objects. “I thought it might be something like this. Half working experiments and prototypes. You can sense why these are here, can't you?”

  Jordahk tentatively grasped what looked like a golden boomerang. A Sojourner can divine much about a mystic object just from touch. He wasn't ready to take on that mantle yet, but he was adept enough to trace the lines of power and function in the device and see that they didn't flow as they should. He picked up a roundish item that reminded him of a seeker drone. Gaps in its function could be detected, as if it powered up once, and burned ruts through incomplete energy capillaries.