Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting Read online

  There was no containing that genie. Ambitious Sedge Braksaw was making his own deals with the devil now, and the Archivers were getting their claws into the largest and most prestigious shipyard in the Six Sisters. It was mutually beneficial—for now. Even the Archivers knew contracts "supported" by the former governor did better in terms of budget, time, and quality.

  "Of course. Thank you, Prime Orator. The inconsequential Archiver yards at Numen may be more advanced in some small areas, but it's Umbria Magnus that has the production infrastructure to produce the numbers and size we need." He gestured widely around them. "Like your First Cruiser." Sedge seemed to notice for the first time how energetic the readings were becoming, and it impinged upon the artificial joy in his expression.

  Janus felt a spike of concern and lowered the privacy buffers. He turned his attention to the technical VADs. "Was it like this when you tested it?"

  "Well, it seems to be ramping up similarly." Sedge seemed unsure for the first time. "Of course, we didn't test it at these kinds of power levels."

  "What?"

  "There's no baseline on these new hybrid systems," Sedge whispered. "We wouldn't know what to compare the numbers to anyway. And you did want your flagship in time for the new deployments."

  "Yes, once you were sure it wouldn't blow up." He turned to the android with increasing displeasure. "Sybaris, what's your assessment of the previous test?"

  The android looked at him coolly. "The previous test was only done at fifty-five percent capacity. Yet the resulting ship-cannon output was close to eighty-five percent."

  "It's just extra efficiency from the new hybrid tech," Sedge said defensively. "Plus, we retrofitted additional energy capacity since that test."

  "The retrofitted power caps," Sybaris said, "are all scientum."

  "Well, of course. They work perfectly fine. The hybrid technology takes time and imprimaturs. The First Orator needed his ship immediately."

  The buzz on the bridge ramped up to match the precariously rising energy levels. It seemed apprehensive amongst the political crowd and frantic among the link-heads.

  "Abort the test!" Janus said.

  "We've passed the point of no return, First Orator," Sybaris said. "Energy must be released."

  The vibration became steady and coarse, accompanied by a ragged hum. Such phenomena were often reduced by grav weaves, which made their existence all the more disconcerting. An alarm blared.

  "Release it!" Janus shouted.

  The mighty chevron of ships, with the First Cruiser at its head, held formation in front of a distant, mountainous asteroid. The mass of the rock easily dwarfed the combined mass of the entire squadron. Farther behind it, a small planetoid was positioned to absorb any residual teleforce energy.

  T-beams had a convenient but dangerous quality: they could be scaled up seemingly without limit. Hence, the center hull of the tri-hulled First Cruiser was one, monstrous T-beam cannon. The largest mounted on a ship since the war, at least on a Perigeum ship.

  The shields on the center hull burned brighter than planned. Projector rims made openings at emergency exhaust ports and at the cannon's cavernous muzzle. Vast rings of energized particles appeared out of empty space, encircling the forward hull. As word propagated throughout the squadron, radical maneuvers ensued, a desperate attempt to put space between them and the First Cruiser.

  Jets of particle bundles and over-energized plasma, the unrefined stuff of T-beams, burst from exhaust ports. Thrust rings flared to life, struggling to keep the behemoth on target. A flash turned space white. A growing sphere of pinkish energy radiated outward from the First Cruiser. A T-beam blasted out from the front of the ship. It was as thick as a frigate.

  The ship's main thrusters fired at full power to compensate for the incredible recoil, and still it was pushed back. Ruptures occurred at half a dozen exhaust ports, causing shields to malfunction and flinging debris into space.

  The sun-bright, pink-edged beam cut through space. It traveled at the relatively slower speed T-beams did in comparison to light speed weapons like obsolete lasers. It struck the asteroid, generating an expanding halo. The rock turned white before becoming the center point for hundreds of outward streaks of energy and debris.

  Beyond it, a second halo of energy radiated off the expansive planetoid. Confused lines of energy arced from the impact. Suddenly, a bright vertical line appeared along the diameter of the sphere. The massive body, so carefully positioned, was rent in two. The halves moved away from each other, propelled by bright phenomena fading at the new cut.

  The ships nearest the First Cruiser were buffeted by its initial release of energetic particles. They rolled like logs caught in some great aquatic turbulence, shields flaring bright.

  Janus gripped the command chair, not having enough time to sit. Also gripping it was a white faced Sedge Braksaw. All on the bridge seemed riveted to the front display. Except, of course, Sybaris who had raised a station chair and was holding it with one hand. Janus took some small solace in the uncommon expressions on both man and android.

  As the vibrations eased, breath seemed to return to the bridge and a buzz of activity returned.

  "I'm going to need some replacement hybrid power caps, Sedge," Janus said, ice in his voice. "And we won't be going back to Umbria Magnus to get them."

  "We?" Sedge asked.

  Alb-Sone Whaye. The first sojourner Jordahk had ever met knowingly. He had implanted Jordahk's link some 20 years past, though the procedure and visit were not remembered due to the side effects. The link was supposed to be special, too, though he had yet to get to the bottom of it.

  Alb-Sone Whaye, scientist and doctor, dedicated to curing the Onus, and to managing some sort of experimental restoration of a girl. Jordahk wished him success on both fronts. He would need it.

  Sojourners, imprimaturs, and various medical researchers had been trying to cure the Onus since it first appeared. The power, and the danger, of mystic technology lay in the unpredictable world of quantics. What Sojourners called the "sub-quantum circus," a place where man's rules stopped and the Creator's reigned alone. At least that was what Aristahl told him. Jordahk didn't understand it... yet.

  The Onus manifested in various forms and degrees. Sometimes the ability to create or even interact with mystic was burned out. Other times, users experienced periods of blacking out or became paranoid. Jordahk could attest to the latter personally when he met the brilliant but mentally lost Sojourner, Ek-Hein Wahb, during the Egress Incident. Sometimes the effects could be physical, like the frustrating leg tremors his father experienced.

  As for the mysterious girl, and what fate had befallen her to require two centuries of tedious repair, he didn't know. He had glimpsed her twice in his life, and apparently, both times he had felt a faint mental touch. He carried an intense curiosity about her, sharing beyond normal compassion the desire see her fully consciousness and enjoying life. Maybe it was better she wasn't cognizant. How could anyone survive 200 years in a crystal cylinder filled with healing fluid, within an innocuous asteroid, suspended in a dead, forgotten system?

  Jordahk glanced at the platinum group metal work at his wrist. It looked more like ceramic, which usually indicated such high-level work that its origins were extraordinary. That was true in this case. Its creator was a person whose power may have been eclipsed by only the Khromas themselves. But unlike that legendary group, few cared to speak his name aloud. For his early creations, AIs of tremendous capacity, had gone terribly wrong.

  Later, he sought to correct the mistakes of youth and corral or destroy those first monstrosities. He created "rectifiers" with abilities that at least matched the treacherous creations. Wixom was a rectifier. The AI he was created to neutralize, Waxad, was last seen in the company of Alb-Sone Whaye, supposedly isolated.

  Long streaks of light and shadow played across Jordahk's compy as the sun's setting rays penetrated the oneway crystal panes of the new cabin. Wixom was noting his mental activity, as indic
ated by a subtle stir of activity visible in the shadows. It couldn't read minds, but the vast network of amino fibrils, grown from his link to every corner of his brain over the years, registered millions of distinct thought patterns.

  I bet you know I'm thinking about you.

  The subtle flurry of activity peaked for a moment.

  Wixom, you're a dangerous machine intelligence.

  "There have been times in the past," Aristahl said, "where Alb-Sone was in suspension and unable to meet at one of our preassigned times. However, in those cases his ship always met me, and I facilitated resupply."

  "What's really going on father?" Kord asked. "Don't drag it out. Hasn't Barrister been able to come up with anything now that Wixom has even decrypted the owl's black boxes?"

  "Go ahead, Barrister."

  "Although the data from the captured Archiver materiel is seven months old," the AI said, "it did furnish me with numerous new data points. The Archivers maintain a keen interest in Perigeum Starmada units, as evidenced by diligent recording of their movements. Interposing that new data with what we already know of Starmada fleet movements—"

  "You've got taps in the Hex?" Kord asked.

  "Barrister and I maintain a few tenuous links," Aristahl responded. "By the time the outdated information gets to us, it is usually only beneficial for adding to our understanding of their commerce and fleet behavior. Just before I arrived, I picked up a three-month-old information bundle."

  "Current Perigeum Starmada deployments match no pattern I have on record," Barrister said, "and my records go back for some time."

  "My analysis," Highearn said, "shows no strategic benefit."

  Highearn, ever the military AI.

  Kord looked thoughtful. "Unless there's something going on at the Palisades we don't know about, or the P-Stars are taking their scheming to a new level."

  Jordahk couldn't resist adding the sour note that came to his mind. "Or both."

  Things were changing. An abrupt realization of how different the cabin really was quickened in his mind. Scaled up but visually similar to the one destroyed during the Egress Incident, it was a fortress in many subtle ways. He surmised his own appearance might not seem all that different either, with the exception of his publicly hidden, platinum flecked eyes. But what capabilities were scaling up within him? Though Aristahl had many answers, even he didn't have them all. But if not him, then who?

  Out the window, the nearest Thule-Riss peak turned pinkish orange from the setting sun. Jordahk surmised he might not muse so much if he was away from these mountains at sunset.

  "The Archivers already scheme at a dangerous level," Aristahl said. "I have a two-pronged trip in mind. Perhaps Jordahk would consider joining me."

  Kord frowned. "After what happened last time? Don't you think he needs more training?"

  "There are things in life for which there is no training. And no preparation can cover every contingency." Aristahl reasoned like a man from another age. He looked at his son with a penetrating eye.

  Kord withstood it. "It's not safe."

  "Neither is it here. And danger is one thing from which this family has never shirked."

  "He's young."

  Aristahl brought his brows down with recrimination. "He must be allowed to find his destiny."

  "Again," Jordahk said in exasperation, "I'm right here."

  "You could come with us," Aristahl said, offering his son an olive branch.

  Kord held himself back from a quick reaction. Then a sort of resigned determination came over him. "Destiny can be an uncaring mistress." The words were reluctant. More meaning was passing between Kord and his father than Jordahk knew. Finally, the tension broke.

  "Thank you, Father, but no," Kord said. "I think someone needs to head down to the Palisades and see what's going on. Vittora and I have duties there anyway. Plus they have lots of old equipment, and I'm in the market for a new surplus fanicle." He smiled and offered his hand. The two men shook the old-fashioned way.

  "How come no one's asking me?" Jordahk said.

  "Come now, Jordahk," Aristahl said, "you are curious, and you want to help any way you can."

  Jordahk was not surprised his grandfather could see through him. "Veritas."

  "Watch after him," Kord said.

  "Yes, of course."

  "By the way, you said 'two-pronged trip.' What's the second prong?"

  "We need extra flexibility. I would like to pick up my old ship."

  Kord did a double-take. If he had been drinking something, Jordahk suspected he would have spit it out.

  "The ship?" Kord asked. "I thought you said it was back in the Hex."

  "Yes. Not to worry, we will work out the details." Aristahl said dismissively.

  Kord shook his head. "Is it too late to change my mind?"

  In subdued lighting, Jordahk packed a duffel and loaded out his sling bag for the chunky hunting grister. Aside from random odds and ends from his mystic relic collection, he didn't have many possessions. The Wilkrests were just not into accumulating things.

  He touched a small hemispherical object on his nightstand. Colors swirled in his room, and colorful sparkles of light blossomed in the air. The children's light show was a piece from his collection that he had moved out to the new cabin. It was a relic of no great monetary value, but Jordahk enjoyed its playful simplicity. It had only required a new freecell and a little tinkering to get working.

  He continued gathering a few assorted extras and personal items. Since his clothes were self-cleaning, most of what he packed were consumables or specialty equipment.

  Kord entered, glancing briefly at the light show. "My father wasn't able to fix your no-suit. Says he needs a mystic forge. So I'm lending you mine."

  "Dard—"

  "Just take it. I don't think the mission Vittora and I have in mind will call for it. You, on the other hand..." Kord shrugged. "It's a civvied-out medium combat model. Good stuff. Not a mystic no-suit, but should serve you well."

  Jordahk tried to play down his emotions. "Thanks."

  "And if you happen to run into a portable mystic forge along the way, see about obtaining it. Mystic items seem to be coming our way these days, and I've a hybrid owl to keep flying. I'd like an option to repair hybrid parts beyond burdening your grandfather, paying an imprimatur, or just settling for scientum replacement."

  Jordahk hefted the hunting grister, then slipped it into the sling bag Max configured for proper holstering. "Why didn't you lend me one of your high-end models?"

  "I want you to stay used to the weight and firing rate of an autobuss. Someday you're going to have one again."

  "Is that some sort of future vision?"

  "No, that's Vittora's department. Just call it a hunch."

  "We all have our gifts," Vittora said, entering. She was dressed, not uncommonly, in a sleeveless maroon bodysuit. She padded smoothly and without noise, despite wearing treaders.

  Jordahk's new room was austere. Rebuilt in the same location as the original, which had once belonged to his older brother Stannis. Maybe his mother walking in had prompted that thought. He wondered if Stannis would care that his old room had been destroyed. Probably not. He was never one for the cabin, or the mountains.

  Kord put a hand to the small of her back in casual greeting then looked at Jordahk with a curious expression. "You're going to get an eyeful in the Hex. It isn't going to be like that short hop we did a few years back."

  "Aristahl's flyer is returning," Highearn said.

  "He's rented something in orbit," Max added. "I'll generously call it an ancient bus."

  "This ought to be good." Kord headed for the door. "Maybe next time we'll make our own rendezvous via owl." He walked out.

  Jordahk sub-whispered a command to turn off the lights. He was about to touch off the light show and follow Kord when his mother put a hand on his elbow. A pit opened in his stomach. If his mother wanted to talk to him right before embarking upon on one of these crazy journeys, it
was likely going to be about another dream. His mother had a prophetic gift, if you could call a gift something for which he gained insight only after-the-fact.

  Still, he had to admit that the dreams were somehow consoling. They were confirmations that he had overcome, and that the path to destiny wasn't lost. That was a little too Shakespearean, even for him.

  Stow the drama.

  Vittora bored into him with measuring eyes. They glittered in the room's only illumination, the light show. It threw him off.

  "Did," he stammered, "did you have a dream?"

  She stood resolute, looking thoughtful. "Yes."

  "Was it about me?"

  "Yes."

  Jordahk felt apprehensive, but in the end he figured it was better to know. "You going to tell me?"

  She stood for one more moment in consideration, then nodded. It began like a versed poem.

  "Crossed eras, metal and flesh.

  From them, luminous justice blooms.

  Arcs of retribution shall be the petals."

  Jordahk exhaled slowly. He could do nothing about the opacity of his mother's gift. He simply resigned himself to accept it, come what may. A faint smile touched Vittora's face. He was grateful her beauty had been restored, thankful he had not caused her irreparable harm during the Egress Incident. She wouldn't be pleased if she knew how close he was to carrying tremendous guilt. She was insistent that none of the men in her life carry such negative, unhelpful baggage. He had a long way to go.

  "I..."he started.

  "Jordahk," Kord's voice sounded over his compy, "he's ready for you."

  "I'll... keep it in mind," Jordahk said.

  Carrying his few things, they met Aristahl in the clearing outside the cabin. Jordahk had been told of the battle that occurred right where he stood, but it was hard to believe. The place had always seemed so peaceful to him. But a glance to the side, even in the sparse light of evening, showed a scorched, combat-damaged tree.