Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star Page 28

  Two men watched by the bridge entrance hatch in mystic no-suits. Aristahl stood tall and nonplussed, as usual. Jordahk did his best to act innocent, grateful to not be nauseous. The trip back was far easier inside the grav weave equipped no-suit. Though the suits were set visually friendly, they still proved disorienting to the naked eye. After an initial taste, no one on the bridge gave them more than a glance.

  "This gig's killing us," Chaetan said. "Captain, are we going to let ourselves be chewed up and spit out?" He rubbed his reattached finger.

  The maintenance bot's damage assessment grew along with the estimated cost of repair.

  "Ah, Mr. Wilkrest," Capt. Luck said tentatively as usual, "such activities and damages are beyond our agreement."

  "Actually they are not," Aristahl said. "Show them, would you, Barrister?"

  Barrister projected the charter contract before Chaetan and Capt. Luck, but not the siblings. A section highlighted, and Barrister read the passage.

  "That doesn't—" Chaetan started.

  "As you can see," Aristahl said, "'fair and just estimated compensation must be provided.'"

  Neither captain nor engineer were pleased. For the former, it was a coin issue. As for the latter, he rarely was pleased. The siblings were having an intense sub-whispered exchange, but looked up when Aristahl continued.

  "I have our next destination, but we must set off immediately."

  The location showed at their stations along with estimated course at Cranium's. He shook his head, no longer surprised at the mystic AI's ability to penetrate ship systems.

  "Don't need to be told how to do my job," the data rider grumbled. Then he noticed the destination. "Ugh, the radiated dustbin of the Asterfraeo?"

  "That place is almost as nowhere as here," the engineer said. "Don't you think we've done enough? We're likely persona non grata at Adams Rush, and the Roulette looks totaled." He walked to the big chair. "And captain, I shouldn't need to remind you about the rumors coming out of Gr'jot."

  The shrinking captain was about to fold when the bridge hatch opened. In trundled the cantankerous nurse.

  "What am I, a valet?" came Torious's idiosyncratic drone.

  The nurse held three stacks of metal ingots. The shape of negotiable platinum group metals was unmistakable. One stack was the gray of platinum, the next lustrous white palladium, and the last mirrored rhodium.

  The captain's eyes went wide, then flicked between the stacks of ingots and the climbing damage total on the display. The engineer could see indecision in the captain's expression.

  "Captain," the engineer implored, dragging the word out.

  The captain's eyes continued to flick, now adding Chaetan into the rotation. After two more laps his eyes settled on the ingots.

  "We literally can't afford to be hasty," Capt. Luck said finally. "The Roulette is going to need substantial repairs, and Mr. Wilkrest is living up to the contract."

  In truth if Capt. Luck spent even half of the hard coin Torious was holding on the Roulette, the launch would be in better shape than any on the bridge had ever seen. Undoubtedly, Capt. Luck was full of reservations, but he'd hitched his wagon to the strange old imprimatur and the high-paying gig. He was going to hold on tight with both hands for as long as his health, nerve, or crew allowed.

  "Cranium," the captain said, "best course and speed to Gr'jot if you please."

  The Hex was what many in the Asterfraeo called Perigeum territory. It was derived from the hexagonal logo representing the "Six Sisters." Earth and its first five colonies were the most powerful worlds in human space. The government they spawned, held together by egresses was history's largest.

  Planets actually vied for the next egress in earlier days, when travel between worlds meant months. Sharing the astronomical expense nearly or sometimes actually bankrupted a planet's economy. Though, as the network grew, all the early egressed planets multiplied their investment many times over. Commerce flourished with near instantaneous transit times.

  Traditional planets no longer buffered by relative isolation became cosmopolitan. Some thought it a cultural renaissance. Others thought it elitist rot. The majority didn't care and simply enjoyed the benefits. EpiVADs and cineVADs were distributed far and wide from major media enclaves on the Six Sisters. Thinking and attitudes grew homogeneous. Those who refused to take their cues from the expanding popular culture became increasingly ostracized.

  A new wave of outward migration was fueled by such cultural holdouts. Eventually, the Perigeum expanded into the first colonies they established, and ironically, many came to host an egress. Sometimes new generations called for it. Sometimes the Hex, growing hungrier for resources and fresh markets, played a more heavy-handed role. This was the case on a once distant, mineral-rich world that would birth the Sojourners.

  Established by independence-seeking deists who resisted popular culture, and joined by free spirits tired of governmental intrusion, the small colony on Numen was destined to become pivotal to humanity. It started with technological breakthroughs.

  A seventh platinum group metal aptly dubbed "numenium" was discovered. Perhaps that was why the founders of Numen chose the planet over less remote options. Although scientum scientists found few uses for numenium, it did greatly increase the efficiency of starkeels. MDHD drive became faster, forcing formerly remote worlds into neighborhoods. Numen's discovery led to the loss of its cherished solitude.

  The story of Numen became a clash of cultures resulting in war and eventually the founding of the Asterfraeo. One planet whose lineage traced back directly to Numen was orbited currently by a Perigeum Starmada task force. The object that force guarded wasn't so high that it couldn't be seen from the ground. Under the right conditions, its form could be seen, glinting reflected sunlight. A completed hexagon from the surface of Adams Rush, but Field Commander Pheron Xammetrix knew better.

  "Why's the wave test being delayed one hundred and fifty-one hours?"

  Pheron's command cruiser floated at the center of four squadrons, each populated with destroyers and frigates and deployed with care to guard the egress. Even the four superhaulers that delivered the final piece were conscripted. He parked them close, where their enormous, featureless bulk could act as a wall, cutting off more lanes of fire. Their length ever facing the Adams Rush Navy, they stood idling, burning expensive teslanium to make their civilian grade shields as hot as possible.

  Aetaire fingered VAD notices. He took a step closer. "It's a priority order that just came in by commship. No additional details."

  The buzz on the bridge grew louder each day. Pheron understood but didn't like it. His bridge crew had doubled to provide command support for not only the entirety of orbital defense and construction but also ground operations. On days when a commship arrived, its numerous dispatches caused even more frenetic activity.

  A sea of overlapping VADs floated before the field commander. Behind him a bitsmith lieutenant continued his feverish work. Some small success in restoring the task force's privacy had been achieved, but much that was deep and complex still needed rooting out.

  The Archivers wouldn't care for Pheron's meddling, but they would be more distressed at their intelligence gathering being exposed. It was supposed to secretly burst data to an Archiver ship, but with so much unusual mystic activity below, and perhaps an overzealous Archiver commodore above, the subtle had become obvious, even intrusive.

  A comm opened before the field commander. "Go ahead," he said.

  "I've managed to lock out another tap, sir," the pale bitsmith lieutenant said. "I'll need your command authorization to propagate it throughout the task force."

  The field commander didn't turn toward the lieutenant who was only a short distance behind him. He tapped his confirmation.

  "Sound buffers eighty percent." The loud buzz became background noise, and Pheron steepled his fingers to think, staring unfocused at the floating information. Every day brought new obstacles and complications. The compressed construc
tion time caused malfunctions, fatal accidents, and other unforeseen delays. Such incidents were becoming all too common, and now another capricious six days had been added. "List all egresses positioned for spatial sync in one hundred fifty-one hours," he commanded.

  His skin was grayer from weeks of strain, but his eyes remained sharp. They twinkled with ambition growing closer to fruition every day. No backwater planet was going to stop him. A short list of egresses and the worlds to which they were associated was displayed.

  "Of course." Pheron glared to his left, spying the notorious pest VAD. Its purple border mocked him. "Why did I even bother checking?" He wondered if the constant din was dulling his intuition. "Do you understand now, Aetaire?"

  Forty-one publicly known egresses spanned the Perigeum, and those well placed knew of the secret 42nd. Many things needed to align to open a quantum-entangled window between egresses. Gravitational interference, local system positioning, and sometimes even interstellar positioning had to be taken into account. And occasionally, an unknown factor, which scientists couldn't explain or predict, threw the proverbial wrench in the works.

  Aetaire read the list. "Oh, Numen."

  "Yes, Numen. Apparently our commodore inspector has issues as well."

  "Do they have enough influence to pull off this delay?" Aetaire looked around conspiratorially. Like most career military men, much about the Archivers made him uneasy.

  "It's just a wave test. Which egresses are matched matters little," Pheron said. "No matter is exchanged, no ships transited, though I wish some were. That eventuality will seal our victory."

  Aetaire appraised their successful maneuvering of the local situation. "We've sufficiently delayed their government re-seating. The election occurs just before full functionality. Growing opposition leaves little doubt they'll vote against member status."

  "Yes, but too late." Pheron sat back. "Even if they summon the Vallum Corps, the egress will open before they arrive. Adams Rush: Member World will be thoroughly reinforced. The new unlawful government will be dissolved, their vote nullified."

  "And if the Adams Rush Navy decides to act?"

  "They're short firepower. And that's assuming they have anyone to pull together their chaotic command." Pheron brought up estimated stats for the five dark frigates. For once the presence of formidable Archivers was working in his favor. "Whatever his intention, the commodore is of some use to us."

  "There's strange occurrences happening down there," Aetaire said carefully. "Ones usually, ah, curtailed by the Archivers."

  Events at a recent political rally ignited the bridge with activity and set the damnable purple VAD ablaze. The Legion lost twelve men that night.

  "I suspect that's an issue our dear allied commodore will have to explain." Pheron allowed himself a smile. "The Archivers have some patience for Starmada, but rumors say little for failure."

  For no discernible reason, burning pain sizzled in Kord's thigh, and not for the first time. He knew what was next and grabbed it with both hands in a vain attempt to steady himself. As predictable as orbits, violent spasms shook his leg for about 20 seconds. The pain diminished but didn't disappear.

  "Highearn," Kord said, exasperated, "there has to be something there!"

  "I'm sorry, sir," Highearn said. "I can find no physical cause for your pain."

  His hopes that something might be visible during an episode were dashed. He was doing everything but accepting the only conclusion left. He sat back, staring up through the high windows of the pigeon loft. The last of the day's fading light was mellow.

  "What about deep tissue?"

  "As I've said, sir, the nerves aren't sending pain signals. The logical conclusion is..." Highearn shuffled through numerous wordings seeking the most palatable one. "Something in your brain has been altered with negative consequences."

  Kord smirked. "So that's the best you came up with?"

  "Diplomacy isn't a skill-set you've needed from me. Nor have you purchased any external packages to broaden my capability."

  "How about a humor add-on?" Kord continued before his AI could answer. "What did I do to myself that night?"

  "Would you like me to play the recording again?"

  He had no memory of the fateful rally, only the morning before. And though he was apparently conscious about 24 hours after the incident, his memories didn't begin until twice as long as that.

  "No." Kord sighed. "I've seen it enough."

  He'd watched the recording many times from every angle Highearn could find. It was an awesome sight. The enemy's plainclothes scheme was routed, but at a cost.

  Alone, he sat back with his leg up on the console. Large VADs displayed feeds from safe houses across the planet. The citizenry of Adams Rush were well armed and well organized. Legion thuggery couldn't quash them, but that would change the day the hexagonal window in the sky opened.

  Higher VADs showed jumbles of ship symbols and space scenes. No matter how he interpreted it, the situation up there was bleak. A new government and the Vallum Corps were realistically the only things left to save them.

  One VAD showed the egress magnified from the ground. With the sun low, the sky around it was a deep, blue violet. The hexagon wavered with atmospheric distortion. He didn't want it corrected out by the AIs. He wanted to see it as everyone else did, gaping up, although the extra magnification made it dance more menacingly. The brightest stars shone dimly, and faint glints of reflected light moved slowly around it.

  "Well, father, what's your plan this time? I'm holding up my end." His leg went spastic again. It was annoying, painful, and random. "I know, I know." He stiffened his back in imitation. "'You have pushed your untrained mind to a place where few have gone; where only the Creator can roam with impunity.' Yeah, foolish me."

  Suddenly, he was aware of a presence. His body sprang to face the unknown intruder. With his chair tilted back and his leg up on the console, the action was more comical than professional. Still, he managed to get a firm grip on his grister before realizing who it was.

  "Vee! Do you have to do that?" He stabilized back into a sitting position. "Smelting Patram hush training!"

  Vittora stared from the open side of the loft. The Patram Guard trained silent movement. It was a throwback in a galaxy of sound dampening, seeker drones, and sniper rifles, but Patram was a traditional place. While the skill was of limited use, the discipline was of constant benefit. She approached, head shaking. Half of her face was re-covered in thick NuSkin, her eye patched. Her ruined jaw was immobilized, and her voice still synthesized from sub-whispers.

  "I heard your little soliloquy. Stow the drama, Shakespeare." It was the tough love approach. She never wanted him to go there, but could she have held back if he were being pounded? "An 'untrained' mind is not a weak one."

  Kord nodded with a subtle grin. Some things he and his father agreed upon. Mystic wouldn't be his destiny, but not because his mind was weak.

  Vittora put down the treaders she carried. Her outfit, as usual, was a variation of red. Today she'd programmed a gradation from no-hue gray at the bottom to a dull, deep russet at the top. A belt festooned with weapons and devices was slung temporarily over her shoulder like a bandolier. She was ready to strap it around her waist and leap into her treaders at a moment's notice.

  "You don't do mystic, and you were angry." She sat in his lap, careful to put her weight on his good leg. "Don't let one desperate move shadow your mind."

  She didn't say "mistake." They both knew the unplanned intervention saved them from Legion interrogation, or worse, with another more nefarious party following their every move.

  "Thanks." He kissed her undamaged cheek. "I'm worried, though, that I've endangered my father somehow, or our son." He examined the naval VAD, paying careful attention to six ships off to the side, notated in purple and reluctant to fit in with the rest of the P-stars. "They know it's me now."

  Vittora smiled wryly. "No one missed that display, gefera."

  It tugg
ed on Kord's heart to hear her use a term of endearment through synthesized voice and damaged face. He not only loved her, he appreciated her. She'd given her all for him and would do so again with little regard for her own safety. Fortunately, the movement was bigger than them now. Its momentum would go on whether they lived or not. But one enemy had a personal focus.

  "If they discover my line, it'll put a target on us." He grimaced. "And on Jordahk. They'll never stop digging."

  Vittora's genuine expression was contrasted by the entry of an artificial one. An official Perigeum news channel, forced into the Adams Rush media nexus, displayed a VAD of well-known Perigeum news personality Gaston Canterbury.

  "Let's hear it, Highearn," Kord said, and the audio kicked in.

  "—violent movement forcing what some say is an illegal recall election." Gaston Canterbury had a smooth, polished voice that made anything he said sound reasonable.

  The report showed rowdy protesters interspersed with orbital shots of explosions, and finally the aftermath of Kord's last rally. The Legion involvement was, of course, not mentioned.

  Gaston Canterbury wore simple dark business wear, likely to ensure nothing distracted from his chiseled features, perfect hair, and piercing eyes.

  "Perigeum officials are doing everything they can to accelerate egress completion. They estimate first sync will not occur until a week after this questionable election. Adams Rush officials told me anonymously they're concerned about safety and stability in this moment of crisis."

  Kord sighed. "Here it comes."

  Gaston's delivery sounded heartfelt. "I've been assured the first thing through the egress will be an administrative delegation. Its sole goal to ensure any so-called new local government lives up to the ideals of the Perigeum for which the people have already voted."

  "That's enough, Highearn." Kord eyed his wife, then stared into some unknown distance. "The Vallum Corps won't make it. There are things we cannot let fall into Archiver hands."

  Vittora held up her hand in pause. She sub-whispered. A VAD ran through a long checklist of security sweeps. Burst transmitters, ultra low frequency detectors, micro eyes, and more were sought. Kord wondered what had made his wife so suspicious inside old Isadore's pigeon loft. When it finished, she made a final observation with her one good eye.