Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star Read online

  The weight of Kord's cradled sheller comforted him. There would be a fighting chance this time against slags. He crept forward, Vittora's squadron of espies out front listening and sniffing. The cabin was the only domicile in the area.

  He edged into line of sight. "I'm there."

  "Okay, setting the sniper gun and automount," Vittora transmitted. "I've pulsed the foliage and can get solutions on the stream-side yard."

  Vittora was going to try her hand at remote sniping. No absolutely safe way for her to cover him existed, but at least this method only exposed her gun. Kord chuckled, noting his concern wasn't for personal safety, despite being the point of the spear. It was a good feeling having that woman at his back. Those who didn't respect her out in the field would get the last shock of their lives.

  At first glance, the cabin was undisturbed, but he didn't have a butler AI to query for confirmation. It was intentionally low tech, standing upon a rocky hillock above a nearby stream. The trees surrounded the wedge-shaped structure. The only long range, unobstructed line of sight onto its earth-toned, wood slurry construction was over the stream bed. Far back along it, Vittora set up.

  Kord enjoyed many a night listening to the water coursing over the rock. This portion of the valley was quite rocky, and topsoil was thin where the cabin stood. The vault he never opened was created in the rock below, undetectable unless probed for seriously, or so he'd been told.

  "Going in. Don't know how long it's going to take."

  The clock was ticking. Kord was amused by that thought. He'd never owned a ticking clock.

  The Adams Rush Navy elements still willing to fight were out of time. His contacts said they were about to make a final, desperate, and likely suicidal push. Governmental disarray left some ships refusing to participate until the Vallum Corps arrived. The Corps would never come, though, once the egress opened, and everyone knew it. The Perigeum's First Fleet was the largest standing flotilla in human space.

  After a surreptitious approach, Kord deactivated a series of tactile biometric locks with active password gates. He was relieved at the undisturbed, slightly musty interior. The cleaning systems could handle that, though he activated nothing. Plenty of light came through the one-way windows. He used it to clear furniture from the center of the great room. He ran a contact command through the semi-soft floor tiles, and they rolled away, exposing smooth naked rock.

  Kord palmed it. Concentrating hard, he focused downward. Nothing.

  "I'm a scientum guy, damn it."

  "Having trouble with it?" came Vittora's synthesized voice.

  "Having trouble finding it."

  "You're of the line, gefera. Aristahl said it can't deny you. And don't curse."

  He smiled at her chide, and some of his tension broke.

  Refocusing deeper into the rock, he still came up with nothing and hope diminished. Maybe his father was wrong and it wasn't there. Had Aristahl ever opened it? Finally, after moving down through what felt like a good portion of the planet's crust, he came upon the faintest sensation. Sweating, he poured his mental energy into that spot. After a long moment, it became active. It "looked" back, measuring him to the infinitesimal.

  Kord held fast, bolstered by desperation and the few lessons taught by his father so long ago, things learned but never used. Well, almost never. He felt as though he were battling something unseen. He had to win or this mission was going nowhere. No one else remained to fight it, and no one else could fight it. His son Stannis refused involvement in such "adventures." On Patram, he was a rising star as a medical imprimatur.

  Then there was Jordahk, earnest Jordahk. He would pound his head against this stone floor until it bled if he thought it would save them. He was naïve and untrained, but he had a heart the size of a moon. Though he had great potential, right now he would just end up with a bloody head, and the vault would still remain closed.

  Kord shut his eyes tighter. This was mostly about technique. His lacked all finesse, but he knew what to do. Yet when a circle of light two meters wide materialized on the stone floor, he was surprised. Stepping back, the outline became a stone pillar rising into the room just higher than he could reach. He sighed, pleased at his success. It wasn't overly taxing, but it was complicated.

  A gold panel was embedded into stone so smooth it felt silky as skin, as if split at a molecular level. The gold meant Sojourner level activation was needed. He didn't need to be a relic hunter like Jordahk to know that. Kord had no allusions to being Sojourner level, but technically speaking, he met the bloodline requirements.

  "I've raised a gold panel, Vee."

  "Watch yourself," came her delayed response.

  "I don't know what it's going to do. Anything out there?"

  Vittora didn't want to alarm her husband, or conceal information. "One of the sniffers picked up a trace. It could be old."

  "That crazed Archiver will show up soon, or after the egress syncs. It's just a matter of time."

  Touching the golden panel, Kord felt a low-level current pass through his hand. The lock was something like a puzzle combined with a maze. With difficulty, he mentally touched seven things at once. Another ring of light etched the floor two meters farther out. The stone it outlined didn't rumble or even vibrate as it rose. He stepped off as it encompassed the first column.

  When it stopped, glowing runes moved across its surface and counter-rotated on the floor. The room filled with flickering golden light, stunning if there were time to appreciate it.

  "Sojourner runes—I'm really not good with these. Highearn, let's see what you make of them." Kord went through a quick series of authorizations, unlocking a set of files so scrambled and disparate that the AI couldn't assemble them otherwise. Even with information provided by Aristahl, deciphering a rune lock was difficult for a select few, and almost impossible for anyone else.

  Understanding them was like completing a scavenger hunt. Date and family information altered the solution so that it was never the same twice. He knelt to decipher the runes while Highearn projected possible solutions. Some audio noise came over the comm.

  "This might take a little while," Kord said. "What's the status out there?"

  Vittora did not answer. Unease built within him. More noise came through.

  "We just lost some espies in the chain," she said finally. Though synthesized, her words expressed disappointment. "We have company."

  Kord stood like a shot, took two steps toward the door, and froze. He turned back to the runes. The twinkling light played across his face. He knew what he had to do, and it tore him up inside.

  "Stay on it," Vittora said. This time if she was on the run, the synthesized voice covered it up. "You know what we came here to do, what we have to do. You're the only one who can do it."

  The world was crashing in on them. Kord wasn't the type to crumble under pressure, but had the price ever been so high? With an effort of will, he knelt by the runes.

  "Hurry," came over the comm. "I'll hold them off—as long as I can."

  He heard Vittora's resignation even through artificial translation. With renewed vigor, he placed his hand on the first rune of the unlock sequence. It flickered under his touch, and the floor hummed.

  That was when every combat system in Kord's armor went active, and the cabin roof erupted in balls of yellow heat.

  How many plans had he reviewed? Fifty? A hundred? And those were just the best distilled from thousands the AIs had crunched. Yet in the end, Jordahk determined they all sucked hydrogen—just to varying extents.

  Glick and Cranium joined him with surprising enthusiasm. Something had happened at Gr'jot, galvanizing them to a new cause, and to his side. It was like they were fighting for Raetia, this time to see that victory was more than hollow. They didn't drop their "for hire" ways completely, of course. Jordahk was pretty sure Aristahl had offered them a cut of Gr'jot profits if they saw this through to the end.

  But it wasn't just that. Cranium was alive with thresh-like purpose
and fire. He worked multiple scenarios like a championship coach. He scanned run-through after run-through watching for patterns.

  Glick stepped up officially to second-in-command of the Monte Crest. The captain chose not to fight the help he needed. The only chance to reverse his weakening state, and live to healthy tranquilatem, was a mystic ravelen. He was promised one by Aristahl should this cockamamie mission succeed. Chaetan wasn't out of the picture legally considering his shares, but mentally, he was checked out, only slowly coming back from the breakdown.

  The "Security and Procurements" specialist had a tough but fair leadership style that the crew respected. Her stern command persona softened, though, when interacting with Jordahk. It made his stomach quiver, so he avoided indulging that line of thought. It could wait until the mission was over.

  They crept back into Adams Rush through the back door slice of space still under local control. Jurisdiction authorities were a hodgepodge of civilian law enforcement, Adams Rush Orbital, and captain-level Navy commanders officially designated "renegade." In other words, it was a mess.

  Jordahk plunged into the disparate factions trying to push his plan. Fortunately, Adams Rush eschewed large, impersonal, centralized government. Civilian solutions remained an important part of the culture, at least until recent years. So it was possible for a local family of good reputation to be heard.

  Realistically speaking though, what had Jordahk collected to convince anyone he could do this? The dysfunctional crew of a gray-market cargo ship, a few mystic artifacts whose potential no one could feel or trust, and some letters of recommendation from Aristahl.

  His grandfather had placed within Max a series of messages the content of which Jordahk didn't know. Upon arrival they were sent out across Adams Rush through a variety of secretive means. Hopefully they would bear fruit, because Jordahk was hitting a wall, almost literally.

  He was wedged into a conference room aboard Kite Station with Cranium and Glick. It was packed with eclectic groups representing everything from major freight lines to interstellar military supply contractors, even a lawyer representing the Consortium. Mobsters on Adams Rush? Local government players were present, of course. As was a rather harried Adams Rush Navy captain. And representing Orbital was none other than Durn Stobahn.

  The last time Jordahk had seen that character was the crazy trip out when the controller was about to burst a blood vessel. He relished his appointed power, at least outwardly. But in his small eyes was a flicker of fear. Jordahk recognized it, because he'd experienced it also, the fear of not living up to the task. He was honest about it and relied heavily on those he could trust. Self-serving Durn Stobahn trusted no one.

  Durn tried to have Jordahk arrested, but the departure stir was overshadowed by the current threat. Fortunately, common sense prevailed enough to prevent such frivolousness. The dismissed charges fueled Durn's dislike of all things Wilkrest. Animosity grew more with each listening ear Jordahk received from factions still willing to act.

  One wall of the busy room was composed of crystal panes overlooking crowded orbital space. The remaining active three were covered with various plans and projections. Cranium, sly wag that he was, took over the conference room's central VAD projector and claimed the entire ceiling for their proposals. He and Ralston guarded the room's system from sabotage by the less scrupulous.

  Everyone talked in knots trying to come to a final decision. Not enough hours or resources were left to spend their dwindling time uncoordinated.

  "I don't think your buddy Durn even cares if we pull this off," Glick said. "He seems more concerned about his precious facilities and ingratiating himself to the victor."

  "He's got a bunch of sellout government types supporting him," Jordahk said. "It's going to take years to weed out all those infra-dolts."

  "And that Navy captain's in over his head," Cranium said. He worked on a VAD. "I'm no military expert, but I know disorganization. Your government crisis has yielded a command crisis."

  Jordahk agreed sadly. "Even coordinated, the military barely has enough to engage the P-stars, forget taking out the egress."

  "But they're not coordinated," Glick said, "and that Durn guy apparently represents a lot of people ready to capitulate. This is a waste."

  "Aristahl anticipated this," Max interjected. "I sent a lot of messages when we got here. Communications are a mess, but I believe one has borne fruit."

  "What is it?" Jordahk asked.

  "Just keep them from doing anything rash for another couple minutes."

  Jordahk was about to press further when Durn took the floor. His attitude was unchanged from that expressed months before to Aristahl, although he was more haggard. His teeth still had the gray tint of heavy stimgar use. His clothing ensemble strived for trendiness but was ten years out of date. It was one thing to disregard trends, Aristahl did that, and Jordahk followed suit, but it was another to try halfheartedly and miss.

  "We can't come up with a consensus, and there's little time." Durn said. Behind him a cabal nodded. "We have much invested in our infrastructure and don't want to see it destroyed on an expensive, pointless charge."

  A murmur of grudging assent went through the crowded chamber. Jordahk's eyes met those of the harried naval captain. He shrugged in frustration. Their best plan projected across the ceiling was a more distant fantasy than ever. Suddenly, the details began dropping out, the entirety of it flickering.

  "Someone's trying to hack it down," Cranium said as his hands danced. "Come on, Ralston."

  "It's the group behind that Stobahn character," Max said. "Their combined efforts have a lot of punch."

  "Wixom!" Jordahk's call elicited no response. "Drax! Max get in there and see what you can do."

  "We're losing," Cranium said.

  "Max," Jordahk implored.

  "He's here," the AI answered.

  Jordahk's mouth was just forming the word "who" when the entry hatch opened and a champion walked in.

  Ferric Marculus was to everyone who knew of him the "Iron Commander." That was how he'd already gone down in history records. One of the few surviving military legends from the Sojourners' Crusade, he served an emeritus role well into his tranquilatem years. Apparently, those years were extending beyond the norm.

  The crowd parted before the old man as he ambled to the central table. Jordahk felt a familiar tingle, and the hacking stopped immediately. A knot of younger people behind Durn Stobahn became vexed. One banged his ring on a chair. Apparently even Wixom knew of the Iron Commander.

  "Nice of you to participate," Jordahk sub-whispered. He didn't expect, nor did he get a response from the taciturn AI.

  Ferric Marculus was old but not sick. Often those fortunate enough to reach his age just keeled over unexpectedly one day or passed in their sleep. At some point even organ replacements lost efficaciousness, and the body was truly ready to die of old age.

  Telltale idiosyncrasies in his stride and inconspicuous bulges within his uniform indicated he wore an armature suit. He positioned himself at the focal point of the room. The harried captain, representing the navy faction still willing to act, moved quickly to his side, chest bulging with pride.

  Jordahk nodded in understanding. His grandfather knew how to call in a favor.

  Durn Stobahn and his cronies took a step back as the Iron Commander's eyes swept the room in a slow arc. He paused briefly upon meeting Jordahk's. While the man was no longer able to walk comfortably without aid, that glimpse left no doubt his mind was still sharp. On the chest of his uniform, a small, colorful VAD displayed his military confetti. Details were there for any AI to query. Jordahk knew the result would show impressive actions dating back two centuries.

  "Run it again," Ferric said. His airy voice was amplified and filled in. Facing up caused his prominent cheekbones to shine.

  Cranium ran the latest plan again. Assets, arrows, responses, and counter-responses danced across the ceiling. The crowded cabin was silent as the Iron Commander watche
d, rubbing his thinning white hair.

  "General," Durn Stobahn said. Ferric raised one eyebrow, and a murmur went through the crowd at the faux pas. "Admiral," Durn Stobahn corrected—incorrectly. Ferric's other eyebrow raised, and the murmurs continued. Apparently, Durn Stobahn wasn't up on his history. Neither had his AI informed him that the war hero refused to be addressed by any rank above commander.

  Durn Stobahn chose to skip the issue altogether. "We have an extensive network of orbital facilities risked by this boy's plan. Additionally, battlestation Morris, recently upgraded at considerable cost, is likely to suffer significant damage."

  "And you are?" Ferric asked tiredly.

  "I represent Orbital and also speak for a number of major interests. I'm also charged with carrying out measures recently passed by our government."

  The room erupted in fractious chatter before dying down again when the old man raised his hand.

  "Was not that administration, ah, recalled?"

  "You mean 'usurped.' This goes against duly passed measures by a government of the citizenry." A wedge of assenting crowd formed behind Durn Stobahn. "It'll take us decades to replace what this proposal risks." It was unclear whom he meant by "us."

  Entrenched bureaucracy existed even within the austere government of Adams Rush. Orbital was a long way from the growing movement below. Jordahk had little doubt what the majority thought, demonstrated by the unprecedented assembly recall. No doubt his father played a hand in that. Thank God his parents had survived that first night. Wherever they found themselves now, he hoped they were safe.

  Proposals under consideration ranged from suicidal ram attacks to Durn's favorite, doing nothing. For security reasons, Max insisted they show no details about the final insertion of Jordahk's team. Too many people like Durn were present who couldn't be trusted. Their plan relied ultimately on unproven means. It was improbable, but it was the only plan with a chance to make a difference.

  "I note the last part of your operation is... thin," the Iron Commander said to Jordahk. "You say you have a device that could possibly blow out some of the egress's breakers, temporarily interfering with sync."