Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star Page 41

  A small circle of distortion developed on the chamber ceiling. It wavered like an agitated pool before calming into the dappled image of the space beyond. They closed on the chaos of ships and explosions. In the distance, the egress shimmered with reflected light. A line of satellites was heading straight for it, and they occupied the last.

  The satellite closest to the egress exploded, then the next closest and on down the line. In seconds, a half dozen satellites were blown to expanding pieces. That was faster than they anticipated.

  "Oh God, I'm about to get spaced," Cranium said.

  "Stay Kelvin," Jordahk said through gritted teeth.

  "Hang on," Max said.

  Jordahk widened the helmet's field. Everything went white. He felt flattened. A wave of nausea hit, and he forced it back down. Then, against his will, he coughed. Bile splattered his helmet and ran down his chin. Max was already on it, dispatching the suit's bluepebbles. The tiny marbles rolled over the helmet's interior surfaces, passing over the crystal panes and Jordahk's chin, cleaning the spittle without even slowing. The matte blue devices, standard equipment on all types of environment suits, were designed to be ignored. Jordahk focused instead on the colorful chaos as the shock of their explosive launch faded. Small bits of debris clinked off his helmet as, locked together, they flew up through the expanding gases of destroyed satellites.

  Off to the side, beyond the violet crescent of Adams Rush, thin lines of pinkish light arced subtly over atmosphere. Teleforce beams lanced into Perigeum units right above them. Some missed, fading into space beyond. Many impacted ships, causing flares.

  Particle trails from hyper-accelerated rocks streaked past. Fired into shields, they caused great splashes of plasma to rainbow blossom into space. Strikes were especially devastating following the destabilizing impact of a T-beam. The current tide of technology favored maneuverability as the best defense. Smaller, more agile ships made up the bulk of most modern starmadas.

  Tactically, the P-stars were constrained, needing to cover the egress. Their ships performed intricate dances, switching and covering for each other within limited formations. The firepower advantage belonged to them, though, and they dished it out greater than they received.

  Behind them, the egress floated untouched, its fusion-powered plasma shields hot enough to withstand terrific bombardment. But that energy would soon be diverted for syncing, although even without shields, an egress's granix exterior was impenetrably thick.

  Considering their formerly disorganized and currently out-gunned state, the locals were holding their own. Still, it was clear the Adams Rush Navy wasn't going to stop the egress from opening.

  Cranium's eyes were closed in unconsciousness. Jordahk's no-suit protected him better from their planned satellite demolition. Being shot like debris toward the egress in the middle of this cacophony was a good plan, as long as one survived the "being shot" part.

  Glick's fluttering eyes rolled back into place. "Ralston, how's my brother?"

  "Only blacked out. No permanent damage. I estimate consciousness in about a minute."

  Closing on the egress brought them closer to the exchanged fire. The Iron Commander knew of their ballistic course and kept the corridor clear, but it couldn't be obvious.

  "Max, can you show me enhancements of our fleet disposition?"

  Jordahk had taken his rets out in preparation for the high G launch, so Max placed icons on the crystal panes. Although the Adams Rush ships weren't visible to the naked eye in this extended range duel, it was from their icons that all the incoming fire spawned. A light flared, and one of the clustered icons disappeared.

  "What was that?"

  "I believe one of the Hodges orbital farms," Max said.

  Hodges was one of the old Adams Rush agricultural families. Either they were patriotic or unlucky.

  "The local forces are outgunned," Max said, his experience with OttoGen coming through. "So they're ducking in and out from behind the Morris battlestation. Altering its orbit to approach the egress probably came as no surprise to the P-star field marshal. But even its shields won't hold up long against focused fire."

  Another icon moved in front of the battlestation.

  "Apparently the Iron Commander is sacrificing orbital facilities as shields," Max continued. "The battlestation is lasting longer than we hoped, allowing the Adams Rush Navy to press."

  "That sounds like the Iron Commander from the history records," Jordahk said. "Utilizing everything around him to accomplish victory."

  "Is that what you're doing?" Glick asked.

  Her tone wasn't accusatory; she just wanted to know the truth. Still the question took Jordahk aback, and he paused to think about it.

  "I never assumed." He looked down. "You guys are... my friends. And despite what you say, you're not doing this just for the coin."

  Glick gave him a grudging nod. "I just wanted to hear you say it." Then she winked at him.

  Cranium came to. "Wha?" His eyes opened wide. "We're alive." Moving his head in an arc, he surveyed the vista.

  "Thanks for the newsVAD, Clutch. Perhaps you have something more relevant to add?"

  "I think the fact that we're alive is relevant." Indicators flashed on his helmet panes, and he sub-whispered commands to Ralston.

  Jordahk marveled at how the data rider used his skill to cope. In some way it made flying ballistic in a spacesuit through a fleet battle just another problem to solve.

  Above them, a P-star destroyer received a couple of direct hits. Prismatic prominences of plasma arced into space. A stout, hard-angled frigate moved quickly to cover while the destroyer pivoted to present its undamaged side. If that was the best Adams Rush forces could do, it wasn't going to be enough. The P-stars were expending magazines and exhausting every bit of current, because they knew reinforcements would arrive soon. The offensive fusillade they put out didn't allow concentrated return fire.

  Since the three of them were running without synthsound, it all played out in eerie, majestic silence. The kaleidoscopic view wavered as seen from inside the field generated by the old mystic helmet.

  "Are you sure that thing's working right?" Glick asked.

  "They haven't shot us yet," Jordahk answered. More gallows humor comfort. "Even if they pick up a trace, they'll assume it's satellite debris. From outside they shouldn't even see distortion as long as we don't move too much or generate excessive energy."

  "Yeah, about that," Cranium said. "Our trajectory's a little off."

  Jordahk and Glick both faced up. Now that their attention was called to it, they noticed the egress growing slightly off-center.

  "Clutch!"

  "Hey, we had to take a few guesses. Veritas, adam, I think we did pretty well."

  "How bad is it?" Jordahk asked.

  Cranium let out a breath, which they heard over the comm. "We're going to have to make a course correction. The sooner we make it, the less noticeable it will be."

  Nothing could be done about it. "Okay, Max, calculate a running solution." Jordahk looked up at the P-stars and the closing egress. "Wait for it."

  They waited. Five seconds. Then ten.

  Jordahk believed the Iron Commander would come through. He had to. "Come on." A hypergun particle trail entered the tableau and stretched into the side of a nearby frigate. A rainbow ring of displaced plasma expanded spectacularly. "Go now!"

  Jet packs fired staccato bursts. The three, locked-together, changed course just slightly. Cranium let out a sigh.

  Glick caught Jordahk's eye. "What do you have in mind for our next date? Sparring with Hektors in a fusion reactor?"

  Vittora ran from the stream back into the woods. Her last shot was pretty good under the circumstances, but pausing to admire it would be fatal. She funneled intense concern for her husband into action, praying her intervention bought him the seconds needed.

  "Two incoming," her AI said.

  Over the stream, seeker drone trajectories were highlighted on her rets. She flipped t
he powerful rifle onto her back, its friction grabs coded to her flowing coat, holding it fast. She mantled over shoulder-high rocks, dashing behind the first layer of trees. She moved with the effortless grace of long training, despite ugly temporary repairs.

  "Two additional following. Similar trajectories," her AI said.

  Going to grister, Vittora was pleased the heat was off her husband. She would do it a thousand times. Patram infantry training blazed through her mind. With ret vectors, her grister's smart barrel, and a little luck, she might live through the next 10 seconds.

  The single arc of a bracer wouldn't save her from multiples. She ran into a dense knot of woods. The first two seeker drones leaped out of the stream bed before she expected. They traced a crazy pattern toward her through more trees than necessary. It was strange, but she accepted the gift. She pointed in from behind a tree that seemed woefully thin. The rocket hiss grew louder.

  "Projections." Her practiced calm was unbroken.

  Four red circles moved on her rets. The lead two spawned probability cones. One closed in straightforward fashion, the other chaotic. Probability vectors for the first merged at a convergence of trees. Vittora depressed the trigger studs and concentrated, filling a spot of air with ammo nuts. The seeker drone ran right into them and exploded. Foliage cracked and tore. She lost track of the second during the blast.

  Head swiveling and coiled to leap, her AI indicated incoming from above, atypical for seeker drones in this situation. She smart barrel fired upward without aiming, scrambling around the tree. The drone was forced to adjust. When she did aim, her AI showed a narrow probability cone that she filled with fire. Shrapnel rained out of a thunderous flash, slamming into her armored clothes as she turned away.

  Time was too short to even check the injuries. It wouldn't matter for long if she couldn't move. On instinct, she sprinted toward the water. Something was strange about the seeker drones' patterns. She looked toward the cabin and saw the two remaining seeker drones blast out of the stream bed into the woods.

  "What?"

  It didn't make sense. Seeker drones were all about efficiency. They should have carried on in the unencumbered, non-wooded channel.

  Vittora stopped at the edge of the trees bordering the stream, keeping her back to the water. She drew a bead on the seeker drones fighting their way through the foliage. The two split, coming in from opposite directions.

  These two had learned from the first pair. She didn't think she could shoot both. Stepping into an open area, she pulled the coat over her head. Armor and equipment had been difficult to obtain. Getting that sniper gun amidst all the Legion interference was lucky. She held her bracer behind and in front started blasting one-handed along every ret vector. Her husband was the pistol expert, but she made up for it by emptying the first magazine and burning through most of the second.

  She caught the front seeker drone on the edge, damaging its ability to maneuver. It plowed into a tree, felling it with a muffled explosion.

  "Arcing," her AI said.

  Vittora didn't even have a scutum. If the seeker drone detonated much of its directional charge, her armored coat might not be enough. Her arm shuddered as the bracer arced. A flash penetrated her eyelid, and she was slammed in the back. Staggering forward but refusing to go down, she fell to one knee.

  Her undamaged eye opened to sunset reflecting off the stream. An idea was trying to form, something she should realize. Her AI registered a strange, surprise burst of static. A compressed message from Aristahl through Max.

  "We're off nexus," she sub-whispered. "Where did this come from?"

  "Someone piggybacked it to us," her AI said.

  The short message was forwarded automatically to Kord. Listening to it, she only had time to synthesize aloud, "Jordahk's back!"

  In a rush, the nagging thought crystallized. She leaped behind the nearest tree, putting it between her and the sunset reflections. Barely a second later, an explosive pop and a sphere of hardening foam expanded where she'd stood. It splattered the side of the trunk.

  Of course. The seeker drones avoided this area because of coded friend or foe bursts. An enemy was closing from across the stream, one who had just unwittingly passed a message to her.

  "I'm cutting off your communications," came a familiar amplified voice.

  "You!" Recognition came as a blow, yet somehow didn't surprise her.

  "If you surrender, I won't have to kill you."

  "The unit you moved forward has been destroyed," Auscultare said.

  "No drak, slave," the red-faced man spat.

  The AI was learning every day how to interact better with the commodore, in this case replacing "charged in" with "moved forward." Their opponents were surprisingly formidable, and the commodore's limited resources—along with his patience—were dwindling. His insistence on absolute secrecy made force-gathering difficult. He didn't trust Legion or Starmada. He barely trusted the other Archivers, whose highly automated frigates had little to offer anyway. The Archiver squadron wasn't fitted for ground combat outside of what Auscultare carried.

  "Shall I recall the owl to fire upon the structure?"

  "I want secrets, dolt, not ashes," the commodore said. "Just get our last slags here ASAP."

  Auscultare managed to construct, with stores and procured parts, a handful of minimally acceptable combat bots. Two had been stationed near another cabin. Their informant had been unsure which one was most likely.

  "The command bot's nearby. I can recall, although it and our informant have engaged the secondary target." Considerable resources had been spent repairing the command bot after its protection duty performance.

  Auscultare displayed visuals of the half destroyed cabin, which lay beyond a short span of trees. The two engaging bots launched seeker drones, which zigged up and zagged down into the roofless structure. Auscultare produced top-down images for the commodore from an espy far overhead. Their target leaped into the cylindrical structure, the final portion of which they watched emerge from the ground.

  "I don't want this one getting away again. He's pinned down. Just get me the slags and envelop this place. Interval our fire to keep him down." The commodore scowled down at the carbon scored utility bot next to him. "And get this idiotic lump out there replenishing seeker drones."

  Auscultare was running the old command bot's programming in emulation. While not 100 percent accurate, it was sufficient for this limited engagement. The bots performed common combat duties with little tactical oversight. Seeing to the commodore's well-being was still Auscultare's primary duty, even while the space battle raged around him.

  Though the AI continued to sense something broken in its thinking, no flaw was found. Only two pressuring spikes that didn't inhibit his bandwidth. He had more than enough capacity to watch over the commodore and participate in the task force maneuvers.

  "Move it, lump," the commodore said to the low utility bot. It trundled forward on treads. The commodore stayed back out of immediate harm. In the clearing, one of the combat bots launched another seeker drone up and into the structure. "That's right, keep him down."

  Suddenly Auscultare detected an anomaly. He was monitoring fleetnet and hundreds of eyes from all over the engagement. Though the elements of battle were chaotic, each had a cause that could be calculated directly or surmised with reasonable probability. Auscultare knew the goal of the local forces was to stop the egress from syncing, so he paid special attention to its area. Near the giant hexagon, a faint indication of non-natural movement was detected.

  Even a mystic AI wasn't so presumptuous to think it could track everything in such a battle. The blip was short-lived, and subsequent scans showed nothing. Why would an errant piece of debris from a series of destroyed satellites change course? If it was a chunk that abruptly out-gassed trapped propellant, where was it now?

  Auscultare ran a calculation based on practically nothing, yet came up with a trajectory intersecting the egress, a trajectory with apparently noth
ing on it. He contacted the mystic AI running the egress. Such AIs could perform the tremendous calculations necessary for syncing. Auscultare heard them referred to as "snooty." They isolated their machines rigorously, letting nothing interfere with their complex entanglement calculations.

  A terse "all systems green" response was returned. Auscultare was just a lowly ship AI after all, despite being another mystic thinker. Also added cryptically was a refusal of further communications from a "coerced AI."

  "Commodore, I detected an anomaly near the egress. It's likely nothing, but I don't think anyone else has seen it. I'd like to share it with the fleet AI as a precaution."

  "The field commander?" The commodore made an exaggerated exhalation sound. "We don't owe that faux."

  A series of quadnapses fired of their own accord in Auscultare's brain. "I believe my master would put the safety of the egress and your pursuits on equal footing."

  The commodore blanched at the mention of the Dragon. "Fine," he barked, "send the feed, but don't interact."

  "Commodore, am I a coerced AI?"

  "What? Who told you that?"

  "The egress AI."

  The commodore let out a spurt of profanity. "Focus, Auscultare. Just do your job and don't bother me with anymore drak. Where are those slags?"

  A strange sound emanated from the clearing, like fans but more intense. A glowing object with a glittering trail darted from the cabin. The two combat bots determined it a threat and shot with inhuman accuracy. Although it was elusive, they connected twice. Still, it traveled to the center of the clearing and detonated.

  Rays of pure white light birthed a sparkling sphere. It expanded to cover the cabin and then the entire clearing. Auscultare lost all telemetry from within.

  Pheron's bridge was more controlled intensity than chaos. VADs floated above stations on the large chamber's tiered levels. Officers interpreted orders and plotted strategies with AIs, a constant stream of chatter muffled by sound buffers. On the uppermost tier was the big chair. In it, Pheron stared at the large, trimensional tactical VAD with steepled fingers.