Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star Page 43

  Though Wixom wasn't talking to him, Jordahk sensed his struggle to keep them hidden. The odd helmet had limitations and wouldn't hold up to active scrutiny.

  "They're scanning us," Max said. "Full-spectrum and some other stuff. Looks like the helmet's taking care of it, but at this range I think the anomalous bounce-backs will be suspicious. They don't see us, but there's something strange here."

  Finally, the access panel below them opened a crack, closed, and repeated the process.

  "I'm close," the octal said.

  The pseudo-vibration hit Jordahk again, followed by a wave of nausea. It was different from the motion sickness that plagued him. Beyond the centerline through the egress hole, space became hazy. He swallowed, floating just a few meters from a giant window about to span light years.

  The two Legion suits brought the frame to a halt next to the far panel's cleaning bot.

  "They're checking on the maintenance activity," Max said.

  Suddenly, space went white. The cold plasma on their suits glowed blue as it protected them from a wave of energetic particles.

  The no-suit's crystal panes darkened briefly to protect Jordahk's vision. As the wave passed, the view across the centerline showed different space. Warships were lined up in the distance, framed by a beautiful blue-green planet. Above them, shone a large, gray resplendent moon. It was the most famous, most important planet in history.

  "Time's up."

  Vittora did not hate. She knew Kord loved that about her. She took few things personally and resented no one. The energy many put into such negativity, she applied to everything else in life, adding to her mental and even physical strength. But God could hate evil, and she felt a righteous indignation building.

  Had the traitor caused deaths within the movement already? What of Solia? And to betray one's comrade, her husband, for personal gain...

  "I've admired you for a long time," came Ermine's amplified voice from across the stream. "Killing you would be an awful waste."

  Peripheral movement caught her eye. Downstream, a combat bot bounded across, armed with a foamer.

  "My friends just want a few answers," Ermine continued. "Then they'll release you to me, with perhaps a touch of your fire removed. We'll start a new life in the hex."

  A splash of disgust added to her now firmly ensconced righteous indignation. She knew she was going to kill him, and that he deserved it, that it was better than what he had in mind for her.

  The almost constant pain from her face and head wounds receded. She coiled to leap, but her foot refused to move. It was encased in foam. Vittora didn't have solvent for such things, nor a monomer knife. Looking at her nearly depleted grister, the only other solution that came to mind wasn't appealing. With only slight hesitation, she took careful aim, and fired.

  The foam broke apart in sections like stone. The third shot freed her but deflected an ammo nut through her treader. She winced at the pain traveling up her leg. She needed to run, so she sub-whispered to divert blood micros for numbing. Directly, her other pains returned.

  A long burp of pops preceded more foam splattering and hardening against the tree. Ermine didn't know her status and was likely being careful. He could set the pellets to detonate on her side of the tree, but that risked smothering her, and wasn't necessary with a bot flanking her.

  "I have enough ammo to cover a hectare," Ermine said. "Must we carry on?" He needed only to keep her pinned down.

  The genesis of an idea sparked in Vittora's mind. She holstered the grister and pulled the scout rifle off her back. When Ermine paused, she dashed off painfully toward the combat bot.

  Foamer pellets didn't penetrate foliage well, so she kept as much of it between her and the traitor as possible. Foam splattered around her as pellets broke prematurely on heavy branches. She paused at a sturdy, forked trunk. Glancing through the "V," she glimpsed Ermine closing behind some rocks. He was smart to stay behind cover. Her AI echolocated the bot as pellets slammed into the tree, washing foam through the fork. Some hardened on her coat as she hastened closer to the combat machine.

  The traitor kept up as a dip and rise came into view. That was what she needed. With a leap and a slide, she came to a stop in the dip. Stripping off her coat, she peeked for a split second and caught sight of Ermine's position. He was shooting. With no foliage to stop them, the smart pellets detonated above her, slamming foam onto her upheld coat. It hardened. She didn't have a scutum, so her coat-shaped shield would have to do.

  Vittora crawled to a boulder, making a lean-to with her hardened coat. She squeezed off shots in the direction of the bot. It had two clean approaches, and she was counting on one, so she fired at the other.

  She ducked at the sound of popping. Ermine was detonating pellets past her position. Foamer pellets didn't work well that way, and could only spray minimal foam backwards against the momentum of the shot. The rise past her was getting covered.

  The nearby bot undoubtedly was ordered to take her alive. Otherwise fire would already be incoming. She caught sight of it and fired twice more. The blur streaks missed, but they changed the bot's approach. She recognized it as an older command model. They could be wily. New command models that weren't didn't survive to become old command models.

  Vittora raced toward the bot's entry point, exposing herself to Ermine's fire as the bot emerged. Pellets exploded past her. Thank God for Ermine's heavy trigger finger. She ducked underneath her coat. Semi-hard foam dripped off it everywhere. Shucking the hardened garment, she fell backwards.

  On the rise, the bot was covered. It swiveled its head maddeningly, arms and foamer immobile. Combat bots were strong, though, and with a sound like breaking rocks, it wrenched a foot free in an explosion of debris. She wasn't going to wait around for it to free anything else. Her spattered rifle was still operable. She put half a dozen holes through the bot's foam-covered torso. Chunks of metal and foam blew out its back into the woods. She avoided the head on the off chance of later information extraction. She was a positive thinker that way.

  The shooting stopped. The wretched excuse for a man was more cautious now that his bot was down. Vittora freed the bot's foamer with the last of her grister shots and hobbled off.

  A subdued cheer went through Pheron's bridge. As if by magic, tactical positions across his task force firmed up. Even the Archiver squadron, which only participated reluctantly, took up their assigned positions with authority.

  Pheron allowed himself a cynical snort. "About time."

  He, too, felt a sense of relief as new blue light shone upon his ships. The months of jockeying for position and wrangling aloof Archiver frigates were over.

  So far, three destroyers were too damaged to stay on the line. They needed to be sent through the egress. Two frigates were destroyed, and his command cruiser needed a staryard.

  That last was probably the Iron Commander's work. His attack pressed with surprising ferocity. The Adams Rush Navy losses were minimized to a few ships, but at significant cost to orbital facilities. They would take years to replace. He was sorry the newest member world would be a financial drain on the Perigeum initially. Still, this was success. This was history, and his name would be attached to it.

  "Receiving new fleetnet. They've analyzed the tactical data and are coming through," Aetaire said. He scanned a VAD. "An aegis first, then, the First Cruiser."

  Pheron tried to act nonchalant. "It must be election season. Nothing wins political points like combining a military and economic victory."

  An aegis cruiser's massive defense capabilities could anchor a corner of his line by itself. No doubt its sole job here was to cover the Prime Orator's enormous ship, a cruiser in name only. Its actual size hearkened back to dreadnoughts of the war era.

  Pheron reset his lines for the new arrivals. As soon as they came through, he would dispatch a squadron of frigates to deal with those incoming javelins. They had not fired yet but would soon represent a threat.

  Not being able to maneuver l
ike a task force was untenable in the long run. Unfortunately for the Iron Commander, there would be no long run. The old vet had made a good run of it, and now Pheron could say he'd dueled a legend.

  "Their battlestation has stopped its approach," Aetaire said. "It's fading fast and launching boats."

  Pheron adjusted targeting priorities. The beat of battle schedule incorporated them automatically. Adams Rush ships were wisely retreating from the doomed station.

  "Let's end this with a bang Aetaire. I don't think they can fault us for being overzealous."

  "It is a very expensive station, field commander."

  The wry delivery told Pheron his second also relished this finale. Aetaire's head jerked. He was listening to something and VAD paged rapidly.

  "A... a firefight has broken out next to the egress?" Aetaire's voice rose in pitch.

  Pheron's mouth went dry. He'd put aside thoughts of the suits sent out there once the egress opened. Even if suicidal troopers had somehow sneaked to the egress, any bomb that could truly damage it would be detectable. Still, the Asterfraeo was peppered with unique asymmetrical weapons left over from the Sojourners' Crusade.

  More than anybody, the long retreated Sojourners—with the possible exception of the Raetians—had learned how hard it was to destroy an egress, a lesson learned at the Draconem Battle of Numen. Still, it would be bad form for the Prime Orator to see a firefight, even an ineffectual one, right outside his bridge. With sync completed, the prohibition against massive ships was lifted.

  "Pack a shuttle with suits and get it out there now!" Pheron shook his head in disbelief. "Don't they know this battle's over?"

  Kord bounded out of the vault into a world of sparkles frozen in midair like scintillating snow. His armor de-hardened and fell loose against his skin. Around him was the debris of his sheller. Bracer, seeker drones, grister, everything scientum was dead. The strange phenomena resonated only within his mystic link.

  He peeked at the clearing. Both remaining combat bots were fallen to one knee, their heads lowered as if in silent prayer. A utility bot was frozen in the midst of loading. A rocket hiss sounded, and exhaust jetted off the back of a combat bot. A just activated but unreleased seeker drone. He pulled his head back just before it exploded. Pieces of slag tinkled into the remains of his cabin.

  He reached out to a sparkle. It slid around his gauntlet and couldn't be touched. Whatever they were, they stacked the odds in favor of a Sojourner, but at least evened them for him. He needed to take advantage of this cessation to escape. But how to close the vault? Other things were in there. As if it heard him, the tunnel filled in, the outer stone ring began sinking back into the floor, the glowing runes deactivating in reverse sequence.

  "Highearn?"

  He heard a distant contact, like the whisper of a dying man. "Extremely low power mode. Limited functionality."

  No help there. He needed to get into the woods. His equipment would likely reactivate once he escaped these... fairy sparkles. He felt silly just thinking that. He dashed for the door. Half of the cabin walls were gone, and he was going to use the door?

  A frustrated roar emanated from the clearing, piercing the eerie quiet. A red-faced man sprinted across almost as fast as a bot and leaped at him from an inhuman distance. Kord dodged instinctively, turning a crushing head blow into one that knocked off his nonfunctional cap. He scrambled dizzily to shaky feet.

  "I don't think you planned this, Wilkrest." The red-faced man gestured at the sparkles. "It's out of your league."

  The man was right. Kord had no retort. He settled for, "Archiver..."

  "You're going to show me what's in that vault, and what you took out of it."

  Kord's eyes darted in search of an escape route. While he was confident in his hand-to-hand abilities, opening the vault had drained him. And his opponent wasn't normal. The Archiver had stripped off an armor set leaving only gauntlets and a faceted metal chest piece comprised of overlapping squares. In two quick strides, the barrel-chested man was upon him throwing punches.

  The blows came fast. Kord barely deflected the first while the second crushed his chest, staggering him back, wheezing.

  "I think I broke a couple ribs with that one," the Archiver said, smiling.

  "What did you do to yourself?" Kord asked with disgust.

  "You're one of those "Mark One" adherents? Too bad for you."

  The Mark One movement was the accepted standard for most humans. People changed their appearance, hardened their bones, strengthened their muscles, and improved their vision and immune system, most things that were generally thought to "add to the perfection of man." Gross manipulations like tails, bone spikes, or even five fold strength were the province of fringe groups and Hektors. And for good reason, because such modifications almost always came with unfortunate side effects.

  Speaking of which, Kord's leg began trembling. He gripped it with both hands as the tremble turned to uncontrolled spasms. Not now! It was the worst possible time to pay the price for his mystic foray. He looked up, surprising himself with a slight feeling of embarrassment.

  The Archiver smirked. "Trouble, Wilkrest?"

  Rewe's sweating face glistened amidst the sparkles. He picked up a heavy piece of real wood furniture and hurled it without effort. It slammed into Kord, carrying him into the wall with an explosion of splinters.

  If not for his hardened bones, it might have been battle over. Kord struggled to clear his head. At least the shock lessened his leg spasms. His mind scrambled to find any usable weapon. He wasn't carrying a monomer knife, not that it would work anyway. Hell, he wasn't even carrying a regular knife. Had he been reduced to a club? He picked up a heavy piece of wood. Staggering to his feet, he swung it hard at the closing Archiver.

  Rewe blocked it with his forearm, grunting as the wood cracked. An unhardened bone would have splintered from the power generated by Kord's ravelen enhancements. It was dim hope seeing the impact have at least some effect. Apparently, the Archiver's bones weren't impervious granix. His muscles, on the other hand, enabled significant and speedy agility. He snatched the makeshift club from Kord and crushed it to twigs within his metal gauntlet.

  "You play with scientum, but you're no proxy," Rewe said.

  "Proxy" was a pejorative used by elitist imprimaturs—and, apparently Archivers—to describe non-mystic users.

  Glancing over at the closing vault, Rewe shook his head. "Why lock away mystic secrets?" His eyes focused far away. "A new mystic age is dawning. And it's not going to be led by decrepit Sojourner stragglers or weakling imprimaturs. The Archivers are rising like the Sojourners never would!"

  The statement carried undeniable truth. Kord limped back against the wall, unable to refute Archiver ascendance.

  "Ah, you see it, too," Rewe said. "I knew you were more than a stupid grime." The middle ring's rune sequence finished its reverse play. The smooth stone eased back down into the floor. "Open that thing back up for me. Cooperate, and I'll let you live. Maybe even with your proxy wife, although my informant's taken a bit of a shine to her."

  Anger and desperation boiled up within Kord. His grister hung like a dead weight on his thigh. He dove out the broken wall and rolled to his feet, hobbling with desperation. He had to get out of the sparkles. With extra-human speed, the Archiver pulled him down next to the exploded combat bot's remains.

  "Touchy subject?" Rewe said.

  Kord's head rang from the tackle. He spit out the bland dirt of Adams Rush. It was soil that never grew anything until Sojourners arrived and modified it to embrace Earth trees. His hand brushed his now-soft thigh pocket. He did have something still active.

  He grabbed the object. "You want what I took from that vault?"

  He was pinned at a poor angle to strike, but he tried anyway with his gauntlet closed around the object. Predictably, Rewe caught the blow open palm, but Kord had also opened his. A purple light shone between their gauntlets. The Archiver roared in pain, involuntarily clenching down upon
the key, trapping Kord's hand in an iron grip.

  Rewe rolled, shrieking. Kord remembered the pain well. Each man tried desperately to use his free hand. The Archiver struggled to pry open his clenched fist. Kord grabbed an arm's length piece of robot debris and brought it down hard, but he missed his opponent's jerking head, striking chest armor instead.

  With skills earned through years of pankido dojo pain, Kord tried to pin his distracted opponent using the metal piece. The Archiver bucked wildly, lifting them off the ground. The key's purple light shone brighter as clenched fingers were pried away one by one.

  When they hit the ground from another wild buck, the key bounced free, but the debilitating pain lingered long enough for Kord to work a complex pankido pin with his now freed hand. He leveraged the metal piece across the Archiver's neck, forcing him onto his upper back, hopelessly pinning an arm. The Archiver couldn't bring his considerable strength to bear.

  It was a stalemate. If Kord lost his hold, the Archiver would surely overcome him. A grister was needed to finish this, but he couldn't maintain the pin and reach for it. It was useless amidst these sparkles, anyway, like the sole remaining combat bot sleeping just a few meters away. But how much longer would the effect last?

  The wave of egress-generated particles caused a green and pink aurora in the atmosphere below. As the two Legion suits sprang into full combat mode, Jordahk realized it had exposed the three of them as well.

  "It's on," Glick said.

  Spars splayed out from her thruster pack as the entirety of her suit's combat systems came alive. The strand connecting them snapped back, and blazing exhaust streamed out her thrust spars.

  "Stay with Clutch," she transmitted, rocketing off.

  The Crae-Tarn helmet field fluctuated wildly. Out from this distortion Glick bolted into sharp focus to the outside world. The surprise riveted the Legion suits' attention.

  Space combat could be quick and cruel. The half-second edge her surprise emergence bought was all Glick needed. Her suit rifle bucked, creating a star of light at the barrel's end while thrust spars flared to counter the recoil.