Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star Page 5
Torious v2 was definitively the most reviled AI personality in human space. It was sometimes called "Notorious" or, Jordahk's favorite, "Noxious." Kord was outspoken about it being a clear case of slow-deterioration AI psychosis. Indeed, the two and only revs of Torious proved susceptible to the artificial personality breakdown.
A doctor usually spent his career with a single nurse, pouring in experience and judgment. Such a veteran nurse was valuable. Treating the subtleties of human ailments and injuries was an art. The doctor supplied the bedside manner and intuition. The nurse provided a vast storehouse of medical knowledge and precise testing and was, in essence, a mobile surgery unit.
"Torious, father?" Kord questioned. When interacting with Aristahl, formality naturally came to the surface.
The robot was already hunkered down over Vittora, locking its wheels and deploying secondary arms. It probed and scanned with small lights flashing. Without stopping, it said flatly, "Apparently junior has little faith in my exemplary abilities."
Vittora's condition already had Kord on edge. He moved toward Torious, likely to show the wisecracking nurse what it was like to be ripped limb from limb and the pieces used for target practice.
Aristahl caught his arm and defused his anger with a shake of his head. "You will find no better choice."
"He's right, you know," Torious added.
Jordahk marveled at the robots brazenness, or death wish.
"Your AI did a sub-par job, but I should be able to stabilize her," the robot said. "Would you like to see?" Movement on Kord's cheek betrayed a grinding jaw as Torious projected an internal schematic VAD of the injuries and touched a hypo to Vittora's neck. "Just some micros and anesthetic, dear."
Dear? The bot was truly a relic from a bygone age, but, Jordahk noted, Aristahl rarely traveled without it these days.
The VAD showed Torious monitoring scores of bodily systems and directing a coordinated army of micros. His led the way for others, sealing support tissue and repairing capillary level damage. Torious worked on the larger scale injuries, fusing tissue with his primary and secondary arms. They moved rapidly enough to make Kord uncomfortable.
"Her brain is intact. Information loss will be minimal," Torious's tinny voice said. He leaned forward and worked on Vittora's mouth. "But I'm afraid you're going to need a number of new parts."
Vittora's hand found Kord's. She moved her numbed eyes to his and her compy interpreted, "Schedule. More. Seminars."
He smiled, relieved. "You're always finding interesting ways to spend our coin."
Torious removed a tooth with a secondary arm and dropped it into Kord's retreating hand. "A souvenir for you," he said. Sarcasm seemed exaggerated when metallic.
Yes, Jordahk thought, a death wish.
The cineVAD robot voice the nurse always used was completely unnecessary. Jordahk once asked Torious if something was wrong with his speech synthesizer. In a rare moment of what a human would consider candor, Torious claimed that the voice allowed him to get away with saying anything. "After all, I'm just a robot."
"Do it right, Torious," Aristahl said, "but quickly, if you please."
"And quietly," Kord growled.
Jordahk wondered how deep their trouble if Aristahl was rushing this. The older man's skin wasn't spotted, or even thin, yet its slightly wrinkled and tanned texture gave the impression of age. He was as fit as any man in sempai, just over 300. But Jordahk believed him to be older. Aristahl's appearance had remained virtually unchanged. The only difference Jordahk could pick out was a slight graying of his strangely uniform brown hair. It was unusual.
"I'm making excellent time," Torious answered with mock metallic indignation.
Aristahl sub-whispered something to his AI. He was wearing his usual atypical clothes, black pants, and knee-length coat over a gray vest. His sleeves, hems, and collar were accented with purple. It bore a faint resemblance to pre-Combustion Age formal wear, but with a more scholarly flavor. Whatever he wore, Aristahl carried himself like royalty.
"An owl is incoming," Barrister, Aristahl's AI, interrupted. "Orbital insertion at quite a steep angle, too. I estimate—"
"Minimal details, Barrister," Aristahl said.
Housed in an old style bracelet, Barrister was even stiffer than Aristahl. Many compies from the Sojourners' Crusade era were bracelets. The fine-linked couplings were platinum gray with veins of mirror rhodium. One purple hued coupling stood out. It gave Barrister character, not that he needed it.
"It is a maximum speed unsafe entry originating near the egress," Barrister said. "Estimate engagement distance in two point five minutes."
"It's a newer model owl than I have on record," Highearn added, a little miffed.
"It's burning a one-way vector," Max said in his somber gravelly tone.
"This is upping the ante," Kord said. "Is someone so interested in us that they're willing to burn an owl? Who's got that kind of coin? Dawgs are one thing, but owls?"
"I suspect that little show on the pass attracted unwanted attention," Aristahl said. "With a Perigeum operation this big, we know they will be watching."
Barrister interrupted. "I searched the local nexus as you asked. It is like roaming amongst children."
"The point, Barrister," Aristahl said.
"A satellite sent this image before being shut down." From an ancient shield-shaped pin on Aristahl's coat, a VAD projected a grainy image. Normally somewhat faceted, the owl assault craft was made sleek for orbital insertion. Instead of the typical gray Perigeum Starmada stripes, the back was adorned with silver and purple.
"Archivers," Aristahl said.
Jordahk noticed the heaviness that came with that word. "I don't understand."
Kord glanced at his son then turned to Aristahl, "Are you prepared to take him?"
"That is why I am here."
Realization dawned on Jordahk, and he didn't like where it was going. "But Dard, I can't leave Mother like this. Let me help."
Kord tried to keep things light. "One museum piece pistol more or less isn't going to make a difference down here."
Jordahk knew their scientum versus mystic competition would never end, and suddenly it was a precious thing to him.
"Knowing my father," Kord said, "he probably has a plan for getting you off world."
"Yes, but we have to hurry," Aristahl said.
Kord raised his eyebrows. "See?" He put his hand on Jordahk's shoulder. "Son, there are a lot of things we've never talked about... and there's no time to talk about them now." He paused. "Look, you're almost twelve out from Midday. Time for you to make your mark." He smiled sadly. "Your mother and I, we've trained you, but now you need my father."
Through a break in the tree cover, a shaft of dim egress light cast shadows across Kord's face. "When that thing opens, the planet will be closed." He sighed then shook his head, obviously fighting off discouragement. "My father has some crazy idea to stop them, but he needs your help. We'll hold out. Hey, Remember Raetia!"
Kord said it like the slogan it was. "Remember Raetia!" was a cliche, a rallying call for every would-be underdog. The only planet ever to fight off an egress. It took 50 years though, and the system was now a poverty-ridden hole and refuge for pirates. That part of the story rarely entered the thoughts of those who uttered the phrase.
"How much longer, Torious?" Aristahl asked.
The robot's arms blurred sporadic light emissions into streaks. The gross damage was closed but still ugly. Torious was morphing field patches into temporary NuSkin. No doubt micros were continuing to work on internals.
The robot droned, "You harden your bones and strengthen your muscles, but you still need Torious to put you back together."
"Torious," Aristahl chided.
"That robot's pushing me," Kord warned. Societal tolerance for troublesome AIs was little to none. Torious had narrowly escaped being wiped or used for target practice more than once.
"One more minute and she'll be stabilized and ambulatory,"
Torious said. "With caution."
"But the sniper," Jordahk said. He knelt next to his mother and worked up the courage to look her in the eye.
Aristahl surveyed the valley. "Yes." He reached into his bag.
"You've got an espy up there, don't you?" Kord asked.
"A little gem. It is no surprise they have not noticed her. Barrister, share the feed."
A small patch on the breast of Kord's jacket projected a nighttime scene enhanced multiple ways. Though the colors were a little off, it was bright as daytime. A military fanicle lay mostly obscured in a commercial area. Two quite obviously military men were dressed almost comically in civilian clothes. One sat in the open passenger seat working controls. A large sniper rifle hugged the ground next to him atop a beefy quad-legged auto-mount. The other stood at the rear of the fanicle manipulating a large VAD filled with landscape images.
Aristahl pulled a metal, palm-sized device from his bag. It was grayish white with an ocher tint.
"Iridium," Jordahk murmured.
Every hunter of mystic artifacts worth his treaders recognized all seven platinum group metals by sight. Upon those foundational elements was all mystic technology built.
The object came to life in Aristahl's hand, unfolding nozzles and fins. Glowing veins of power lined its surface. It began floating on fans and exhibited characteristics much like a fierce metal beetle. Glancing toward Vittora, he activated two more. The three seeker drones rose in formation like leaves in a dust devil.
An expression that Jordahk had never seen before flashed across Aristahl's face. It was... dangerous. Jordahk took an involuntary step back.
Aristahl kept his eyes on the drones, concentrating. "I will wager those youngsters have never seen a tri-barrel interleave with a pin."
"A good choice, sir," Barrister responded.
At five meters up, the seeker drones emitted a metallic ping. Numerous ports opened and spewed forth lines of rocket exhaust filled with diamond shapes. They shot off toward the valley. Their intense, resonating hiss receded into the night.
"A little far for rockets," Jordahk whispered to Max.
The audio reply sounded softly in Jordahk's head through his link. "You see those mach diamonds? Those little beauties are hot. They'll make it."
Off Kord's jacket, a new VAD appeared showing a wider shot of the sniper team. The drones streaked into it and began juking.
The sniper team burst into action, a small intercept gun atop the fanicle swiveling wildly. The man in the rear drew a pistol. Civilian sleeves folded back, revealing bracers.
The seeker drones leaped high for their final approach before weaving downward in an intricate rolling pattern. The intercept gun scored a hit on the closest drone. The man with the pistol sprayed ammunition as fast as possible, also hitting it. The damaged drone reoriented and partially detonated, showering shrapnel downward.
The second drone wound through the explosion in an ever-tightening corkscrew. An arc of current leaped from both bracers, vaporizing half of it. Pressurized rocket fuel spurted and ignited. The third wily metallic beetle plowed through the conflagration at supersonic speeds.
The man in the back turned to run, but didn't even make a second step before the third seeker drone made a controlled detonation just above their fanicle. A shock wave burst forth, followed by a molten ball of white heat that expanded to cover the vehicle and both men.
The superheated sphere with a dancing, purple edge roiled. The distant light source illuminated the vast valley with continuing intensity. The sound of the explosion finally reached Jordahk's ears just as the shock wave hit his chest. After a few seconds, the sphere evaporated.
The last thing Jordahk saw of the sniper team was a blackened bowl of burned ground. Then the VAD images were obscured by rising trees. Aristahl caught a metal espy shaped like a large ladybug.
"You did well avoiding detection, but your color interpretation is still off," Aristahl chided the tiny machine. "I thought I told you to narrow your red spectrum. If you do not listen to me, how do you expect me to put up with you?"
Jordahk raised an eyebrow and half shook his head. Okay, he thought, my grandfather is also a little eccentric.
"What the hell's going on?" Pheron Xammetrix made the question an oath.
His command AI displayed top priority VADs for which he'd not asked. A launch alarm sounded from the Archiver squadron, and Legion reports indicated direct engagement on a mountain below. Not coincidentally, the mountain was displayed in a purple outlined, Archiver-encoded VAD.
"I want answers, Aetaire," Pheron threatened.
Aetaire stood behind him, swiping at VADs and murmuring strings of commands to his AI. His harried expression clashed with his ship-shape uniform. "The Archivers are burning an owl to get to that mountain soonest. They've just launched another. Its insertion vector is standard."
Pheron tried to stay calm. "What do we have nearby?"
"We had some robotic units. The Legion reports—" Aetaire was interrupted by a double chime. Another luminous VAD, priority and purple outlined, appeared directly before his field commander.
"Tesla's Rays! Who's running my drakking command AI?" Pheron's grayish skin was reddening.
The new VAD showed an explosion lighting the valley. He didn't need the data feed to know the history he was seeing. Somebody was using high-end mystic technology in combat. He couldn't think of a more fortuitous turn of events—for the Archivers. Small wonder they were so roused. Unfortunately for him, the military operation at Adams Rush just became a lot more complicated.
"We just lost contact with our Legion assets in that area," Aetaire said.
"Don't tell me." Pheron gestured towards the new VAD, and new crater. Aetaire nodded, somewhat abashed. Pheron refused to lose control of his operation. "Why is the air still locked?"
"Our sweep teams found another auto anti-air installation hidden in a structure. There seems to be, ah, growing discontent toward Perigeum military presence."
"Cut the drak, Aetaire. Tell our 'assets' they're authorized to move openly as Legion. I want that air made safe, and I want our aphids flying ASAP."
Pheron touched a command VAD. "Bitsmith Lieutenant to the bridge, now." It was time to get the command AI back under complete control. He thought about that magnitude of mystic usage. If it was Sojourners, how did one prepare for the unexplainable?
He was going to need a larger chessboard.
A tiny mountain at the foot of a great range was fast becoming the locus of three factions.
"They knocked out two, Father," Kord said. "Losing your touch?"
"Come now." Aristahl glanced at Jordahk. "Those were relics. I am surprised they still worked at all. Although, those boys were trained."
"They were good. Legionnaire good."
"I suspect so." For the briefest moment, the stereotypical reproof of a father crossed Aristahl's face. "Do try to stay out of trouble until we return, will you?"
Kord flashed a crooked, boyish grin.
Jordahk knelt beside Torious as the robot finished up with Vittora. He was losing his battle against guilt. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was scared. That stuff gets in your head."
Her flat, synthesized voice replied. "Don't do that to yourself." Her eyes meant it. "I'll pray for you."
It was a very "Patram" thing to say. His mother's homeworld was a mono-creed planet, the most successful and stalwart of them. Their faith, mocked by the most cosmopolitan Perigeum worlds, was the undeniable moral underpinning of their great strength. The Patram Guard was one of the largest contributors to the Vallum Corps Combined Fleet, and arguably the most respected.
The Perigeum Starmada received a bloody nose at the end of the Sojourners' Crusade when their final major offensive neared Patram. The encounter entered the lexicon as slang. Jordahk said it to her now, "Don't mess with Patram."
She smiled with her eyes. If God heard anybody, it was his mother.
"Owl arrival in one minute," Barrister said.
Jordahk froze. On rare occasions his mother had special dreams. They always came true, but were so cryptic they could only be interpreted after the fact.
Vittora's throat moved slightly as she struggled to sub-whisper. "You will pass through a doorway that cannot be crossed."
That was about how it usually went, Jordahk thought. He nodded solemnly at her disfigured face, squeezed her hand one last time, and got up.
Jordahk sub-whispered to Max, "Don't forget that line." The AI pinged an acknowledgment.
"She's ambulatory," Torious said.
Kord expressed relief and helped Vittora stand on shaky but determined legs. Despite all she'd gone through, she held herself straight, still somehow classy in her red clothes. Not grievous wounds, her son venturing forth to parts unknown, or the forced annexation of her adopted homeworld were going to break her.
"How do you plan on getting him out of here?" Kord asked Aristahl.
"I have a trick that should get us over the range if we get going before that owl get a good look at us," Aristahl said. "From Port North, a chartered fanthruster to Fort Franklin. Their beam is still up."
Fort Franklin was a continent away, underneath the last online battlestation, the opposite side of the planet from the egress.
The reality of the moment pressed in on Jordahk. Could he just stay? His father saw his turmoil.
"Your battle's out there," Kord said.
Jordahk knew the tide was going out, and that he couldn't fight it. Things were changing. Something different had begun, and Jordahk didn't know what it meant for his planet, his family, or himself.
Kord watched as uncertainty gave way to decision on Jordahk's face. He grinned with pride. "Once it syncs," he gestured upward, "the Navy will have to fight or capitulate. Either way..." He left the rest unspoken.
Something passed between them, an invisible mantle of manhood bestowed from father to son. Despite the end of Jordahk's long adolescence still being two years away, the door of adulthood opened before him.