Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  The ghost of the first officer dashed ahead of him and out of sight, followed by multiple others as Jordahk fell back in the standings. From the prone position he fired fast, in frustration putting multiple non-mystic shots on the last two adversaries. They went down, a tone sounded, and the environment disappeared wall by wall. He caught the number of the ghost next to him as it faded.

  “Aww, seventeenth?”

  He brushed his knees, slapping them with unnecessary force. But at least the clients were entertained, if their beaming expressions were any telltale. Solia gave him a compassionate look, then he dared a glance at his father, hoping the performance was true to his hopes. Kord gave him a nod and a subtle wink. It was a relief.

  “Jordahk has trained hard in all the basics,” Kord said. “That foundation obviously opened up more... outlandish options. But don't doubt their effectiveness, if you can pull them off.”

  The class chuckled, sharing the moment and offering congratulatory forearm bumps to Jordahk. Durn was busy explaining how hard an autobuss was to use to anyone who'd listen. A few laughs from the back carried a different tone. The first officer was exchanging forearm bumps with his cronies in celebration of the top score remaining unbroken.

  “Poor sports,” Solia said, suddenly beside him.

  One of the cronies commanded the range to display the top 20 scores in a huge VAD as they turned to leave. The first officer's top score loomed extra-large, while Jordahk's 17th was highlighted far below as the newest entry.

  Even the clients were beginning to notice the uninvited interlopers and stared at them askance. Vittora had blended into the bulkhead between the hatch and the trio. Finally looking up, their eyes locked with her piercing countenance, and they were startled.

  “Maybe one more small demonstration is in order,” Kord said.

  Chapter Ten

  “Star system BR 257h, sub classification—”

  “Save it,” Janus said. “Just another unnamed nowhere.”

  “According to scanty records it was originally explored by an early pioneer ship. Signs on the second planet indicate a temporary encampment, and others suggest attempts at mining the inner system.”

  Her feminine voice was higher pitched than was his preference, and the inflections were fractionally off. Her delivery was too happy. But he had sufficient reason to overlook it.

  “So once they got here and realized it was a lost cause, they tried to put together resources for another leap.”

  Janus sat back, gazing at the emptiness of a dead system panning across the First Cruiser's massive bridge display.

  “There's no other record of this expedition.”

  “The unimportant disappear from history.” The system's unremarkable planets were shown at great magnification on his personal VADs. A region beside a rubble strewn gas giant highlighted. “It's time. Call that goblin to the bridge, will you, Leisel?”

  “Vizier Kartoosh, the Prime Orator requests your presence on the bridge.”

  “By coincidence I happen to be on the lift,” Vizier said, “but the ship AI refuses me bridge entry. Perhaps you could rectify this… oversight.”

  The man was infuriating. How did he know when the beacon would be detected? All his off-ship communications were cut off.

  “Don't change the protocol, Leisel. Just go get him.”

  The bridge was long, and she traversed it with a jaunty step that would have made normal hair move. But her platinum blonde locks were pulled tall before arcing back. They filled a large volume as they traveled half way down her back, although not touching it, and ended in an oversized roll. The platinum blond was made complex with streaks of darker gray. The entire style resembled polymer more than hair. It was a look favored by some long adolescents.

  Her short skirt, leg coverings, and jacket were all various shades of light gray, and not in the fashionable gradations of the monochrome style. The only part of her outfit at variance with dull business attire were larger than normal treaders. Excluding her demeanor, of course.

  She didn't receive the attention that Sybaris had garnered. His former android aide was the epitome of cold, Operis Apparaticum top-of-the-line. The kind of android few outside of government could really afford. Their frigid mystique and impeccable construction engendered curiosity.

  On the other hand, Leisel looked like an android of a more common sort. A bubbly, buxom blonde was not a model Operis even deigned to make, leaving such commonplace taste and vapid personality for second-tier manufacturers. Although androids were rare and expensive, her stereotypical persona succeeded in turning curiosity away.

  Leisel waved at the lift control unnecessarily. “The goblin” was escorted to the command chair.

  Janus wore his usual white outfit, sans the cape. The tailored jacket and pants were subtly uniform-like, yet still civilian. It fit his self-proclaimed warrior king persona. Sybaris would have reproved him with one of her icy looks had he said it aloud.

  Sybaris is long gone. Now I'm here with these two in an apparent battle of which can be duller.

  As Vizier neared, his black suit exhibited a fine, diagonal pattern of midnight blue where light hit it just right. His business collar, thin around the neck, and extending only down to his chest was a barely illuminated pale cyan.

  Not so dull after all.

  Janus chuckled to himself. The Consortium had their own veiled uniform hierarchy.

  “Prime Orator,” Vizier said, “what an unexpected pleasure to be called to the bridge again.”

  If the man spoke plainly his brain might seize in outright rebellion.

  “Full privacy.” The ship AI generated the opaque, sound blocking dome around the command chair. The three were enshrouded in the one-way chamber. Janus steepled his fingers and nodded to the highlighted region. “Your business associates are a stealthy bunch.”

  Vizier displayed his mirthless smile. “Discretion is a valuable tool.”

  “Diplomatic fusebox ready,” Leisel said.

  Janus sighed.

  Two fake personalities inside one privacy dome.

  He palmed the authorization plate on the command chair. “Send our acknowledgment.”

  Fusebox transmissions were low bandwidth and usually audio only. But those of sufficient power were virtually real-time within a solar system. The diplomatic transceiver was isolated from all ship's systems and accessible only to whomever Janus authorized. The reply was quick in coming with only a slight telltale distortion.

  “Will our contingency services be required?” the voice asked.

  Janus nodded to Vizier.

  “Yes, fully authorized,” The goblin said. “Please begin the countdown.”

  “Done. Out.”

  The fusebox went silent.

  “Your cronies aren't much for words,” Janus said. “But that's good. They don't waste my time.”

  Janus hadn't achieved his position without becoming an expert at reading people. Usually the most dangerous were the hardest to read. He couldn't get much from the purposely deadened face of Vizier, but something about the man's countenance had changed. Smug satisfaction oozed from his anesthetized skin.

  “I won't keep you either, Prime Orator.” Vizier turned to leave. “This pact is going to require much from all parties. I best prepare.” The man exited the field without waiting for dismissal.

  Why did he feel like he'd just sold his soul? Political winds had forced his hand. But it would be worth it. He would garner a long-term position of influence. Power enough to pay them back for their trouble.

  Parium entered the bridge, stopping to exchange a few words with Vizier.

  That's a sight. A shark and a… a…

  “Leisel, name for me an insignificant fish lower on the food chain.”

  “A flounder, perhaps?”

  “Yes. That's it. A flounder.”

  The well oiled efficiency of the First Cruiser's flag bridge was absent. This crew wasn't elite. Anything beyond common tasks might melt them down
into dysfunction. They looked like bunglers, out of their depth, struggling to avoid eye contact. The media corps was pared down to the latest Confederated Comm shill, Keats Keating. His interest in Vizier Kartoosh and Orator Parium was keen.

  Janus deactivated the privacy field and rose to meet the flounder as the shark exited.

  I better make sure this message gets out… properly.

  Working with the Consortium wasn't itself a negative. In fact many voting nationals considered it progressive policy. Of course, discretion was called for. Public and private deals needed to stay in their respective categories.

  “I'm a little concerned about the Consortium's role in our mission to secure economic stability,” Parium said.

  Janus spoke to be overheard by the shill. “The Consortium has a legitimate role working in places where our reach hasn't fully penetrated. They have an appreciation for the law, which benefits us. They certainly wouldn't want to see militaristic simpletons like the Svalbergen Blacksea Corporation take advantage of market chaos.”

  “Some believe they're less altruistic.”

  If this was as confrontational as Parium ever got, Sedge Braksaw would bat him aside without sweating.

  “We don't want to give into hearsay and stereotypes, do we? The Consortium is a large organization. It's too bad a few unrefined ingots spoil the whole alloy for some.”

  “But what exactly are they doing with us? You set me as chief negotiator.”

  Janus put on his conciliatory tone. “The Consortium uses the Banking Confederation quite liberally. And Aventicia, as you know, is the only Perigeum branch. The Consortium wants nothing to interfere with commerce. Imagine them forced to travel among the barbarians of the Strident Cluster to do business, or out with those throwbacks in the Asterfraeo.”

  “So you're saying their interest and ours overlap?”

  “Of course.”

  If by interest you mean we both want to control the flow of coin.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Vittora loved watching her husband in his element. It was unfortunate his element often involved danger. In this case it was only to their family pride, although if further justification was needed, their family business also had a reputation to uphold.

  She was going to see to it the first officer and his cronies stayed until her husband finished. But curiosity had overtaken them as Kord started his run. He'd chosen to skip the first half, instead opting to enter the shoot house in 25th place. Only those who didn't know her husband thought it an excessive handicap.

  No one expected a demonstration of this magnitude. It was a treat the class appreciated. With the possible exception of Durn and the two long adolescent girls, they'd all worked too hard to leave the seminar on a sour note. Especially one so smugly provoked. Their clientele's disdainful looks at the first officer said it all.

  Kord strode through the generated maze of obstructions as if it were the familiar roughhewn block house back on Adams Rush. He hastened through corridors and T-intersections with little regard for the advantage it gave virtual opponents.

  His awareness was blindingly fast, identifying friend or foe in a blink. His hand whipped up in a blur, despite the heft of the Hecktor's grister, and his shots hit unerringly. Concern crept into her, one she was trying to ignore.

  Is he actually getting faster?

  Kord resumed his teaching demeanor, speaking to the class even while going through the course. “Highearn, aside from Jordahk, has anyone scored in the top one hundred using an autobuss?”

  “Negative.”

  “How about the top two hundred.”

  “Still none.”

  “Tell me, where's the first appearance of somebody successfully performing the level three confidence course with an autobuss?”

  A score appended below the top twenty. Highearn highlighted its place, 469th. A murmur went through the crowd, and Jordahk received acknowledging nods, but not from the trio in the back. They were pointedly trying to avoid Vittora's gaze as their attention was drawn to Kord's demonstration finale.

  The multiple adversary bot chambers separated the level three course from those lower. Of course it was folly to believe you could defeat military combat bots with a pistol, but the course AI gave credit for grister power, armor piercing ammunition, and accuracy on selected weak points.

  Bots aren't weak at any point to pistols.

  Some boasted tall tales of combat against bots, but fighting one was rare, and surviving more so. It took ample skill, the right equipment, and sometimes equal parts luck. She would know. It was doubtful anyone on board had fought one, with the possible exception of grizzled Sojourners' Crusade veterans, or those having participated in the battles for Utica Cyr.

  Kord slowed for the first time, reconfiguring the pistol for full auto and deploying the autostock. It was no sooner pressed against his shoulder when he dashed into the final chambers. She could sense his excitement, but was concerned it overshadowed his ability to handle a weapon designed for a Hektor.

  It burped with a metallic twang, pushing back hard against her husband. The first bot was torn up, and the range AI kicked in another hard air perimeter wall for safety, like it had earlier. Kord somehow detected another opponent to his rear and used his grister's push to roll backwards. When he came up beside the second bot their weapons almost touched, but Kord shot first. It threw the machine off long enough for Kord to put precision ammo nuts into the supposed weak points on the head.

  The last room would probably contain four bots. He dashed in as if he could surprise them. She knew her husband's skills better than anyone, and even she thought it too cavalier. The machines didn't try to flank him, but rather stayed lined up so only one was exposed as he moved forward. They could shoot around each other with precision.

  In the one second left before they would cut him down he charged. Even she was caught by surprise. At point-blank range the bots at the rear of the line couldn't get a shot. He engaged full auto and continued down their left side against the tremendous force of the recoil. The bots carried in their right hands, making aiming across their bodies fractionally slower as he moved past them. He put super accelerated ammo nuts on each of them to inhibit movement.

  When he got to the end of the line, their formation was in disarray. Planting his feet, he aimed for their heads still on full auto. His body flushed red and muscles bulged against the strain. He was no Hektor, and yet… Her intuition crystallized with sudden clarity.

  You're becoming more than you ever thought you would.

  Kord's Sojourner heritage, a line of incredible power, was surfacing after being suppressed for so long. But it was manifesting in a way uniquely Kord, emerging in the skills he continued to hone like strength, pistol craft, and improvised tactical wizardry.

  The force of the Hektor's grister wiped out the first bot, shoving it into the one behind. Kord kept the pressure on, the fire paused only a half second when switching to the secondary magazine. He leaned forward as if fighting tornado winds, burning the bots down the line. The throaty whine of the Hector's grister and the destruction it caused were the only sound in a range driven to silence.

  And then the cacophony ended. The bots were gone, the lights turned green, and the completion tone sounded.

  The range burst to life with applause, and some of it was hers. But she spied him carefully as he twirled the grister with a flourish and re-holstered. He was sweating and his face was flushed, but not in the usual way one might expect from running one of their test courses. No, it was more like how Jordahk returned to them after training with Aristahl that first day he tried to use a legacy shell.

  You're going down a dangerous path my husband, but that's nothing new for us, is it?

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  The oversized first place slot on the VAD scoreboard changed. Jordahk smiled, letting himself indulge in the moment. His father's name reigned supreme and he was receiving numerous forearm bumps. Vittora moved to his side, showing her congratulations in s
ubtle ways few understood. Released from her lasso, the first officer and his cronies took one final glance at the scoreboard and slinked out.

  As Kord formerly ended the seminar, Jordahk marveled at what he'd seen. A brilliant use of less accurate full auto mode. It was a situation where wrangling a giga-powerful pistol was a boon, not a burden.

  “Solia, did you see—” Jordahk turned and stopped short.

  Solia was paces away and between them was SloanVessna, looking like an advertisement for shooting accessories. She had an uncanny ability to turn the roughest activity into a fashion victory. The outfit base, a thick black bodysuit, continued her style. Over it were lightning blue boots, a diagonally hanging belt of the same shade from which a slim grister was holstered. Her fitted lightning blue top accented all her natural features and still sported armor at the elbows and shoulders.

  He'd never seen her dressed so, especially with a pistol. It made quite an impression. He couldn't help admiring the whole package.

  “How about that lesson you've always wanted to give me,” she said.

  He hadn't heard that tone in a long time. Solia, eclipsed by Sloan's statuesque form, edged into view. She wore a strange expression. Like she'd just missed a precision shot despite having done everything right. Maybe because he was on the range he saw everything through that lens. Regardless, Solia stepped back, her mouth open, and darted off.

  He started to call her, but she was already gone. For some situations there was no training, although he felt he needed some.

  What happened to her?

  Sloan grabbed his arm. “What do you say, starrior?”

  “Ah…” Words weren't coming, but thankfully his father arrived to rescue him.

  “Go ahead, Jordahk. The range is open for free practice.”

  Kord drew, keeping the grister pointed downrange, and performed a speed reload out of habit. Without looking his hand brought a full magazine from the stor-all on his belt to the pistol's primary magazine slot. The empty dropped into one side of his hand while he inserted the full. This act of dexterity was performed without breaking eye contact.