Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  “Capital squadron moving out to formally challenge. Six galleons preparing to sortie from the Jetty.”

  A flustered Orator Parium made his way to the flag bridge. “Prime Orator, everything I've been working at is falling apart. Have you seen the reports from the surface?”

  He had. A power shift was occurring on a world that had never seen anything like it.

  “Yes, very distressing.”

  “Could... could all those reports coming out of the Asterfraeo about corruption here be true?”

  “That's Asterfraeo Territories Orator.”

  Parium seemed too out-of-sorts to hear the correction. “Four board members have resigned.” His pitch rose. “One even committed suicide. The Chairman's only releasing statements and taking no comms.”

  “Unacceptable. We must ensure the stability of currency...” Janus smiled a grim, burdened smile. “For all our people.”

  An alarm pinged. The VAD of Capt. Gimmelstau still hung before the command chair.

  “The Svals are moving forward,” he said. “Formation change coming.”

  Parium shook his head. “Do they think they can dominate a banking world militarily? What about the galleons?”

  “The actions of the Svalbergen Blacksea Corporation,” Janus said, “are dictated by their own conventions.”

  “Here it comes,” Gimmelstau said. “Now we'll get some intel on that giant they towed in.”

  The Svals dragged in something big with their beefy salvage-colliers. But they kept it obscured within their squadron and on low power to hide its potential.

  “Overlapping pyramid formation,” Leisal chimed in. “Does that mean something?”

  “The giant is powering up and taking the inner capstone position,” Gimmelstau said.

  The bridge viewports flashed with new ship schematics.

  Parium seemed lost. “An old Sino Worlds battleship?”

  Janus rolled his eyes, hoping nobody saw.

  A vacant android, a clueless orator, and a hopeless crew...

  “Look at those numbers,” Gimmelstau continued. “They must've spent the days since arrival coaxing a fusion reactor.”

  Firing up a fusion reactor after it traveled through manifold space was a dangerous prospect without painstaking inspection and realignment of all delicate parts.

  “What's it mean?” Parium asked.

  Janus nodded in understanding and turned so as to be seen by the media. “It means the Svals have built themselves a poor man's galleon.”

  “A good bet says it's enhanced like all their other ships,” Gimmelstau said, “half again as tough.”

  Aventicia Security's capital squadron was the standard twelve ships. An equal number of destroyers and frigates anchored by two mighty galleons. The firepower and fusion powered shields of a galleon made them a good match for any balanced starkeel squadron. But, as Janus had learned, and as he suspected Aventicia Security was about to find out, real combat was about more than straight data.

  Janus issued preparatory orders and made comms to whatever Governing Board members he could find as the moments ticked down. The Svals moved in slow and steady. The capital squadron raced out to an intercept point and set up to block the path.

  “Fools,” Janus murmured.

  “You said something, Prime Orator?” Thaine asked.

  Janus adopted his regal tone. “Aventicia has fought their wars with coin and leverage. These Security captains are as prepared to fight the Svals as a boy coming out of emergence fever.”

  “They've entered engagement distance,” Gimmelstau said. “AvSec is demanding the Svals cease their advance and identify their intent.”

  Tension spread across the Aventicia system. The capital squadron stood proudly in a loose wall formation. The Svals adjusted their approach angle. This single, simple act caused AvSec to further loosen their formation as they moved to the new intercept. All the while the range ticked down.

  “Aventicia Security is acting as protocol demands,” Leisal said.

  Janus offered elucidation, because Parium was still lost, and it looked good for media consumption.

  “History shows the Svals don't play by accepted conventions. You think they care about a diplomatic incident? Even being accused of an act of war won't deter them if they're determined. A civilized power would expend and lose much going to war with the barbaric Svals around dusty Strident Cluster worlds.”

  The Blacksea Corporation made another crisp adjustment. Without warning they opened fire, even while the capital squadron was still transmitting diplomatic queries. Every Sval ship had line-of-sight on the lead galleon. It received a tremendous, focused pummeling. But galleon shields weren't so easily cracked.

  The same could be said for the former Sino Worlds battleship turned galleon. It received the majority of return fire, which by comparison was disorganized. The Svals increased speed instead of maneuvering to the usual ship-to-ship ranges. They veered above the capital squadron's wall, causing a number of its ships to lose targeting solutions due to interference by their own forces. The defenders continued to fire back, thanks to AIs following general orders, but it lacked intent and effectiveness.

  The Svals pressed with brutality, pouring T-beam and hypergun into the lead galleon's shields. The galleon tried to maneuver behind its brothers for protection, but the formation was becoming disorganized. At close ranges for starmada combat, and under withering fire, the galleon's shields finally began to buckle. Explosions spouted plasma into space as the entire starboard side of the once impregnable ship went dark.

  A single Sval cruiser, one of the large Thunar class, began pinpoint shots on the floundering galleon while the rest focused on the nearest Aventicia frigate. At close range, normal avoidance maneuvering, a nimble frigate's best friend, had limited benefit. The ship took tremendous damage and retreated, their last option to escape catastrophic failure.

  It was the straw that broke the capital squadron's spirit, and it devolved into withdrawl chaos, ending organized counter-fire. Ships rocketed away at best acceleration in any direction away from the pummeling enemy. Sval salvage colliers thrust forward from the rear of their line.

  “Capture protocol detected,” the First Cruiser's AI said.

  “This is insanity!” Thaine said.

  Janus took on a serious expression. “No, this is the Svalbergen Blacksea Corporation.”

  “It's curious that no fire's coming from the battleship galleon,” Leisal observed.

  “They must have funneled everything to shields,” Janus said, “knowing they'd be the obvious target.”

  “Capital squadron falling back to rendezvous with Jetty-launched galleons,” the ship AI said.

  “The Svals have slowed but are continuing to advance,” Gimmelstau said.

  Two Savalbergen salvage colliers bracketed the incapacitated galleon, closing in. A third stood watch overhead with its minimal weaponry. The galleon erupted with a spree of escape pods, points of light fleeing a darkening ship.

  “Are they... are they stealing that ship?” Parium asked.

  “I told you the Svals play by their own rules,” Janus said, “and they're poor. That galleon was probably laid at Umbria Magnus. Quite a prize. No doubt in a few months it'll be a contract picket in some miserable, jerk-water star system.”

  VAD highlights brought their attention to irregular readings coming from the Jetty galleons. Vectors began to stretch off individual ships in seemingly random directions.

  “That's... not normal.” Parium said.

  Thank you Orator Obvious.

  “Aventicia Security battle comms are encrypted,” Leisal said.

  Amazing deduction Magellan.

  “Gimmelstau, what's happening?” Janus demanded.

  “Unsecured transmissions are chaotic. Lots of chatter between the Jetty and the galleons. Some serious malfunctions.”

  The six galleon formation moving out from the Jetty no longer resembled ordered flight. Ships yawed and pitched with un
controlled maneuvering bursts. Thrust ring nozzles flashed in unbridled staccato.

  “TacNav,” Janus ordered.

  The large trimensional VAD appeared in open air at the front of the flag bridge. It showed all ship positions in-system, and the big picture grew clear.

  Collision warnings sprouted off galleons as two grazed each other with granix-smashing force. They had no choice but to shut down main propulsion with their thrust rings out of control. The capital squadron, trying to regroup, changed course to be far from the malfunctioning behemoths. Down a galleon, and minus a Jetty-bound frigate trailing debris, the retreating ships seemed forlorn.

  Orator Parium was also looking forlorn. “What about Aventicia's starkeel ships? I know they aren't allowed big ones, but where are they?”

  The TacNav zoomed on two groups of ships 10 light minutes out. They stood off from each other, outside of weapons range. One was the remainder of Aventicia Security ships. Eighteen destroyers and six frigates. A significant chunk of escort firepower, and quite difficult to stop—if teamed with galleons. The other was an eclectic group difficult to identify at range. It was designated “Trade Union.”

  “I'd say they're standing guard over a flotilla of unknown intent,” Janus said.

  “Trade Union? Whose delegation is that?” Thaine asked.

  “Their stated intent,” Leisal said, “is to ensure trade and the integrity of the transcultural exchange.”

  “MDHD detected,” the ship AI said.

  The Aventicia Security escort fleet slipped out of regular space first, followed a moment later by the Trade Union flotilla. Their progress was tracked by the ship's detensor, and updated on the TacNav. Two fleet markers rapidly closed on Granamar's hill-bottom. In a moment both groups reappeared from manifold space amid a spate of expanding, prismatic rings. The smaller AvSec ships were able to penetrate further into the gravity well.

  As schematics and designations of the now closer Trade Union flotilla came in, a wave of murmurers passed through the bridge. Even the civilians reacted.

  Orator Parium stared agog at the viewport. “That's not a diplomatic delegation!”

  Janus nodded gravely. “It's a Law and Commerce Fleet.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Vittora missed the invigorating air of Patram. Oh, she loved rustic Adams Rush. It was simple and clean. But one naturally became accustomed to the atmosphere of their native world, and her sweet memories were backed by reality. With only inhabited caverns to fill, Patram built their air. A custom mix of aromatic gases infused with properties for maximum health.

  Gilead Principality was a little over the top with their beautifying filigree work and harmonizing structural guidelines, but it gave the cavern unique charm. Patram was a world of mini-worlds. Hamlets ran the gamut from sleek and metallic to ceramic with stained crystal, although the latter was most common. Environments also varied from high desert to more recent constructs wet with lakes and beaches.

  She shut her open comm, enjoying the quiet of the reception hall's renowned grounds. Its statues were enhanced with VAD constructs, bringing their settings to life. Strolling for a while, she heard a fountain and looked up. She was next to the grand statue of founder Whitaker Feldspar. Like most of Patram's founders, he'd spent a number of years on Neumanus. And, like most, he'd left when the growing egress network portended dire things. Mystic technology was flourishing, and the eGov's aggressive interest would not be assuaged.

  The ceramic statue captured his now famous pose when asked where his group would go from Neumanus. He looked up with a slightly bent elbow pointing above the setting sun. The light from Minor streamed down upon him through the crystal roof. It was fitting. On his shoulder was a bird of prey, proud yet restrained.

  I don't remember Whitaker Feldspar being into falconry.

  She shrugged and continued toward the splashing. After a moment she saw arcs of water peeking over elaborate greenery.

  “Communication down,” Rel, her non-personality AI, link-said.

  Vittora swept the area with her eyes reflexively. No one was in sight. “What do you mean down?” Rel wasn't prone to false alarm.

  “I estimate it's being blocked.”

  “What?” She got a bearing on the reception hall.

  “Alert! We're under mal-micro attack.”

  Vittora grabbed a small grister from a thigh holster. “Release the KAMs!”

  Killer Anti-Micros were stationed at the ready in the bloodstream of the paranoid—and prepared. The Wilkrest's occupied the second category, for their colorful lives ruled out the first.

  “I have,” Rel responded, too calm for the situation. “The mals are more virulent than anything I have on record. Our KAMs are only forty percent effective.”

  She bolted toward the fountain base for cover. “Forty percent?” They dutifully upgraded their KAMs every six months. “That's impossible.” Her sprint was more of a jog; her strides sluggish. “Is it poison?”

  “No. I believe someone is trying to render you unconscious.”

  “God help me.” It wasn't just a phrase to her. Hope remained strong even in suddenly dire circumstances. “Where's Kord?”

  “No signal. No visual.”

  It was taking forever to reach the fountain. A sting seared her between the shoulder blades.

  “A needler fléchette. It's already dissolving into more mals.”

  She felt a sudden and irrational disdain for her open-backed dress. “Make consciousness the priority.” She fell to one knee at the base of the fountain. “…even over bodily damage.”

  “I'm picking up fans,” Rel stated.

  Vittora knew what it meant, even before her AI continued. She whipped her head around looking for her attacker's endgame.

  Faith-filled defiance burst forth. “No one will take me from where I belong!”

  “Seeker drones incoming,” Rel stated flatly.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “The dragonfly has line of sight on her,” Highearn said. “Updating vector.”

  Kord raced through the statuary garden, plowing through greenery rather than elevating and exposing himself to fire.

  “Where's our tango?” Kord demanded. Traditional tactics and nomenclature surfaced under combat stress, which, all things considered, wasn't a bad thing.

  “Unknown. I agree it's likely just one considering his tactics.” Their opponent had done his homework, remaining hidden to avoid a straight on pistol match. “I'm detecting mal-micros. Activating KAMs and bracer protocol.”

  His low-profile bracer wasn't the best for combat, but its anti-micro field, carried by the cold plasma, would slow airborne mals enough for his KAMs to stay ahead.

  “Poison?”

  “No, sleepers.”

  The plan flashed clear to him. “It's a snatch and run! Jordahk, keep an eye out for an escape route and vehicle. And stay low until we get visuals on him!” No response came back. “Did it get through?”

  “Inconclusive. We're half in the jamming field. Detecting multiple seeker drones.”

  “Where is this guy!”

  “The dragonfly's engaging a seeker drone.”

  “That bug doesn't follow orders. If the drone goes rockets-on it'll never catch it.” A flash off to the right was followed by an explosion of misshapen pink energy. The little bugger got one. “Stun charges. I was right.”

  Basic visuals, provided by the dragonfly, showed the fountain where Vittora was fighting for consciousness. She wouldn't lose hope. She believed God would see her through. And he believed that God used him to make sure of it.

  “Alert: Rockets on!” Highearn said.

  A reticle on his rets showed a target blazing in toward Vittora. He'd have to leap to engage it. That would make him vulnerable, but he saw no other choice? Leaping over a statue's base in as much of a line drive as possible, he twisted mid-air and made a shot on the drone few could with an under-powered concealment grister. The target blossomed into a sphere of pink energy.

 
He juked until he hit the ground rolling. The incoming fire he expected didn't materialize. Its absence concerned him more. It meant his opponent used that moment to do something else.

  “Call the bug. I need back-up now!”

  “It's trying to engage another seeker drone.”

  “Now!”

  He burst into the fountain's clearing. A groggy Vittora was turning her little grister on a man whose color-changing clothes blended in with statue and greenery. Her shot hit his body, but did not penetrate. It didn't even slow him down. Like an animal built for speed the man scooped her up. Now he had a shield Kord dared not shoot past.

  The range had to be closed without being shot. He needed a distraction. He pressed undaunted, at full speed, staring at the man's grister hand, willing his distraction. He felt his mind reach out, sensing energy, sensing his surroundings. The strange man, Vittora clutched in one hand and a grister in the other, turned to fire. And suddenly a blur, that for an instant turned bright osmium blue, crossed his gristers's barrel. The dragonfly.

  The pistol came apart with a flash of discharged energy. Kord launched himself at the man, cocking his arm back. It came down with a blow mighty enough to stop a speeding fanicle. The man dropped the grister and somehow caught the strike in his palm. The concussion caused a ripple through the fountain's water.

  Vittora was struggling to stay conscious, concern for him filling her face. “Kord...”

  The man's grip was like granix, crushing his hand. Through the physical contact Kord's increased awareness gave him answers. The man's body was infused with enhancement energy.

  “Hektor!”

  Two flex-blades extruded from the man's forearm, stabbing Kord's hand. Current pumped into his body in an explosion of light and pain. Kord saw it almost objectively with his new awareness. The energy… It was something he could almost control.

  An idea was borne of desperation, and executed with the simplicity of his relevant experience. He focused on the hand entry points to block the flow of energy. An invisible swirling sensation formed at his fist. Amazingly, it slowed the energy flow, but too much had already blasted him, and his ability to concentrate was diminished. His chest felt crushed, and the old mystic injury in his thigh burned white-hot before his leg collapsed.