Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  Aristahl sat in its suspended command couch, surrounded by hard panels and VADs. But his line-of-sight straight ahead was unencumbered. The man could no doubt sense his grandson coming a light year away, yet he remained still, staring out at the stars beyond Aventicia. Almost as if sleeping with his eyes open.

  Jordahk didn't want to disturb him, so he just manned an officer's station. The bridge's bells and whistles were tucked away. The wrap-around forward viewport was shrunken, and the crystal ceiling was opaqued like the corridors. His mystic mentor knew he was there, but Aristahl was... somewhere else. Perhaps remembering something long gone.

  The moment became precious to Jordahk, and he didn't want to ruin it.

  “The evening used to be my favorite time of day,” Aristahl said, “but no longer.” His words pierced a silence Jordahk hadn't realized was so thick. “They say it is never dark on Solitar.”

  Solitar? The mythical capital of the Ajurian Realm?

  Jordahk's heart was no longer behind his usual rejoinders about the Ajurian Realm. Not any more. Not since Khai was taken away. Perhaps she was taken there, wherever there is. He needed to believe she was out there, somewhere beyond the TransVex into which she had disappeared.

  I said no becoming morose.

  Aristahl had gone through so much more than he. Fighting a long battle across inhabited space, and in the hearts of who knew how many. Being liberty's unsung champion, resisting the tide of governmental expansion. It was thankless.

  His grandfather exuded a sudden change. Jordahk had let his mind go too negative.

  “I acquired a few more so-called junk hulls for our mystic collection,” Aristahl said, rescuing the mood. “I am gathering what I can while the gathering is good. Mystic values are on the upswing thanks to some rather public displays. You and I are partners again in an anonymous company I formed for the job.”

  “What's wrong with Platinum Endeavors?”

  “Not anonymous enough. Altair Sprite has only two shareholders, you and I. All the work is done by contractors. They shuttle hulls Barrister purchases from drop-off to drop-off location. We even purchase scientum hulks to throw off the curious.”

  “Can we afford these purchases?”

  “Platinum Endeavors is doing well under Feliz. Your profits, and mine, are now funneled to Altair Sprite. Consider it an anonymous way to purchase what we need to do what we do.”

  Jordahk couldn't resist being just a little wry. “And just what is it that we do? Surely there's a manual.”

  “Come now, you have become so good at improvising. Anyway, we have an account set up here and soon at the other three banking worlds as comm ships propagate data.”

  “What are we doing with these hulls?”

  “Yes. That remains to be seen. Most have had their starkeels removed. If you or I ever went into starkeel craft we could make a killing, as they say.”

  Jordahk didn't want to pry, but they were business partners after all. “Can't you craft them?”

  “I suppose I could learn. It is a skill I never needed to acquire.” Aristahl looked back out to the stars. “My father was good at it, much as he was with anything to which he applied.”

  “Aurora has one of his.”

  “Yes. Two actually. The Aurora can make downhill speeds that approach a double-keel, without all the usual fatal side effects.” Was that his grandfather's dry humor? “She can make better acceleration in normal space than the best thrusters using the keel's additional functionality. Of course it requires some skill, and the shields have to be reduced to minimum.”

  I hope that's humor...

  “Why would a Sojourner ever let this ship go?” Jordahk asked.

  “Do not limit your thinking. Some Sojourners moved beyond conventional technology. Moved beyond the need for even starkeels as you know them.”

  Aristahl let his last sentence linger and Jordahk decided to stop thinking too hard. As his mind relaxed an impression formed. From Pops?

  “Like the Mad Sailor?” Jordahk asked tentatively?

  Aristahl raised a single eyebrow. “Yes. Your intuition served you well.”

  Jordahk had finally achieved once what his grandfather did routinely. He was pleased.

  Barrister, who'd been processing the media feeds since their arrival, floated VADs of those he thought worth consideration.

  Aristahl pointed. “Let us view that one, shall we Aurora? Captions please.”

  A large VAD displayed a man identified as Orator Parium from Siobahn. Janus had survived the destruction of his ship and had plans to stay on at Aventicia. And apparently that was fine with Parium.

  “Janus never stops.” Jordahk shook his head. “No matter how many times we take his plans offline.”

  “He has great ambition, and Parium great naivete.”

  Siobahn... There was something about that world that lingered in Jordahk's mind. Some controversy in its loss to the Perigeum during the war, and something about its name. He didn't want to jump into an AI inquiry, though, not with the conversation going well.

  “Siobahn. Ever been there?” Jordahk dared to ask.

  Aristahl seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “I spent time there before its fall. It was near Neumanus.” He pondered a little more. “The Wisdom was fond of the people who once inhabited that system.”

  The Wisdom? One of the Khromas. He knew so little about these legendary characters. A flashing indicator appeared.

  “I have a check-in comm from the squadron leader,” Aurora said. “I've been answering with a virtual Demeter commander up to now. Would you like me to continue that?”

  “Mason's an okay guy,” Jordahk said. “After all the Iron Commander picked his ship at Adams Rush.”

  “Ferric was an uncanny judge of character. I recall him saying how that captain reminded him of his younger self.”

  “...And, well, he saw my face at Windermere.”

  “Hmm, in light of that it might be prudent to foster a good relationship with him. Why not answer the check-in on an encrypted private line. We will observe this Capt. Mason Steede.”

  Aurora set up the comm and Jordahk found himself across from a familiar face.

  “Uh, hello. Again.”

  “It's you.” Mason displayed only mild surprise. He looked the same. Blond hair, thick neck, and a nose still just slightly crooked. “That's why all the encryption for a check-in. So that ancient Demeter corvette may be something very different.” Jordahk shrugged with tight lips and raised eyebrows. “Your being here is not putting me at ease. I don't suppose it's to swap Windermere war stories over a couple crystals of maltus?”

  “We can hope.”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  The Concourse began as a large commercial station and just grew bigger from there. A savvy business decision, catering to visitors a Banking Confederation world attracted, was successful beyond the investor's dreams. It hit critical mass, becoming the in place for establishments of all sorts, fueling its continuous expansion.

  Hotels, spas, and restaurants filled its long, cylindrical bulk. And of course private banking outlets for those who required delicate, face-to-face negotiating. Add to that other businesses that still attracted in-person shopping like custom outfitters, jewelers, and compy makers. Space on the Concourse remained in demand, and its leading edge was under continuous construction.

  The beam serving Aventicia's headquarters city went straight to the station. It had a grav weave spine where people could stroll or take conveyances following no shortage of signage. Of course signage wasn't strictly necessary in an era of compy navigation, but it was enticement commercial interests refused to forfeit.

  The effect was not lost on Jordahk, who felt the desire to buy something even without need.

  “Do use hard coin to purchase anything the relic hunter in you might find at a vintage shoppe,” Aristahl said, reading him as always.

  “I hear ya, Pops. No trace.”

  The only thing Jordahk had done, about which hi
s grandfather might not be pleased, was outing another corrupt Consortium field partner. It was one of the few things that Wixom was glad to do. This field partner had set up a bogus charity, and was accepting donations from far-flung banking patrons. Perhaps there was a promise of Consortium favors in the future. But the charity was no more than the man's personal coin line.

  The Banking Confederation didn't look kindly upon such fraudulent activity, especially at one of their four great hubs. When incriminating information just happened to appear at the workstation of one of their ombudsman, the field partner was banned from any financial dealings at Banking Confederation worlds for life, and summarily expelled from the Consortium.

  Of course, the man's personal coin line was emptied before it could be confiscated, and in Jordahk's opinion put to better use. He didn't know whether his grandfather was unaware of his Caedam activity or just looked the other way. Jordahk suspected the latter.

  He smiled in a reverie of that justice, then his brother came to mind. Stannis would most certainly not approve. Was he right? Was Jordahk being self-righteous, or rebelling against his elder brother? His smile faded. There were no definitive answers. It would be better to focus on the mission at hand, and he forced himself to survey his surroundings with his father's tactical mindset.

  A little late.

  There were no chekas monitoring people and movement like the Hex world Beuker. Advertisements dotted the environment, like an Asterfraeo society, but the tenor was more sedate. He spotted a prominent ad for a high end Aquarii beverage. It featured Jaan.

  The scene was a royal ball with couples dressed in vintage formal togs. Then Jaan shows up wearing only a men's dress jacket and uncomfortable footwear. She pours the beverage into everyone's goblets while comically bumping them and trying to stay covered. The women giggle and the men ogle.

  “I guess that's more sedate,” Jordahk remarked. He turned to his grandfather. “Are you concerned about face rec or other tracking?”

  “There is none of that on the Banking Confederation worlds. It is bad for business. Confidentiality and all that.”

  The wide grav weaved plaza stretched into the haze of distance. Lifts at either side brought patrons out to establishments whose gravity was derived from rotation. They spun independently of the central core like spokes radiating outward.

  The Concourse wasn't like Castellum's High Castle whose interior was designed to mimic a terrestrial environment. Instead it was like a high class hotel, scaled up. Jordahk spied his parents and Solia up ahead on a walkway above a pond. Two others were with them.

  “Hmm, perhaps I should seek out my business alone,” Aristahl said. Anonymity was their friend. Jordahk's appreciation for it was growing. “Many wheels are turning here,” Aristahl commed privately. He remained facing front, with only the slightest inclination of his head. “Find out what you can, but be watchful.” He turned and walked away. “Desperation is in the air.”

  The words left Jordahk with a shiver despite his long coat. He was suddenly glad for having worn the grister proof garment. Arriving at the scenic bridge he greeted his parents and Solia before turning to the others. Durn Stobahn.

  Of course.

  Could they possibly go off-world without him?

  The other caught him up short. A stunning woman with burnished umber skin and entrancing eyes. They shone strangely with heavy eyeliner accenting. Combined with the shape of her jet black hair, it gave him the impression of an ancient culture's royalty.

  “Dynastic Egyptian,” Max link-said.

  It wasn't the most popular ancient culture embraced during the prewar craze, but it certainly cracked the top three.

  She wore all white, with a gold belt and accents. Onyx orbs hung from her ears, like dark, ringed planets. Her complex slit dress flared daringly, and her treaders sprouted translucent wings at the outer ankles. Jordahk lost himself in the spectacle for a second before Durn brought him back.

  “And here he is,” Durn said, reaching out for a forearm bump. “If you read my postbook or watched the simVAD, you know he aided my efforts in bringing victory at Adams Rush.”

  Jordahk didn't have the heart to leave him hanging out there, so bumped him back.

  “Durn.”

  “That's Darren now.”

  “So you're Jordahk Wilkrest,” she said in a regal alto. “The simVAD didn't do you justice.”

  She nodded to him with a curious amount of respect. Enough for Durn to take notice.

  “Uh, Jordahk this is Zoraida, rep from Frulieste.”

  “I didn't know there were other reps heading up this delegation,” Jordahk said.

  “The Banking Confederation named Adams Rush as their lead proxy,” Zoraida said. “Recent experience has swayed them in your favor. But some participants want their own eyes on things.”

  His mother's eyes burned with a strange intensity during the exchange. She didn't comm anything to him privately, but it was clear something was on her mind. No doubt, in typical Patram fashion, she would be praying for him about whatever it was. Perhaps her previous vision, the one regarding his supposed decision gate, was weighing heavily on her. It would come sooner or later.

  It always does...

  His parents soon excused themselves for an attempt to meet as many of Aventicia's Governing Board as they could. Jordahk and the others would see about picking up scuttlebutt. The commercial sector often knew things before news got out to the public. Kord caught his attention as they said their goodbyes.

  “Watch your six,” he privately commed. Then he looked at Zoraida and smiled.

  As Jordahk walked away, with Durn and Zoraida out in front, he put a thumbs up behind his back.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Just like the concourse benefited from the synergy of proximity, so did social entertainment establishments that cater to long adolescents, and those who act like them. The most popular grouped their gigantic modular structures to be accessed from the same bank of lifts. It became known as Club Spoke.

  A colorful crowd was already gathered waiting for the lifts to open as club capacity allowed. The four of them moved to the far end where Zoraida placed a casual hand on the lift control panel.

  “These clubs probably run around the clock,” Solia said.

  “It might be a while, judging from the crowd,” Durn said.

  Suddenly the lift next to them opened. Heads turned their way.

  Zoraida put on a smug grin. “We don't have time to waste. Get in.”

  The lift doors closed before any other patrons could join them.

  “That wasn't… normal,” Jordahk noted.

  “Somebody owed me a favor,” Zoraida said, “and generated us a VIP code.”

  Darren nodded. “Fitting.”

  With the lift grav weave holding them steady, Jordahk barely noticed its orientation rotating to match the centrifugal gravity of the clubs out on the spoke. The doors opened onto a different world. Music, lights, outrageous signage, and advertisements inundated them from all directions. It was all the more dramatic by its difference from the professional, high-class plaza from which they'd come.

  Two girls exited another lift. One pulled a small device away from her eye and handed it to the other. They stepped against the wall as the second girl placed it against her eye. After a faint hiss it strobed a short pattern of light.

  Fanta-C.

  Jordahk had seen the drug before. It was a problem on the rise, perhaps especially at Aventicia where long adolescents and too much coin were a bad combination. It spoiled perception and repeated use could burn a body out.

  The first girl shucked loose her outerwear and touched a device on her wrist. Her coat crunched up into the device revealing a skintight bodysuit. It was one quarter opaque, and three quarters glowing transparent material. The shirt of the second girl crumpled away leaving only strategic dabs of self-illuminated paint and little else.

  “Oh, so it's that kind of place,” Zoraida said.

  Her hem
line shifted, raising high on her thigh, and the top of her dress peeled away, becoming a halter completely exposing her back. Darren ogled with a knowing grin, but the site startled Jordahk. The visceral, back-covering colortat of, of…

  “Sekhmet,” Max link-said. “An ancient Egyptian deity. A warrior goddess and fierce hunter.”

  Jordahk was momentarily speechless at the oscillating color and light spectacle. Solia threw something at him to get his attention. It was her jacket.

  “I guess we're going to have to up our game to blend in,” she said. “Hold on to that, will you?” Tracing a path along the top of her bodysuit legs, the material below peeled off creating shorts so short that he wondered how they still functioned as shorts. “These too,” she said throwing the earth-colored material at him.

  Her treaders went soft and rose to knee height. Reaching behind, she adjusted her barrette to prop her braided ponytail high off her head. Jordahk was trying to utter something, but the words didn't come. Finally Solia ran a finger down the center of her chest opening a slit down to her toned naval.

  “Whoa!” Jordahk put a hand in front of his eyes. “Ingots, Solia!”

  “Come on, Jordahk, we're on a mission.” She twirled his arm away Pankido style and feigned a strike to his heart.

  He was too discombobulated to do the counter move. She grinned and caught up to Zoraida. Durn watched the show with a smirk, and followed the women with his eyes. Jordahk had the sudden urge to punch him, but noticed the Hero of Adams Rush focusing on the filled out form of Zoraida more than Solia's slim good looks. That made him feel better... for whatever reason.

  Max sighed. “Really, kid.”

  “What?” Jordahk stuffed the clothing into his compressing sling bag.

  “Never mind.”

  The hub signage indicated dance clubs, entertainment/karaoke places, and actee theaters.