Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  “An actee might give us a good chance to interact,” Solia said. “Who knows what we might pick up.”

  Actees were participatory theaters in-the-round. People surrounded the platform watching the simulated settings, and jumping into the drama, playing roles written for it. Two actees were being hosted at the moment. Solia pointed toward the martial arts offering. It looked like Strident Cluster miners versus Svalbergen thugs.

  Jordahk looked at Zoraida. “I don't suppose you know any Pankido?”

  The woman raised her chin. “If I have to hit anyone, I've already miscalculated.” She glanced at the other actee and grabbed his arm. “Let's go.”

  Why isn't she pulling on Durn?

  He looked up as they moved. “Centurions of the Vanguard? Max, isn't that a Rebounder phrase?”

  “It is.”

  The Rebound Society was a secret order awaiting the return of the Sojourners. It had a greater following in oppressed systems like Beuker. Jordahk knew first-hand how dedicated the Rebounders were. He doubted any club-goers had seen the kinds of things he had under the eGov, but perhaps the subject matter attracted those who didn't want to see Aventicia fall to outside influence. Perhaps somebody with loose lips and helpful information.

  “Hope springs eternal,” Wixom said.

  Sarcastic machine.

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  Wixom hadn't spun up just for cutting commentary. Jordahk had noticed the AI's high activity since entering Aventicia. He didn't need problems of that machine's magnitude right now, not that any time was a good one.

  The light and sound of the actee theater reached them before entering. Inside, dim light washed over patrons while the configurable center platform was alive with VAD visualizations of a ship's bridge. The depiction faded into the seating, giving viewers the impression of being there. Patrons who had jumped into roles had their clothing enhanced by the actee program. Colors were changed, cuts modified, and fanciful lines of energy flowed over added bits of armor.

  The room was about three quarters full with people chatting and drinking more than being enraptured by a gripping performance. The setting depicted an old mystic destroyer manned by a faithful crew of Rebounders.

  “They look more like fantasy pirates,” Solia said.

  The outfits were outrageous. The men's too heroic, the women's too scanty. It was comical, but sadly how many watching were aware of it?

  “Appealing look wins over historical accuracy… or any accuracy,” Jordahk noted.

  “Even our mighty mystic destroyer can't hold off that many Perigeum frigates!” said the real person manning the tactical crew station.

  “Fire again!” said the person playing the first officer.

  The ship seemed to shake and flashes of light washed over the bridge.

  “Were holding them off, but just barely,” the tac officer said.

  “We've got to hang on until the captain gets here,” the first officer said.

  Static sounded across the bridge and a voice came over the comm.

  “Bridge, this is the bay, we're being boarded!”

  Sounds of a firefight echoed over the comm until it was cut off.

  The tac officer initiated wild maneuvers, swirling the stars outside the virtual viewport. Their destroyer made a close pass at the enemy.

  “Eat this eGov dross!” the tac officer yelled.

  “Fine maneuver,” the first officer said. “Target that closest frigate. Take down its forward shielding!”

  Jordahk exchanged glances with Solia. “Who writes this stuff?”

  Solia shook her head.

  “It's not so bad,” Durn said. “And the fans like it.”

  It was true. Even this drivel was entertaining them. But Jordahk questioned whether these young skulls even knew a potential war on their doorstep, or that a battle of civilizations was flaring up across human space.

  The actee paused and a friend of the on-stage players called them from the entry. They offered mock salutes to the audience and stepped out. No one was jumping to fill the roles. Solia gave Jordahk a playful shrug and stepped up into the crew station. Her clothes took on the look of black leather. Black bands materialized on the ample exposed skin of her arms and legs. She looked down and laughed.

  “Well the show must go on,” Durn said. He entered the bridge and seemed to enjoy the outrageous, over-the-top military uniform forming over his body. An options menu VAD appeared before him. He selected something and a large white hat with a gleaming gold emblem appeared on his head. “That's more like it.”

  The hexagonal symbol of the Perigeum appeared, then a sloppy slash of red crossed it at an angle near the bottom, forming a letter “Q.” It faded, and the action started up again.

  “Our shields might hold for one more close pass,” Solia the tac officer said. “It'll be dangerous. We might not make it. Is it a go, first officer?”

  She was ad-libbing from lines scrolling across her rets. But the actee AI was going with it, no doubt programmed for unpredictable deliveries and optional outcomes.

  “How dangerous?” It seemed Durn didn't want the actee to end just as he was getting up to speed. “Well, do what you must, but bring us through.” That didn't sound much like acting. “We have a war to win.”

  As the mystic destroyer flew through another close pass on the invading Perigeum frigates, silhouettes appeared behind the bridge for the next two parts. Durn's eagerness to grab a heroic role precluded him from what was probably the most heroic. Jordahk scanned to see who was going to step up to take it.

  Zoraida was examining the script on a VAD. “I think we can work with this.”

  “Work with what?”

  “Come on.”

  She pulled him onto the back of the platform and they merged into the silhouettes. The actee program worked with their forms. Zoraida transformed her dress into shorts and brought up her menu. She added leather-looking full pants and combat treaders. The top she left haltered so her tattoo might blaze. In her hand a menacing grister, three times as big as it needed to be, appeared.

  Jordahk looked about, somewhat bemused.

  “When in Rome...” Max link-said.

  He found it hard to jump in without reservation knowing what he did about the real world situation. But it was interesting how the actee brought to the surface aspects of people's personalities. Solia was working the virtual console, and the script, to keep them in the battle. Durn was... well, he was being Durn, playing the hero.

  Max brought up outfit options. They were outrageous.

  “What's this? Is this guy supposed to be a Sojourner?”

  The proposed depiction was covered with over-sized, baroque armor swirling with glowing lines of energy. The clear bowl of a helmet with a planetary ring around it was almost more than his stomach could handle.

  When did I start caring so much about Sojourner depictions?

  “Why aren't we stopping them?” Durn whined. “Isn't this a mystic destroyer? Activate our mystic weaponry!”

  Durn's grip on the script was loosening. Solia tried to reel the plot back in.

  “We need a Sojourner to use the weapon, first officer, don't you remember?”

  “Nonsense. Prepare the weapon!”

  Durn was going to see how far he could push the program. Perhaps it would have allowed more flexibility had he and Zoraida not already stepped into the next roles.

  A platinum control rose from the deck of the bridge. Atop it was a golden panel covered in poor approximations of Sojourner runes.

  Solia turned. “But sir, enemy troops are approaching the bridge. We need to repel boarders!”

  “What's the matter Jordahk? Sojourner up,” Zoraida said. “We have to save the day after all.”

  The situation didn't feel right. Something was nagging at him. More than the horrible costume options.

  “Max, cycle through these. Find me something better. Anything.”

  “I have. They all rot.”

  “I won't go in l
ike this.” It wouldn't be fair to his grandfather and the other Sojourners he'd met. “Open up Cranium's exploit library.”

  “It's not a magic bag, kid.”

  “Do it. This system's hardly secured.”

  “What are you doing?” Zoraida asked. She pressed herself against him to look at his VAD. “Making options.”

  In the low illumination, unmissable dots of light coursed through the micro-capillaries on Wixom's bracelet. He could feel her interest as much as the heat of her body. Cranium's library was practically made for these kinds of pranks.

  The cracking options cycled fast. “No. No. No,” Max said. “Definitely not. No. Whoa, that one got in. Weak interior. It's like a powder puff once you get past the firewall.”

  “What's a powder puff?” Zoraida asked.

  Jordahk rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

  “Well, you better dress fast. The actee's going to move on without us.” She nodded to the main platform. “Your girlfriend can't hold the plot off any longer.”

  “She not my—” This entire thing was becoming exasperating. “Max, give me something good. Like now.” He threw his coat backstage, but retained his bag while moving toward the light.

  “I'll handle this,” a resonant voice said. It lacked innocence.

  Color and light flashed about his body as he entered through the virtual lift doors at the back of the bridge. People turned his way, even Durn. Jordahk looked down. His clothes were gleaming white with purple accents. Huge bracers of platinum, neumenium, and gold shone on his forearms. And over his shoulders and chest was an oversized metal collar of sorts. Upon it were rows of Sojourner runes. Authentic ones.

  It was raiment similar to Judicum, similar to the man in the starchair whom he had met twice. He didn't know whether Wixom had learned gallows humor, was trying to be provocative, or was paying respect. He suddenly just wanted to get through this thing. Lines scrolled on his rets.

  “They're right behind us,” he said. Even his ears thought it sounded lackluster. He gave it a more determined shot. “Repel boarders, keep this bridge secure!”

  Enemy troops poured out of the other lift doors. They looked half Legion, half Hektor, and an extra half of unnecessary armor, outrageous cybernetics, and ridiculous weaponry.

  Zoraida blasted intruders while at the same time hanging on him as if posing for an action cineVAD advertisement. Two more jumped at them. Jordahk lifted his arm, although he carried no weapons.

  He could feel Wixom's amusement as a disk of distorted air formed off his bracer and flew at the intruders. They were hurled back against the bulkhead and disintegrated into motes of light. The crowd reacted, getting into a performance which had taken on surprising form.

  “I'll activate the weapon,” Durn said.

  “No don't,” Solia said.

  But Durn went ahead, placing a palm on the faux Sojourner runes. They glowed under his fingers. Jordahk could only glance back as more enemies came his way. Zoraida wasn't holding back in her shooting, posing, or distracting rubbing against him. Her grin was mischievous.

  The Sojourner weapon console came alive with arcs of current. Jordahk sensed immediately their real energy. They raced up Durn's arm.

  He stumbled toward Jordahk howling. “What the drak was that?”

  Jordahk dodged, but Zoraida didn't move with him. Durn tripped over his own feet and slammed into her, taking them both to the ground. The crowd reacted to the escalating action. Enemies continued to pour onto the bridge.

  Solia leaped in front of Jordahk. “Activate the weapon, captain.” He stepped back, marvelling at Solia's twirling form. What appeared to be a monomer knife hummed in her hand as she cut a swath through the intruders displaying her growing Pankido skills. “I'll cover you. Hurry!” Her exertion was real.

  Jordahk placed his hand on the crackling Sojourner weapon panel. Real current arced off the golden runes. The muscles in his arm spasamed, but he held his hand in place.

  “Wixom, I'm not pleased,” he sub-whispered.

  “What's the matter, Quext?” the AI link-said. “Doesn't the pain make it more real?”

  Urgent flashes spewed from the tactical panel. Zoraida lunged to it.

  “The Starmada frigates are headed straight for us,” she said. “Spear formation.”

  “Max, can you cut this arcing?” Jordahk sub-whispered.

  “Not quickly,” he link-said.

  Two more invaders entered the bridge with mammoth rifles and sprayed energy pulses. Jordahk dodged while keeping his hand on the panel. The other three engaged. Pulses caught them all, causing painful current to crackle up from the deck.

  Zoraida rubbed her arm where it was hit and stepped back with an angry scowl.

  Durn seemed angry and charged the assailants anyway. “Is this radiated thing broken?”

  Solia took two hits because of her close proximity. She winced, glanced at Jordahk, and charged in beside Durn.

  Jordahk's patience for seeing his friends hurt had run out. “I've had enough!”

  He directed his anger downward, felt the line of energy, and slammed it. A thud beyond actee effects reverberated, followed by an eruption of sparks from the deck.

  One hit Zoraida in the face. She yelped. Her brows knit in anger and her eyes filled with suspicion.

  The current at the panel stopped, and it lit with full activation. Jordahk was ready to put an end to this charade. Forgetting wisdom, he channeled frustration though his sweeping arm. With a grunt he swiped it across the viewport. He felt resonance through his compy wrist and a real concussion wave blew outward in a sphere, impacting everyone in the theater.

  At the same time, in virtual space, a huge energy wave slammed the incoming Perigeum squadron, atomizing them in roaring light. Patrons felt the heat and covered their eyes. Dismayed voices cried out, but as the spectacle faded, they gave way to applause.

  But instead of concluding, the actee AI had chosen the twist ending, likely Wixom's doing. A last, boss trooper burst from the lift and coiled to throw a monomer knife at Jordahk. The script called for the Sojourner's loyal bodyguard/girlfriend to leap in front of the blade. But Zoraida, still rubbing her cheek from the malfunctioning safeties, only shook her head.

  To Jordahk's surprise, Durn actually reached for the boss trooper, but was too far to stop the throw. The arm came down and the knife flew. Then a black and flesh blur was in front of him. Solia took the shot in her chest, and a nasty arc met the entry with excessive energy. Durn slugged the boss, picked up a weapon and blasted him.

  Solia turned, her brows knit it pain, but elation in her eyes at the successful save. She fell before him, smoke wisping from a real burn at her solar plexus. The crowd reacted. Jordahk knelt, anger drawn to a real char marring alabaster skin. The script was finished, but he wasn't.

  “Don't let it end yet,” he murmured to his compy wrist. A cold strength welled in him. The power to break a recalcitrant compy. He could sense that it gave even Wixom pause.

  “Go ahead, Quext,” the AI link-said. “End this fantasy as you see fit.”

  He stared at the long stripe of exposed flesh down Solia's front. She saw him looking but wasn't embarrassed, instead seeming curious. Why was the sight so familiar? Why was it moving him so? Then he remembered his last moments with Khai...

  “Max, I want to draw an autobuss,” he sub-whispered.

  The Concourse wasn't weapons restricted like most of the Hex, but it wasn't the laissez-faire Asterfraeo either. They allowed nonlethal armament, not because they were any great proponents of personal freedom, but because they did find that crime was curtailed by an armed populace, even sub-lethally armed. Thus Jordahk carried only the small incapacitator from Beuker.

  “Okay,” Max link-said. “It's ready.”

  He reached into his real bag and withdrew a simulated autobuss. It was the image of his, modified by the Spirit's technology to a pearlescent white. The onlookers whispered.

  “And I want a legacy shell. Make it glow
ing.”

  He moved with a familiarity that wasn't acting. Flicking the breech of the pistol open, he pressed home the glowing shell. Out of habit he concentrated a few seconds on the virtual autobuss. The device began to glow.

  “What do you want me to do with it?” Max asked.

  The power that had welled up in him he focused into his hands. “Transform it into a ball of energy. About this big.” He held his hands shoulder width apart. “Make it wavy and busy.” Solia could see he was trying to do something and harbored a question in her eyes. “It's Kelvin,” he whispered to her.

  The autobuss ignited into a luminescent sphere. Jordahk placed it down on Solia's chest. That was enough to end the actee his way, but the energy in him wanted release. It became warm and good, so he reached through the fake energy and touched his fingers to her skin. Solia's abdomen muscles crunched as low-level current flowed and his wrist tingled.

  Then it was done, and the sphere contracted back into an autobuss which fell to the deck. Everyone could see his fingers touching her chest—and he was suddenly embarrassed. Pulling his hands back a little too fast, he helped her up to raucous applause. They both looked at her breastbone. The burn was gone, with only a red mark to show it ever existed.

  “Wha—?” She stroked her fingers along the skin, bemused.

  Jordahk shrugged, open mouthed. She looked at him with glassy eyes. Then the end credits appeared midair, and the music swelled. Zoraida injected herself between them and they made awkward bows.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jordahk noticed Solia fasten her top up past the former burn.

  “I thought embodying the public's hero was my job,” Durn muttered beneath a stage smile.

  Jordahk sighed. “It is.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  "Everybody knows a half-dozen galleons do not simultaneously fall out of space,” Aristahl said.

  “Local authorities are unable to locate the malfunction, much less excise it from their systems,” Barrister said.

  The tech room Aristahl had rented was festooned with data linkages and software aids. VADs and active surfaces alike displayed all manner of data the two of them were trying to sift.