Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy

by Gregory Faccone

  “Aristahl's earned the right to be a little inscrutable,” Vittora said. “What's he done now?”

  Kord reopened the message to read it verbatim. “So much to see at Aventicia. Heard about some points of interest at the Jetty. Leaving Jordahk with the ship.”

  Vittora thought about it and began nodding. “Something's going to happen here. Soon.”

  They rocketed away from the crowded Concourse orbit in the Verdant's flag shuttle. The density of infrastructure and ships dropped off. Space was big that way. But soon all the space in the solar system wouldn't be big enough. Aventicia was hosting too many factions, with too many secrets, and too much firepower.

  “The pieces are coming together, but what's the picture being formed?” He looked back out the crystal panes. The crescent of darkening Aventicia receded behind them. “Those Governing Board officers... two of them were truly uninformed.”

  “And the other two went to great lengths to sound uninformed.”

  “This mission has become muddy. I'm not sure what victory looks like.” He preferred focusing on the upside. Allowing circumstance to submerge optimism in front of his wife ground against him.

  “At least someone is here to help.” She wore a familiar expression. One that said she just knew something but couldn't prove it, nor offer specifics. She motioned back toward the station. “Back there.”

  She called it a spiritual gift. He didn't understand it, but the little pearl ignited his hope anew. Then, as sudden as a wind shift, her expression changed. She turned to look out past Granamar. A tone pinged from the shuttle's controls.

  “Incoming tactical feed from the Verdant,” Highearn said. “And a comm from Capt. Arceneaux.”

  The captain's face appeared. “Detensor just picked up three more ships at Granamar hill bottom. Initial indications are medium class.”

  “Isn't this party crowded enough?”

  “Indeed.” Arceneaux wasn't one for jokes. “Light speed data in a moment.”

  A new VAD showed three ships. One was an old mystic support ship of some sort. Glowing golden lines ran along its hull.

  “That's the Auscultare,” Highearn said, “a war-era mystic ship currently conscripted by the Archivers. It participated at the Egress Incident.”

  Kord hoped that didn't mean a certain crazy commodore was back. Their previous encounter was a nightmare.

  The other two ships were Archiver hybrids, sporting glowing lines of deep blue.

  “The Archivers can roll destroyer class ships off their hybrid lines now?” Arceneaux asked.

  “These are the first I've seen. Highearn, they remind me of an aegis cruiser.”

  Lines and measurements danced across the ships. “A good supposition. I estimate they're hybrid aegis destroyers. A new class.”

  “Aegis destroyers?” Arceneaux's eyebrows rose toward his slicked hair. “To protect what? That old support ship?”

  “I don't think so,” Vittora said.

  “Where are they going?” Kord asked.

  He pulled up more VADs for a tactical view of the system. Pretty much Aventicia's entire starkeel fleet was in orbit near the Jetty. Almost two dozen destroyers, and half as many frigates. But only a single big ship among them, the remaining galleon from the capital squadron.

  All escort and no punch!

  The Prime Orator's squadron, a little beat up from their encounter with the Svals, and down one destroyer, orbited farther out. And hovering like vultures, halfway to hilltop, was the Consortium Law and Commerce Fleet.

  A dotted course line for the newcomers updated on the VAD.

  “That's not what I was expecting,” Arceneaux said.

  The line arced back behind giant Granamar.

  “What's back there?” Kord asked.

  Arceneaux was looking for answers on his bridge and Vittora sifted through VADs like a data rider.

  “A lot of heavy industry. Mining and refineries,” Arceneaux said.

  “Also a couple of commercial shippers,” Vittora added.

  “Shippers with superhaulers?” Kord asked.

  Arceneaux didn't understand the significance but Vittora paged with new intent.

  “Both shipping firms boast having staryards big enough for superhaulers,” she said.

  The silence hung for a few seconds.

  “S-surely you're not suggesting…” Arceneaux stammered.

  Kord steeled himself. “Captain, I suggest we get a probe behind Granamar ASAP.”

  ▪ ▫ ▪

  “You're not thinking about jumping in there, kid,” Max said. “That pro system control line wasn't designed for this kind of traffic. We'd be limited too, unable to bring our power to bear.” Max switched to link-speak. “Unless you take it to the next level. If you know what I mean.”

  “No, I won't do that,” Jordahk sub-whispered. “Not here. Not with my head feeling this way.”

  What he'd done at Beuker, reaching out across space, building his own connection to Gaspar's compy... He hadn't known what he was doing, acting out of desperation. In the end it unleashed Judicum. The entity had begun to act outside his control, and that was a frightful prospect.

  Max returned to open communication. “Well, you're not an Octal, I'm not designed for cracking, and Wixom...”

  Yes. Wixom can't be trusted, is difficult to control, and is another danger that cannot be unleashed. On stage, Zoraida's smile cracked again, and her eyes darted, however briefly.

  “We're jumping in.” He sensed Max roll virtual eyes, and he saw Solia roll real ones. “Come on, we'll think of something.”

  “But people are going to see,” Solia said.

  The place was too saturated with light to hide semi-stealthy lenticular VADs.

  “Give me visuals that accurately represent the thresh environment.” Jordahk glanced at other tables. “Make it look like a game. Solia, play with me.”

  “Okay, hero.”

  VADs rose from the table depicting a lightwheel racetrack. Unnecessary glowing lines of energy outlined its every feature. To either side of the narrow track was what Max colorfully termed the laser death wall. Above were transparent pipes through which flowed bursts of glowing bits.

  “That's the information flow from the compromised compies,” the AI said.

  “Max, this road is too narrow.” Jordahk was behind familiar controls suspended before him in VAD form. “There's no room to maneuver.”

  “I told you. Everybody in here's running lean. Our cracking vehicle is my best guess for balanced stats. ”

  “Add a top view.”

  The new angle revealed four vehicles ahead of the Wilkrest's old family fanicle. The one destroyed by the eGov during the Egress Incident. It was thoroughly enhanced to match the game styling. Bright lines defined its archaic edges.

  “Nice touch Max. I didn't realize you were so sentimental.” But no modifications could hide what an anachronism it was in comparison to the others. Where their vehicles gripped the ground with wheels comprised of flex metal, color-oscillating spokes, the fanicle hovered on a whine of air. “What about weapons?”

  “Too much information density and interference to use probes. They'll just get buffeted off course. I shouldn't have wasted valuable space with that functionality.”

  “That's why it feels so sluggish.” A gale of glowing dust tore at the fanicle's edges. “It's like plowing through a windstorm.”

  “We have pulses. It'll take a number of them to do significant damage. Static torpedoes will work, but will take time to calc through this line. They'll be slow and hard to control, but they'll get there… eventually.”

  Jordahk sighed at Solia. “This just keeps getting better.”

  The racetrack was an old-school terrestrial setup, with two straightaways. They were nearing the end of the first. In front of him the four opposing vehicles let loose shots toward a kaleidoscopic funnel mounted before the turn.

  Their glowing torpedoes didn't exactly race into it as they pathed below the glowin
g pipes. A wooden stockade, stretched across the funnel opening, splintered upon torpedo impact. The shard fading into nothing.

  “That's it for her first firewall,” Max said.

  “Didn't last long,” Solia said.

  The funnel's protective cap was gone. The information pipes continued deeper inside and passed through holes in a stone bulwark.

  Jordahk accelerated into the first turn. “We've got to take one of them out before their next pass. How long will it take to calc a static torpedo?”

  “Beyond the back straightaway,” Max said. “Probably the far turn.”

  “Then stock up on as many pulses as you can.”

  Two of his opponents were using medium vehicles similar in general specs to the fanicle. Another looked to be a racer, with a focus on speed. The final lightwheel was an armored bruiser. Slow but tough. They were driving in formation as fast as the bruiser could go. Jordahk was able to catch up.

  “But what do we do?” Solia asked.

  “They'll think we're another disgruntled victim. We'll ease up next to the one closest to the rail.”

  They were accepted into the formation. Jordahk could only imagine what they thought of his vehicle. As they approached the far turn he moved next to one of the medium lightwheels.

  “This is only going to work once,” Max said.

  “Get ready on the guns, Solia.”

  If the driver thought the spacing too close, he didn't show it. As they began to turn, Jordahk continued straight. The driver impatiently pushed into the fanicle. Jordahk yanked the wheel hard, keeping his target's path aimed at the oncoming laser death wall. The vehicles ground together causing a flurry of sparks, then their opponent pinwheeled into the barrier becoming a cascade of shreds.

  Out in the club, a man bolted up, cursing. Onlookers grumbled about his interruption and he left the hall fuming.

  “Contact broken. He's locked out,” Max said.

  Solia raised an incredulous eyebrow. “One down.”

  The other vehicles, now alarmed, spread out.

  Jordahk pulled back. “Strafe them, Solia.”

  The rear turret, that was never on the real fanicle, fired a spray of pulses across the three remaining vehicles. Some impacted with bright flares, but little damage. Their opponents, busy calculating static torpedoes for their next pass, had no reply. But Jordahk expected one soon. It came along the rear straightaway.

  Streaks glared off incoming spheres. Opening the range aided dodging a direct impact, but the slow-moving torpedoes proximity detonated. The fanicle was buffeted by waves of energy. The right side, already somewhat damaged from driving the first enemy into the laser death wall, sparked and shed bits.

  Jordahk grit his teeth. “Hold together.” He glanced at the top-down view. “Let's see if we can pick another off. Load up the pulses. Hopefully these guys aren't savvy enough to form a combined defense.”

  They caught up to the group again and readied another full load of pulses. But before reaching firing position, the medium and racer lightwheel slowed and began to crisscross. They unloaded a flurry of pulses. Jordahk lurched, expending his full effort to protect the damaged right side. Impacts mounted. Solia fired back, but the increased range made for few hits.

  The bruiser was protected out in front. In the homestretch he launched a static torpedo. It flew down the funnel, impacting the stone bulwark near where the pipes went through. Rocks cracked and debris flew. The barrier was weakening.

  “I'm sorry. I can't get good shots,” Solia said.

  “It's not your fault, especially with me dodging like the Mad Sailor.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind. Max, we're not going to make it like this. We need a swindle, fast. Cranium style.”

  “Look, we've had some success penetrating specific systems with Cranium's library. Situations where I could run through options. But here—” The medium and racer lightwheels fired another spray of pulses just to keep them off-balance. Jordahk swerved. “This is a fluid situation with no set target. Looking at Cranium's library through that lens makes it appear like a recipe book with a thousand ingredients, and a million possible dishes.”

  “What about his logs? His experience and threshes.”

  “I can look through them, try to match up similar events, crunch the variables, and come up with some recipes, but in the end they'd just be guesses. Semi-predictive rehashes. You need better, and faster.”

  “Max, what are you trying to say? You're my go-to. We're a team.”

  “You know it, kid... but I'm not your only teammate. You need to consider all your options.”

  They were rounding the far turn. Jordahk was keeping up while trying to maintain a safe distance. Soon the bruiser would be in firing position again. He felt powerless to stop it.

  “You're not saying to rely on Wixom.”

  “No,” Max said. “He does everything faster, and he would say better, but he'd still wrestle with the same issues as I, although to a lesser extent.”

  “Much less,” a resonant voice link-said. “Of course you could always use your abilities to create within me new functionality.”

  Wixom could crack most standing data structures with brute force alone. But he was a loose cannon. An AI without the foundation of law that made them useful to mankind. He didn't need more weapons within his grasp. Thankfully, Max was now beyond easy reach.

  “Ah, you're plenty functional already.”

  “Then it's time for some back-up,” Max said. “Time to consider the simulcrum.”

  Max was trying to be gentle. Jordahk exhaled. In a low moment, after Windermere and the loss of Khai, he had decided to create a virtual simulcrum of Cranium. Ample material was available to make it realistic. Cranium's library, thresh history, and copious personal logs. Plus Max and Wixom had both observed him for some time.

  In truth, Wixom had wanted to do it, which raised red flags. But the AI desired to interact with Sojourners. It gave him pride in purpose. He was no longer needed by Alb-Sone, and hadn't worked with his master in two centuries. For now, Jordahk was the best he could get.

  Creating the mystic foundation had not been as difficult as the impossible Max restoration, for this time they were working toward the same goal. The simulcrum's design, when activated, would allow it to cogitate independent of Wixom's influence. However acting on its determinations would still go through the AI and his potent hardware. It was a compromise, but it had been war to get Max's pseudo-autonomy. It wasn't necessary in this case.

  As it turned out, just the act of building the simulcrum was enough to give emotional solace. Jordahk felt like he had created a memorial to his friend, and it was left at that, uninitialized.

  Light caught his attention at the far end of the homestretch. The bruiser had fired another static torpedo. Bright lines flared from the object as it plowed into the weakened stone bulwark. Rocks flew leaving holes, and major cracks depicted a wall barely able to stand. One more shot like that would finish it.

  “If you activate our creation,” Wixom link-said, “remember our deal.”

  The AI wanted more storage space formed from his configurable areas. Far more than what would be taken up if they finalized the simulcrum. His capacity was already vast. What was he recording and for whom? Did he expect to ever meet up with his master again?

  It was a tough spot. Wixom didn't need more resources. If they went forward with this, Jordahk would have to maintain vigilance—and be responsible. He laughed to himself, realizing he was already taking responsibility for the AI's presumption by participating in this unorthodox thresh.

  “This save is looking less probable by the second,” Max said, “but if we're to have any chance...”

  “Yeah, I know.” The Bitlord. A man with enough ambition to disregard civilization's AI conventions, and enough power to challenge the Khromas. This might be the first time one of his creations and the line of Quext have collaborated. Jordahk was suddenly excited by the prospect. “Do it.�
�

  “I need to draw power to fuse the paths,” Wixom said. “Don't be alarmed.”

  Their table light strips flickered and went out. Its sound generators went silent. The virtual landscape Zoraida was building, now with temples of obsidian rising from the midnight sand, faded for meters around them. Jordahk felt unbounded activity in his bracelet. It exhausted hot air.

  The fading stimuli allowed Durn to rouse from his stupor. He ground palms into his face and rubbed his eyes.

  “...weird performance.”

  The table began to rumble.

  “Initializing,” Wixon said.

  Jordahk looked about to see if anyone was watching, then brushed Solia over. “Take the end, quick.”

  The faded environment returned to full effect as below table level, light came together on the seat between them. The figure of Cranium Archimedes sat up.

  He looked around, as cocksure as days of old. “Hello, adam.”

  Durn finished and looked up. Recognition blossomed in his expression.

  “The Octal? When did you get here?”

  “Just now.”

  Chapter Twenty Four

  The ship was more impressive in person than any advertisement could convey. Sleek and shiny black, with engines far too large. It was cordoned by a mechanical maintenance squad filling the role of anselbot guardian more than mechanic. And across everything Shade Momentum, ship, bot, or basic tool, the iconic red stripe.

  To Aristahl the overpowered shuttle seemed like a big cat waiting to spring forth.

  “I have been wanting to ride in one of these. I hear they are quite fast, for scientum.”

  “Really, sir. You left long adolescence centuries ago,” Barrister said.

  The Concourse housed a growing number of bays for shuttle-sized ships. It seemed its ongoing construction was not limited to shopping establishments.

  A veritable squadron of stun floaters orbited above the gleaming ship, performing overwatch for maintenance bots trying to look busy.

  “Quite a number outside of human control.”

  “Aventicia makes allowances for property protection, although this use may stretch the law.”