The red of malfunctions was accumulating. Gasket and all of them had worked so hard to make it green enough for the trip. And Jordahk's head was getting worse. The squeezing. How did his grandfather stand it?
They were being propelled forward like a slippery object squeezed out between fingers. And the twin stars were the fingers.
After 30 long minutes the passage brightened. They burst into normal space surrounded by a plethora of white streaks. More than he had ever seen at once. Like they had been building up during the passage and were finally released.
The Aurora coasted at incredible speeds, bleeding off the streaks.
“My master theorized the possibility of a super-compressed manifold astroduct,” Wixom said.
Aristahl released the control stalks at last. “Hmph. My father made it a reality.”
“That was... an experience,” Jordahk said.
Instrumentation for normal space kicked in. No planets were nearby, but many objects were ahead. Behind them was the trinary system whose light had been lensed by the quark stars. A white dwarf, and two upper end brown dwarves according to the readings. They appeared magenta. The trinary lensed the bluish light of the quark stars in a subtle arcs.
The new region offered a spectacular view. Nebulae bracketed it, lighting up numerous ships, facilities, and a large ornate station of unquestionable mystic design.
“We are way far out, kid,” Max said.
They had traveled an incredible distance in 30 minutes, emerging into this remote chromatic ocean.
“It's amazing. Like a multi-colored sea.” And at its center, a huge construct, yet incomplete. He had never seen it before, yet knew what it was. His eyebrows raised. “It can't be... Adranus?”
“So my father absconded with the core piece after all.” Aristahl nodded. “And hid it away out here. I had almost given up hope of ever seeing it again.”
The legendary mystic shipyard Adranus. Broken into five sections in the waning years of the war. And he was looking at the most important of them. And surrounding it, ships of all kinds in various states of repair. A menagerie that looked like it took years to assemble.
“So Pops, you're not the only one collecting ships.”
“Indeed.”
And not just ships. Robotic facilities for mining and manufacture, and who knew what else. It was overwhelming.
“The Sea... of Adranus,” Jordahk mused aloud.
“Fitting,” Aristahl said.
“I'm reading a mystic courier holding at ready status,” Aurora said.
“Looks like somebody recently prepared this place,” Max offered.
Wixom was churning away, taking it all in. What a report for his master this would someday make.
“He really is rolling out the welcome for you,” Aristahl said.
“Me?”
“Well if it was for me, it would have happened long ago.”
“I think it's for both of us, Pops.” That was truly Jordahk's impression. “For he certainly knows first hand what I lack in the knowledge department.”
“Then we will bring it to life together, and put it to good use. That is, after your Investiture.”
Jordahk nodded and smiled. “Okay.” The idea of that teamwork made him happy. Then something struck him. “How do we get back?”
▪ ▫ ▪
Kord pondered Sojourner's Rock, brought in after the war by those from which its name was derived. Guarded with honor by the people of Patram. It moved around the planet in its lazy orbit, slumbering away the centuries. He too felt a strange kinship to it, although he could not say why.
He'd spent a lot of time in the the Verdant's flag station and was ready to give it a rest. But a few more minutes on a quiet bridge, blinking away in standby, was no big deal. The Confidence Fleet had dispersed. Arceneaux's Frulieste contingent was repaired enough to make the final leg of their return home.
A starliner would arrive in-system soon. He, Vittora, Solia, and the “Hero of Adams Rush,” would be taking it back. He was trying to work out issues for the League before enjoying his much desired recoup time. And they were all looking forward to Jordahk's Investiture.
Kord had not gotten used to the quiet, but that was okay. Let the rarity of it refresh him. The whispered beeps of the controls were marked by a ping. A commship had just made hill bottom. The ship AI cued up messages for him.
Kord played the first.
The face of Zephyrean D began, “Avere, friend, Kord Wilkrest. Greetings from Demeter.” The man was quiet even in a communication medium that required speech. “Savalis petitioned the council and has been granted authorization to bring his Charbon trebuchet to the League. Along with him, two other heavies have been granted leave. I am sure you will have an... appreciation for their function and deploy them well.”
Kord's imagination flew off on its own, conjuring the various unusual ships the Demeter ArgoNav might field for its starmada.
“Should the mission you have envisioned succeed,” Zephyrean D continued, “a great wrong will be righted at last. A stain will be washed from our collective honor. We will be there at the appropriate time to aid in this cause.”
Zephyrean D was so dramatic, but Kord was grateful for his support, and friendship.
Text updates appeared from Hexadecimal.
“Hexadecimal Core has allocated a number of combat salvage corvettes for the upcoming planetary reboot. Please plan accordingly for their most efficient use.”
Kord was amused by their terminology. “Planetary reboot.” They were an eccentric culture.
My family would know.
“Additionally,” the message continued, “your interest in our bio facilities has been well received. A full tour will be available upon your visit.”
Hexadecimal was really coming out of their shell with Freespace Movement participation. He was glad, even if it was late. A suspicion nagged at him, though. One that said they knew... something. Their actions weren't nefarious, but his intuition shouted to him that further investigation was called for. Perhaps during his visit.
Right now his plate was full. The upcoming action had been on his mind for years, and he was committed to seeing it through regardless of fallout from Aventicia. The Perigeum had dodged a financial crisis. The incident was smoothed over by most involved parties, excepting the Svals, but certainly including the Banking Confederation. Not that they had any great affinity for the Perigeum. Only one of the four banking worlds was even within generally accepted Perigeum borders. But commerce and the Transcultural Exchange were big coin. Links between Perigeum and Far Worlds, Overtrade Autonomy and Strident Cluster were lucrative. And galleons weren't cheap.
Kord wondered, though, whether the loss of Janus would bode better or worse for their near-term action. Change was coming to the Perigeum, but they still needed fresh worlds to bolster their failing centralized control economies. Braksaw and Parium. Neither seemed interested in reigning in stifling restrictions or the detested Regulators. But the latter was a proponent of trade rather than annexation. It was a nice hope, but Parium was too much a fish, and Braksaw the shark.
Braksaw would bring the trouble. But they were going to initiate a little of their own. Tomorrow in his backyard, and maybe someday soon, his doorstep. Kord smiled. Everything started with a dream.
Vittora entered the bridge looking renewed. Her action-wear was replaced with a flowing red dress—that Kord also suspected was action-wear. Something was on her mind.
“Did you talk to Stannis?” Kord asked.
“Stannis is waving off the chance to visit home, and participate in Jordahk's Investiture.” It was the disappointment of a mother. “He's moving away from us in more than just locale.”
“Jordahk may not be that disappointed.”
“At one time, he looked up to his older brother.”
Kord's brows came together. “Well, I didn't get the impression their last meeting was... warm.”
“As Jordahk grows closer to Aristahl
it rubs Stannis the wrong way.”
“Jordahk is the son of proto-genetic promise.” The solitude had brought out Kord's poetic side.
Vittora raised an eyebrow at the unexpected profundity. “But it's more than that. Jordahk's nature is aligned to it. He can't abide unfairness.”
“He's embracing his heritage, building something that may take him beyond... I don't know.”
Vittora bounded up to the flag seat, skipping the steps with enviable ease. She sat on his lap.
“So this is what the universe looks like to Kord Wilkrest.”
“There's usually a lot more going on.”
She turned to him. “Thirty-six years. They went by quickly.”
“We did a good job. Jordahk is becoming the man we hoped he would, although he does need more seasoning.”
Vittora laughed. “Yes, he jumps in with his heart before his head can catch up. A little like his father.”
“As the years pass he may be jumping in with increasing power.” They sat for a moment, listening to the whispers of the calm bridge. “Everything and nothing can prepare him for that.”
▪ ▫ ▪
Investiture. For some, like SloanVessna Doubravka, it was a grand coming out to society. A minority of others considered it more of a family function. It started as a Sojourner practice long before the war, and spread across space with the lifetime therapies. It took greater hold within the burgeoning Freespace Movement, now reflected in the Asterfraeo and Far Worlds territories.
Some societies took it more seriously than others. Usually those with greater Sojourner influence. Adams Rush fell in that category. Fathers bestowed an adult mantle to sons, and mothers to daughters. It also signified the start of a transforming relationship between parent and child.
After all, in a lifetime therapy society, people were only children for three and a half decades. Afterward they would relate to their parents for many times that number. Of course a parent and child would always be so, but the daily interaction would inevitably, over the decades and perhaps centuries, develop peer-like qualities. This aspect was bolstered by the potential lack of physical difference among those below Sempai, a milestone, with variance, starting around 300 standard years.
But physical potential and physical reality were, as most things are, separated by effort. Some, like Jordahk's parents, worked at it, honing their skills and muscle memory for scores of years. Their physical prowess far exceeded those who made no effort. Another factor was the quality of their lifetime therapy. Jordahk knew his family had been given special ravelens by a man some called the “Son of the Khromas.”
Perhaps Investiture makes one wax philosophical.
Jordahk gave himself a break this time. After all, Investiture happened only once. The stream next to their cabin trickled, making the same calming background noise Thule-Riss probably enjoyed back in the founding era. He stared into the night sky. Two years ago an unwelcome star had hung there, and Adams Rush became a battlefield to right a wrong allowed to go too far. What a contrast to the gentle flow beside him.
That was only two years ago?
His life had changed so much since then. Yet two years was nothing. Two centuries was significant. But having encountered Thule-Riss, he was no longer sure how much.
How old is he now?
Solia came out and stood next to him. He could sense it was her without looking. It wasn't one of the impressive tricks Aristahl pulled off routinely. He knew her gait, her scent on the air. But come to think of it, maybe he did sense more after all.
They stood for a few minutes in comfortable silence, just looking up at the stars. Jordahk liked that about her. She picked up on the mindset of others. He was grateful to have her here for this. Finally he turned.
“It's time,” she said, “when you're ready.”
“Okay.”
She went in ahead of him. He took a final look about with eyes that no longer allowed for total darkness. A scar on a tree caught his attention. His father had fought for his life at this very spot. What was their alternative? Not fight? His family would never cede their liberty to Janus, or any of the other groups they'd encountered.
His grandfather had not wavered in that for two centuries, even when it went counter to his own father. Jordahk looked up at the darkened peaks of the Thule-Riss Range. His grandsire hadn't left the game, at least not completely.
Entering the cabin, Jordahk found it lit by candles. Real candles made of wax. The very smell of the rarely used things sent a message of significance. Their mountain home felt different with the knowledge of what lie underneath, not to mention having been razed in battle. The addition of the candles completed its transformation into an alien place.
Flames flickered in the eyes of his parents and Solia. They shined brightly from Aristahl's, currently platinum with radiating lines of neumenium. Jordahk, too, had his rets cleared. His eyes were platinum with diamonds of rose-tinted ruthenium, the latter having developed during his recent forays into the bracer left by Tule-Riss.
A VAD arrow pointed to true north. He stepped into it's fading light. Solia faced him, and his parents stepped behind, placing a hand on each shoulder. Aristahl stepped behind Kord, placing a hand on his shoulder. Vittora's parents were busy pioneering Patram's new colony world, Temple.
“Jorh-Dahk Quest,” his father started, “having completed your thirty-sixth standard year, I declare your long adolescence finished. With authority vested in me as your parent, I decree your majority.”
Vittora continued. “May your eyes never grow used to usurpation of that endowed to all people by the laws of nature and nature's God.”
And Aristahl finished. “Go forth, perfecting the union of mankind, and promoting the welfare of Adams Rush. Ordinatum Profectus.”
“Ordinatum Profectus,” his parents and Solia repeated.
“Ordinatum Profectus,” Jordahk said.
As was often the case with such things, he didn't feel any different, but he knew he was different. Changed since the Egress Incident, and changed now in the eyes of Adams Rush. He could and would participate in the political tallies, very much along the lines his parents had not only taught, but demonstrated. It made more sense too, now that he'd personally experienced life in the Hex at Beuker. His family had suffered at the hands of those who didn't hold the “union of mankind” as an ideal.
He could legally buy property if he wanted, although he entertained no such plans. The Thule-Riss Range was in a family trust as old as Adams Rush. As old as the estates of Roy Hodges or eccentric Jefferson Adams. It would remain more or less as it was.
Receiving presents was part of the ritual. But before that began, a creak signaled an approach at the front door.
“It's Goldy,” Highearn said.
The combat bot walked in. A new gleaming body, courtesy of one of the felled units his parents defeated two years before, supported the same old gold trimmed head.
“You just can't keep a good bot down,” Jordahk joked.
“If I may offer a gift,” the bot said. He tossed a wooden staff. “I carved this one with additional circumference to comport with your preferences. My new body operates within finer tolerances.”
It was a notable gesture as far as the laconic bot went.
“Thanks, Goldy.” He was glad the bot was back, and the real wood staff felt good in his hands. It was the little things he was appreciating more, even this occasionally annoying machine remembering something said during an exercise a year ago. “Thank you all.”
Kord stepped to him, nodding with a subtle expression as if he'd reached a conclusion. “It's time you had this. I found it in the vault the day the cabin blew up. I think it's one of the most important things it contained.” He opened his hand, revealing an octagonal legacy shell. It was solid neumenium, and seemed to have a slight self-illumination. “This one will test you. You ready for that?”
Jordahk thought about it, but what choice did he have if he was to move forward? With a nod o
f acceptance, his father handed it over with emphasis.
His hand burned with sudden intensity. It spread to his entire body. Everything in him screamed to let go, but he refused. Solia stepped toward him, but Kord motioned her back. Jordahk sent his focus into the item. It was safeguarded mightily. It examined him down to the atom. His blood, his brain. It got stuck on his compy for what seemed an eternity.
“It's okay!” Jordahk exclaimed to the shell. The room seemed to rumble as he pressed his will into it. “Leave it to me.”
But the shell was not convinced. He got a glimpse of the Thule-Riss Range, and felt the familiarity of a place there, but it would allow him no further. The sting of energy reduced to something tolerable. Jordahk put the item in his stor-all, glad, for the moment, to break contact.
“Can't you dominate it?” Kord asked?
“It's not that,” Vittora said.
“You're right, it doesn't like my compy.” Jordahk wiped his perspired forehead, caught sight of the Bitlord's creation. Lights danced with frenetic intensity through its micro-capillaries. He shook his head. “But it's not the end.” He smiled to his father. “It'll work out, sooner or later.”
“I know. You're as ready as anyone at Investiture, but we'll continue to help you as needed along the way.”
Vittora nodded, then turned to Solia.
“Why don't we open Sloan's, gift” Solia said, “since she's not here.”
She grabbed and tossed a small gift box. Jordahk opened it to find an elegant little espy. A mystic espy. He chuckled.
“Hey, wasn't that the one she just got at her Investiture?” Solia asked. “Re-gifting?”
He could feel its capabilities so easily by touch alone. It was new manufacture from one of the prominent imprimatur houses. Probably cost a good chunk of coin. It rose into the air with little more than a thought.
“Yes,” he said. “It's the same one.”
“Maybe Sloan has come a ways too,” Vittora said.
It flew into Aristahl's hand. He examined it for only a couple seconds. “Passable tech... for imprimaturs. Hmm, yes. We will make some obvious improvements. Just needs a little forge work.”
Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy Page 48