Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  Aristahl had Torious retrieve two metallic clamshell cylinders designed to close over the forearm—bracers. The Legion snipers used them to take out a drone.

  "I picked these up on the way over," Aristahl said, "when Highearn told me you had not brought yours." He tossed them to his son.

  Kord and Vittora promptly snapped them on their forearms. "Well, at least our heat sigs won't give us away. Highearn, prepare a transmission to wake up our nearest anti-aircraft surprise. Coded relay burst. You know the drill."

  "Those stations may be adequate to destroy an aphid, but they'll be ineffective against an owl," Highearn said.

  "Hopefully a distraction will be enough." Kord and Vittora climbed into the crippled fanicle. They exchanged a last look with Jordahk. He felt a pang watching them scoot out the clearing into the night.

  "Best we be going." Aristahl was waiting near the flier's controls. "Barrister, I am activating Crae-Tarn's device."

  Jordahk noticed a helmet emag stripped to the top of the vehicle, a strange one with a spike. A circle of sky above the flier began undulating. Through it, the stars and egress wavered. The helmet briefly emitted a low hum that sounded like blowing wind.

  It wasn't uncommon for Sojourner creations to resemble ancient artifacts, but the helmet design didn't match the usual eras. The relic hunter in Jordahk couldn't resist curiosity as the flier's auto harness stabilized him.

  "Max, do you have anything on local regarding a helmet like that?"

  "Looks nineteenth century. Matches the description of something called a pickelhaube."

  Sojourners often modeled their devices after classical Greek and Roman designs. Sometimes they did the age of chivalry. A few who lost their way had been known to model after later cultures.

  "Was Crae-Tarn, ah, well, was he—"

  Aristahl worked the controls easily. "Sojourners were like other people. Most were decent. More than usual, I might add, and a few were bad. They also had to endure the inherent temptation of the technology. And the Onus can steal reason."

  The flier lifted only high enough to skim the treetops toward the peaks of the Thule-Riss. "But Crae-Tarn was more of an eccentric, maybe even a jokester. It was probably his idea to make a cloaking aid out of one of history's more ostentatious helmets."

  Aristahl paused, assessing the flier. "I believe the helmet is working as it should. Take us up and over, Barrister, on the route we discussed, and do try not to ping anything until we approach Port North."

  Generally, mystic artifacts were a unified piece, the functions of which couldn't be separated. If one was disassembled, and that was no easy feat, no dedicated sections would be clear, so cutting apart the helmet and trying to isolate the cloaking function would be useless. Using a valence welder to remove the absurd spike might damage or even destroy the helmet's operation.

  "So this Crae-Tarn just gave it to you then?" Jordahk asked.

  Aristahl thought for a moment before answering. "In a manner of speaking, yes." Aristahl was always vague about the past. He had known a lot of Sojourners, which wasn't unusual for an imprimatur of his generation. Back in the day, the two groups cooperated, though the far-fetched stuff was Sojourner territory alone.

  Regarding combat, an imprimatur's ability to create mystic tech out of platinum group metals made them too valuable to lose in battle. Most weren't wired for combat anyway, preferring to work behind the front lines. Sojourners, on the other hand, did whatever they wanted. The relative few who chose a dedicated warrior's path, Centurions, were a fearsome lot whose very presence could change the course of a battle.

  "The helmet should get us over the peak as long as that owl does not look too closely," Aristahl said.

  Most people could use common mystic technology, but only Sojourners and imprimaturs could create it. The helmet was not common. Another mystery connected to his unusual grandfather.

  "I'm more concerned about my parents." Jordahk was pressed into his seat as the flier angled upward. The daylight gone, the interior was lit dimly by instrumentation. The mountain below grew jagged and cold.

  "Your father is capable," Aristahl said. He kept an eye on a VAD showing the valley behind. "The helmet makes an incomplete sphere of obfuscation Barrister is angling. We are dragging an espy on a filament to watch for pursuit."

  "Bringing it up now," Max said. "Full spectrum and enhancing."

  A VAD appeared before Jordahk. Prospector's Pass and the nighttime valley were distant and featureless. Enhancement added the stylization of an illustration.

  "The owl is here," Barrister said.

  A meteor-like flaming ball lit the valley then exuded four brilliant columns of blue thrust. Its motion ceased, and the flames evaporated. The owl hovered, suspended by four mighty wendells.

  "That's where the snipers were," Max said. "They're likely releasing seeker drones and espies."

  The smoking assault craft moved toward Prospector's Pass, pausing again. Jordahk imagined more silent hunters spewing forth. At least his parent's bracers generated a cold plasma layer that blocked infrared and other emissions. The same went for the contraption on the fanicle. Finding someone who didn't want to be found required effort.

  The whine of the flier's fans changed in the thin air of the first peak. They cruised close to the snow, the steep angle filling the view with stars and egress.

  "There's action down there," Max said. The VAD was overlaid with information graphs. "A couple of seeker drones just went rockets on."

  Jordahk's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. In front of Aristahl a VAD appeared displaying information faster than Jordahk could track. An indicator spiked on both of their VADs.

  "That's an arc," Max said. It danced again. "Two." He placed a dot on the VAD. "There's a battle going on down there." Max circled two small pinprick explosions.

  "Kord knows many tricks," Aristahl said, but Jordahk detected a hint of worry in his voice. A new red indicator was added.

  "What's that?" Jordahk asked.

  "The fanicle's infrared signature," Max said. The indicator swerved a desperate jig through the distant woods. The owl, hanging in the sky like a flaming dagger, began homing in on it. New warning indicators blossomed over the city. Suddenly the owl was dealing with two-dozen incoming missiles. The machine unfolded into full combat mode. High-mounted faceted wings, not unlike a bird-of-prey's, arched off the upper front.

  The new government movement had scrambled to protect Adams Rush from Legion pressure they knew would come. This was one of their little surprises. Low-tech and low energy signature, the design aimed to take out an aphid in short-range ambush. Intercept guns on the owl went to work, and juking missiles disappeared in puffs of smoke at an alarming rate. The remainder slammed into the hull, converging to concentrate their explosive force.

  Half the owl glowed in shape-conforming radiant orange. The onslaught would have torn through an aphid, but an owl was a spaceship. Its wendells powered warm plasma shields that shrugged off the attack. The spent antiaircraft station wasn't even worth the return fire to destroy it.

  The flier leveled off at the mountain peak. In a moment they would be out of visual contact. The owl stopped, a barrel extending below its beak-like front as its configuration changed to gunnery.

  "Hypergun," Jordahk murmured, his mind feeling distant. A flash filled the sky, and light poured through the flier's windows. When it cleared, a vaporized section of woods sprouted a small mushroom cloud. "No!"

  The visuals were obscured, and the VADs shut off as the flier went down the far side of the mountain.

  "The fanicle has been destroyed," Barrister announced.

  Jordahk pounded the dash.

  Fort Franklin was bedlam. The last working beam on Adams Rush attracted the scared, the desperate, and the forlorn. Anyone who still had assets on-planet and wanted to get them off was there.

  Many traditionalists stuck around hoping the new government movement and the Founder's Day protests would turn things around. The
ir hopes were dashed when the huge chunk of pre-completed egress rose in the sky. Those who couldn't stomach life under an egress and were brave enough to leave it all behind vied for dwindling spots on anything that would take them farther out into the Asterfraeo.

  Trying to direct chaos was Adams Rush Orbital, an uncharacteristically heavy-handed agency of the once laissez-faire government. It was unpopular, constantly under political fire and barely tolerated. Beam traffic and close space was its purview. The double beam usually accommodated traffic in both directions. Today it was configured unusually. Both were going up.

  Two men and a robot rode the beam in a rented shuttle. With its absorption plate unfolded beneath collecting the beam's kinetic force, the shuttle made good time with minimal use of low-budget nuclear rockets. It was three-quarters of the way to orbit. Somehow Aristahl's arrangements held, and the chartered transport was waiting for them amid the clamor. But now Aristahl was wrestling with the bane of citizens since governments were first created—bureaucracy. So far it seemed an even match.

  The events on the other side of the world left a pit in Jordahk's stomach that wouldn't yield. Aristahl was unreadable, explaining flatly that they should not jump to unknowable conclusions. Jordahk was trying to follow that advice. His success was sketchy at best.

  Max laid out a few scenarios consistent with the data in which his parents could have survived. Good old Maximilian v4. Jordahk just had to accept it. He lacked the information necessary to mourn or celebrate. He needed to go on as his parents wanted, and as Aristahl expected. He forced bile down. A job needed doing; he just had no idea what it was.

  Aristahl was showing admirable patience with someone to whom Jordahk wasn't paying attention and still somehow disliked. The comm VAD showed a man with a sour expression in a messy cubicle typically used in old style orbital office complexes. Coming out of his thoughts, Jordahk noticed the fractious conversation.

  An information box Barrister generated showed how frighteningly resourceful the old AI could be. In this case, Jordahk now knew a lot more about this Durn Stobahn than was likely legal.

  He was 78, spent the last 30 years in Orbital, and had been passed over for promotion twice. He was a stimgar user—vile habit. The stimulant rings left stained fingers and gray-tinged teeth on lazy users. Durn Stobahn's teeth were a little gray. It also noted that the bureaucrat's long-term romantic relationship had dissolved within the last year.

  Where does Barrister get this stuff?

  "I told you," Aristahl repeated, "I have authorization to leave the beam early for orbital rendezvous."

  "And I told you all rendezvous from beam now require special authorization." He sounded smugly unpleasant. "You'll have to proceed to Kite Station like everyone else and make additional arrangements." Stobahn's dull black hair reached his chin. A horizontal band of metallic gray coloring sliced through it about halfway down. Jordahk was no expert on such things, but even he knew that style went out of fashion some five or ten years ago.

  In response to Stobahn, Barrister brought up numerous feeds from Kite Station. They showed backed up shuttles, lines at docks, and wait times for authorized port taxis, all undoubtedly extralegal taps. Aristahl took it in at a glance. Going to Kite Station was going nowhere.

  "If you will please examine these codes," Aristahl said. Barrister instantly brought up the codes with a "send" confirmation box. Aristahl touched it casually. "You will see I have standing authorization from Commander Marculus."

  Ferric Marculus? Jordahk thought. The "Iron Commander" himself? Thanks to comprehensive strategic instruction by his father, this was something about which he was knowledgeable. Marculus was a big deal during the Sojourners' Crusade and had served in many military-related capacities since. A homeworld hero, and Aristahl knew him? Jordahk doubted it was the last surprise his grandfather would reveal.

  Stobahn was checking something off screen. He smirked. "He's been retired for decades, old man." The Orbital bureaucrat waved dismissively at the VAD terminating the conversation.

  Barrister brought up another VAD with a large green "Hold?" confirmation. Aristahl touched it without delay. Stobahn continued efforts to cut the transmission, but the AI was having none of it. The orbital officer was perplexed, then peeved.

  "Could you please patch me through to the naval liaison?" Aristahl asked.

  Red-faced, Stobahn started pressing buttons harder than necessary. "Sure. And while I'm at it, I'll see if I can reach the President of the Assembly!" Unsuccessful at ending the comm, Stobahn stood in a huff and walked out of his cubicle.

  "Let it go, Barrister." The comm VAD closed.

  Silent until then, Torious added one of his unsolicited comments. "I could prescribe something for his feelings of inadequacy. However, I carry no therapy for idiocy."

  Aristahl and the AIs ignored the comment. Jordahk didn't know what to make of it. Seeing this reaction, Torious managed to affect a bodily expression of disappointment, at least as much as an ancient, battered, and vaguely humanoid nurse could. He rotated what passed for his head in a way that could be interpreted as shaking.

  "I see my brand of humor is lost on this generation," he said, his voice sounding especially tinny.

  Barrister jumped into the awkward silence. "I am sorry, sir. I have had no success locating Ferric Marculus. I believe he is off planet on a... cruise."

  "A cruise?" Aristahl said.

  Jordahk shrugged. "He is retired." It was the first time since they arrived at the new continent that he felt a twinge of humor.

  "Barrister, prepare a coded burst to his buffer. This development will draw him back. Outline the events that have occurred." Aristahl paused. "And those that are about to. Tell him we hope to bring back help. Send it as we break orbit. I suspect we will need him to untangle this mess."

  "What mess?" Jordahk suspected a whole new "leaving Adams Rush" experience was afoot.

  "Here we go again," Torious said.

  Aristahl straightened his clothes. "Barrister, calculate a maximum burn/minimum time rendezvous. Take into consideration port security vehicles and pursuit to manifold hilltop."

  Jordahk knew where this was going. "Max, have any Adams Rush military units pursued unauthorized traffic?"

  "Negative, kid. All naval units, even the small stuff, have held formation pinioned to the battlestation. They've got bigger concerns."

  "The closest port security ships are boarding another shuttle and pursuing an allegedly stolen yacht," Barrister said unruffled, as if reading banking planet investment rules. "Our best window will open in one minute fifteen seconds."

  "Let me see it," Aristahl said. He examined the new VAD, tracing the animated vector lines with his eyes. "All right, comm this to the Monte Crest. Tell them it is an emergency. Rendezvous if they desire payment."

  Jordahk rotated his seat forward and activated the restraints. Above, space was more crowded than usual as Kite Station twinkled in the distance.

  "The Monte Crest has begun its burn," Barrister announced.

  Aristahl turned and activated the shuttle's manual controls. They sounded a tone in noncompliance, and an overly pleasant female voice said, "This shuttle is not authorized for course deviation."

  "Barrister, if you please," Aristahl said. A hint of exasperation crept into his voice. The shuttle warning was cut off unceremoniously mid-sentence. The manual controls blossomed open. Aristahl worked them quickly but unhurried. The shuttle shook as it left the fading beam, absorption plate folding back up. It pivoted wildly and blasted off at maximum acceleration.

  Red warnings flashed and alarms went off before being silenced. An emergency VAD, outlined in red, displayed an equally red-faced Durn Stobahn. He sputtered spittle and threats. Though muted, the intent was clear. Jordahk suspected Barrister left the VAD open just to gloat. The controller wasn't taking it well. Some people were just not meant for power.

  A trimensional navigation VAD popped up displaying nearby ship vectors. One ship, whose blue ide
nt code indicated the name Monte Crest, was moving fast. Its projected course would soon intersect with the shuttle's. Too soon, Jordahk thought, shifting nervously in his seat.

  Barrister silenced more alarms. A ship on the nav changed course, becoming outlined in red. It bore a port security ident code. Another emergency VAD appeared next to the still sputtering Stobahn. Marked "receive only," it showed a stern-faced port security officer. Thankfully, Barrister only felt the need to antagonize the controller.

  Aristahl oversaw shuttle systems but left the dangerous, high-speed rendezvous navigation to Barrister. The stars swirled as the shuttle flipped. It and the Monte Crest decelerated for all they were worth on what was virtually a collision course. The shuttle shook with strain as Aristahl worked systems.

  After a brief override battle that the shuttle's control program lost, the entry hatch deployed with a clunk. Compared to conventional technology, maybe Barrister really was among children. Warnings flared as the shuttle program railed against dangerous behavior well outside its safety parameters. It and the Monte Crest would soon link up, or crash.

  "Fun, isn't it?" Torious said dryly to Jordahk. "Welcome to my galaxy."

  Through the crystal panes, the edge of the Monte Crest came into view. The two ships rendezvoused in a spray of superheated exhaust. The shuttle jolted with an alarming clang and a decidedly unpleasant groaning of metal. The entry lights turned green as Aristahl and Torious neared the hatch.

  Jordahk grabbed his bag and paused for a last observation of the violet and white crescent. It was unwise at that point to indulge in thoughts of the future, but two came unbidden anyway. Would history record his planet's successful repulsion of Perigeum control? Or would the newsVADs tout, "New Member World"? The latter his father would more fittingly name, "The Fall of Adams Rush."

  Jordahk felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his grandfather.

  "You will return," Aristahl said with a rare touch of feeling.