Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  "You have a heritage," Aristahl said. "What you might call a family trait."

  "I can make a couple of mystic things work and then feel sick afterward. Father, Mr. Scientum, is about as far from imprimatur as you can get."

  "An imprimatur," Aristahl said distractedly. "Yes, he is not that. When your father was young, it was not the right time for delving into mystic. Too much animosity following the war, and the Sojourners, were fading away. It worked out well enough. Your father loves his scientum toys."

  Perhaps that accounted for some of the friction between Kord and Aristahl. His grandfather was being forthright. Jordahk practically saw a metaphorical door before him but resisted going through. Yet he hung on every word.

  "Recent moves echo the old days," Aristahl said. "The Perigeum is hungry again, though it does not understand why."

  Aristahl must have been born formal. Many younger people simply called it the "Egov," though Jordahk didn't know the term's penetration within the Hex.

  "They do not colonize. Their social nexus bred out the desire to explore and risk." Aristahl gestured subtly to the stars. "Who has the inclination or coin to colonize? Is it not easier to have new worlds 'join?' Ones with infrastructure already in place."

  More cineVADs about bold explorers came out of the Hex than actual explorer ships. The comparatively poorer Asterfraeo worlds were much keener on establishing fledgling colonies, perhaps a legacy of the Sojourners.

  That realization was like a ray of light shining through Jordahk's brain. Aristahl noticed with a subtle nod.

  A quick series of computer chirps emanated near the siblings.

  "I think they found it," Barrister said.

  "I'm telling you it's something," Glick said.

  "Yes, a platinum group element on its own is unusual," Cranium said, "especially in a dry field. But minimal detections could mean a lot of things."

  "Like we're wasting our time," Chaetan quipped.

  "It is ours to waste," Aristahl said, stepping forward.

  Now with incentive to prove Chaetan wrong, Cranium unlocked his AI for maximum computations and some serious comparative analysis. "All right, Ralston, I want every scrap of scanning data we've got so far, and I want it through our own comparative rubrics. I'll start modifying the second set."

  Glick sat back, content to see her brother fully engaged, finally, and not overly concerned about what pushed him there.

  Reams of rock information in various number-crunched forms displayed on quickly multiplying VADs. They moved and shifted as data was re-crunched or discarded. The VADs, themselves, began resembling the asteroid belt.

  "There's always a pattern," Cranium murmured.

  He brought in more data from every rock the Monte Crest had ever scanned and everything from Ralston's memory. Aristahl took an interest and stepped up behind the young man's station.

  Chaetan shook his head. "Faux."

  Glick glared at the engineer. Though she picked on her brother in a big sisterly way, she expressed no patience seeing it from the likes of Chaetan. Jordahk tensed in anticipation of the woman leaping across the bridge and burying the big man for good, but the engineer acted on a scrap of common sense. He turned away, though not to his station. Instead, he met the captain's tired eyes. Then Cranium broke the stalemate.

  "No, it's definitely anomalous." The data rider sounded triumphant. "This region right here." He pointed to an innocuous clump of asteroids. "The metal pattern's wrong. Push in a little closer. I can get more."

  "There is no need," Aristahl said. "Jordahk and I will go out in the launch."

  "Captain," Chaetan said, his tone a nagging reminder.

  Aristahl's substantial down payment was enough to convince reluctant Capt. Luck to slip into and barge out of troubled Adams Rush, but continued poking and plodding through space was going to require continued financial incentive.

  The captain stirred, and his chair righted. "Yes, quite right. Ah, Mr. Wilkrest. It may be prudent for you to grant us the next payment before you, ah, venture out into the unknown."

  His usual fatigue did have exceptions. In the area of finances, at least when coming in, some small energy was spurred. Sitting erect, the captain was illuminated by the pale light of the feeble dwarf.

  The man's pallid, yellowish cast couldn't be blamed on the waning star. Neither could his crows feet and worry lines, probably earned the long and hard way. His dull black hair was receding unevenly, a sure sign of a botched lifetime therapy, in this case almost certainly a retta.

  "Max, how old's the captain?" Jordahk sub-whispered.

  "Inconclusive. The records have been modified," Max link-said. "Wait, Barrister picked up on my query. Two hundred and forty-eight standard. Humph, would have thought older."

  Longwei Luck had some old-world Asian blood in him. He was shorter than average and thickening up in a lumpy sort of way that subconsciously spoke unhealthy.

  "Two hundred and forty-eight?"

  Even a retta should afford Capt. Luck another century of life, half of that vigere. He appeared a bad sempai. Aristahl was older, maybe much older, yet their pallor and vigor were night and day different.

  Jordahk pitied the captain. The man's retta was substandard at best. Usually if they failed, it was early and fixable. When one broke down this late, although still 100 years short of average lifespan, they could only be treated by scientum, not fixed. So the captain's inordinate desire for coin was more about self-preservation than greed.

  He needed a ravelen, and not just a common one. It would take a high-end imprimatur to fix that mess. With so many enjoying cushy livings creating grav weaves, few spent their careers investigating extra difficult reviction ravelens. This was especially true since the best scientum rettas had become comparable.

  Aristahl took the high road. "I appreciate your concern, captain. While space is full of surprises, I assure you Jordahk and I can take care of ourselves." Longwei Luck opened his mouth to interrupt, but Aristahl continued unabated, "However, to allay your financial concerns, Barrister?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Encode new coin line authorizations for twenty-five percent of this stop's agreed-upon payment." Aristahl's eyes pinned the engineer with a shrewd gaze. "You will, of course, receive the rest when we all leave."

  The launch was a tight fit in the Monte Crest's bay. In an adjoining compartment Aristahl and Jordahk coaxed on well-worn spacesuits. It was hard to tell what had taken the greatest toll on the flagging items, hard use or slipshod storage.

  "Sir, I must express concern about relying on such substandard equipment," Barrister said. "These ancient suits do not have an espy's brain. My queries indicate every component degraded below safe."

  "Thank you Barrister," Aristahl said. "But is there an alternative?"

  "Unfortunately, no. Please avoid any demanding activity in vacuum."

  Jordahk thought the suits smelled sun-baked and dry rotted.

  "Yes, yes," Aristahl agreed. "If all goes well, such equipment concerns will be behind us."

  The dull gray spacesuits, perhaps originally white, were an old design whose manufacture dated before the launch of the Monte Crest. Three layers of mesh suspended a couple of centimeters from the body. The flexible material conformed somewhat but was loose around the trunk where the plumbing modules once were. The suits could barely sustain someone for short spacewalks. Bought used, whatever price paid was too generous.

  The transparent crystal comprising two thirds of the helmets was neither "smart" nor longchain. In fact, not a single scrap of the suits was longchain anything.

  "Why even bother putting these on?" Jordahk asked cynically.

  Adjusting his sling bag, the smart material gripped the suit where placed. Max would bring anything needed to the top. Jordahk tested a cross-draw motion, reaching across his body. It was clumsy. He slid the bag more to the front, compensating for the bulk. Upon touching the mystic autobuss, the old weapon reconfigured. The trigger guard enlarged and the grip
reshaped. He sensed a myriad other changes for vacuum use through the glove's resonance pads.

  "Communication blackout is not good," Aristahl said. "Barrister's coded bursts have gone unanswered. Not even automated." Aristahl adjusted his bag too, the same that earlier produced a trio of seeker drones. "Being prepared cost us little and may yet be of great benefit."

  Jordahk held the helmet in front of him while Max opened and closed the crystal visor.

  "This seal really rots," the old personality said.

  Max occasionally dug up words out of style long before his first bitsmith created version one.

  "Barrister, leave behind a little resident something," Aristahl said. "I do not want the Monte Crest or that engineer to do anything rash while we are gone."

  "There are few places to be effective in that capacity," Barrister said. "Their data rider will eventually root out what I plant."

  "Yes, the boy has a knack. Do your best. I trust it will be unnecessary. The captain seems quite in need of our coin. I surmise he wants to ensure our safety to that end."

  "Someone's coming," Max said.

  "Ensuring your safety's why I'm here," said the female voice from the open hatch.

  The bay lights silhouetted Glick. Her modern formfitting spacesuit accented the cockiness of her stance. She stepped in, revealing a light combat model used by a number of Asterfraeo militaries. The navy blue longchain exterior hugged her skin. Angled light revealed fine segmentation along its surface. Combat models like hers were laced with expensive grav weave spines to protect the occupant from heavy inertial forces. She walked with casual ease even in oversized jet boots.

  "Captain doesn't want to lose his passengers." She might as well have said "golden goose."

  Jordahk tried to match her countenance but felt inadequate in the old suit. "I think we know your captain's priorities."

  The so-called "security and procurements" specialist maintained her superior demeanor a few seconds more. Finally, she relaxed into a crooked smirk.

  "The old faux's chasing the dream of a high-end ravelen." Glick's expression hardened toward Aristahl. "How many imprimaturs have to turn him down or rip him off before he gives it up?"

  Aristahl took no offense and made no reaction. Jordahk sized up the rest of her suit. The active crystal helmet was folded back to a small wedge behind her head. A large but sleek thruster pack covered her back. A high-G maneuverability model, it probably also contained stealth aides and countermeasures. Her grister clung below an oversized belt sporting pouches whose contents he could only guess at. And, of course, the folded mystic avian was within easy reach.

  "The Sojourners left us to fend for ourselves. I hope they're happy in the Ajurian Realm or whatever fairyland they ran to," she groused. "Only charlatans and crazies left. And imprimaturs? Hmph. Coin-hungry elitists."

  "Do not hold back, young lady," Aristahl said dryly. The man refused to take umbrage. He stood without avarice despite the fact he and all his fellow mystic weavers had just been insulted. "I understand you are from Raetia."

  The Sojourners and their mighty Centurions were leaving the scene by the time the Perigeum moved on Raetia. The Vallum Corps Combined Fleet was neither big enough nor strong enough to help, especially once an egress was up and running in the heart of the Raetia system.

  Aristahl's lack of defensiveness disarmed the woman. After a few seconds, Glick had enough civility to turn away. "Never mind," she said. "I'll preflight the launch." She turned smoothly despite the big suit and left them alone.

  "This is usually where Torious puts in some retort," Jordahk noted after a few seconds of silence. The bot was waiting on the launch.

  "We better board," Max said, "before those two come to blows."

  It was not until the longchain age that the venerable nuclear rocket became commonplace. Longchain materials could withstand great temperatures. That single quality made an old, not quite practical technology efficient and ubiquitous.

  They burned thrust water, the same isotope-laced liquid most starships used in thrusters. Eventually, a nuclear rocket's fissionables had to be replaced, but only after reasonable use. Prices varied but were generally fair in the Asterfraeo's open market. The more controlled economies of the Hex were rife with black markets and trade shenanigans. There, fissionables and starship components were gradually becoming a game only for the rich and well-connected.

  Fewer ships meant reduced space travel. Egresses couldn't do everything. Over-reliance upon them was slowly choking non-egressed Perigeum economies. It bred a frustrated underclass. Space haulers and services, usually stalwart providers of jobs, were finding it increasingly harder to make ends meet. Companies and entrepreneurs were leaving the Hex, and Asterfraeo colony worlds were receiving pioneers. Some even ventured into breakaway and "unincorporated" regions like the Strident Cluster.

  A launch like the Roulette would be twice as expensive to operate in the Hex, despite it being like most things attached to the Monte Crest—bare bones and minimal spec. Its purpose was to shuttle personnel and matériel where impractical for its mothership. A chaotic asteroid belt was no place for the Monte Crest, but the over-matched Roulette wasn't up to the task either. With the bow and stern sporting only one thrust ring it didn't have the maneuverability for safe passage through such rock anarchy.

  Its nuclear rockets flared and capacity amounts of superheated thrust water plasma jetted out the starboard sides of both rings. The Roulette sluggishly moved port in its version of an aggressive maneuver. A shadow moved across the ship as a large asteroid spun by all too close.

  Inside the Roulette, a competent human and a powerful AI vied for control. Jordahk made his way from the engine room toward the bow. He kept one hand sliding against the no-frills corridor bulkhead. He actually felt that last maneuver and had to brace himself.

  "Max, how much G are these grav weaves putting out?"

  "Sixty-one percent standard gravity, and less a moment ago when energy plasma was diverted for that maneuver."

  Jordahk examined the worn deck plating and imagined what was below. "I think these are original, but a launch spends most of its time powered down. The weaves shouldn't be failing even considering the age of the Monte Crest."

  "If I'm reading the records right, this isn't the original launch. It was bought used a decade back." Max paused, apparently not wanting to concern him unduly. "It's, ah, older than the Monte Crest."

  Jordahk felt his stomach rise into his abdomen and a rush of blood flow to his head. The suits he and Aristahl wore had no grav weave spines or boots. He squinted to clear his vision. The flagging weaves under the deck weren't canceling out all the G's from severe maneuvers.

  "What happened to the last one? Asteroid collision?" Jordahk joked darkly.

  "You may not want the answer to that one, kid. On the bright side, the odds of surviving this little jaunt have apparently gone up."

  "Is there anything that crew won't bet on? They'd wager on who'd get spaced at the next airlock malfunction."

  "The odds," Max continued, "were about fifty-fifty until Glick agreed to come along."

  "I'm a little surprised Pops let her. He doesn't like anybody knowing our business. I don't even know our business. Must be concerned about the communication blackout."

  Jordahk approached the hatch to the bridge, which remained closed. "Max?"

  "It's not responding to remote commands."

  "Infra-capable," Jordahk grumbled under his breath, toggling the door manually. Grit fell on his gloves as he coaxed it aside. With his helmet crystal folded open, he was able to hear every groan. Apparently, someone had inserted rusty steam age gears into the mechanism. When it finally ground open enough to slip through, the obnoxious noise was replaced by two strong personalities having a battle of wits.

  In the copilot's chair, Aristahl stared into space, not paying attention to asteroids. Behind him, Torious was lowered and clamped to the engineering bulkhead. Those weren't the two personalities having
the disagreement.

  "That's not going to work," Glick admonished. She jabbed an old hard-panel with haste but not feverishly. The space between her and the large, domed crystal canopy was filled with a trimensional VAD. It showed a comprehensive yet uncluttered display of the Roulette and nearby asteroids. Definitely Barrister's work.

  "I have calculated that maneuver using the first-hand engine specifications Jordahk and Max obtained," the mystic AI said.

  Jordahk didn't want to jump into the middle of this. "The fissionables in number two have had it. We're not getting temperatures or the impulse from that side."

  Glick's eyes did not leave the displays. Hands busy, she sub-whispered to her AI. A new course was projected rivaling Barrister's. She reached up and "grabbed" the square tube representation that snaked its way through the asteroids and tweaked its position. Their heading plunged into a cluttered intersection of rocks.

  "You don't know this tub," Glick said. "There's too much lag to that quarter of the front ring. This route's better."

  "Your course requires a rather harsh maneuver." Barrister said.

  A sparse engineering chair unfolded rather reluctantly from the floor. When it finally set, Jordahk locked down and observed.

  Aristahl acknowledged him, distant and aware at the same time. "I have only had to referee once, and so far, no collisions."

  The noise of plasma shunted to the forward thrust ring rumbled. The Roulette pitched 90 degrees down while maintaining forward momentum. The bridge was covered by rock shadow. The two pilots stopped talking for a moment before the ship regained standard orientation.

  A number of indicators flashed red first on the VADs, then the hard panel. The Roulette was nearly upon the busy intersection.

  "Do it her way, Barrister," Aristahl said. "You did get the last one after all."

  Jordahk stared at Aristahl. Because their lives rarely synced, Jordahk never spent a lot of time with him. His grandfather would disappear for months at a time to who knows where, while Jordahk was always going on seminar trips with his parents. As a teen, he went on a trip with Aristahl to get his adult link. The mystic variety were not as rare as mystic AIs, but were still uncommon.