Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  Jordahk's mouth began working as his thoughts cleared. Aristahl watched him somberly. Why? Then all at once, a million synapses in his brain clicked. Memories flooded in from all sides, causing him to sit up with a start. Holding his head, he fought back a sudden crushing sensation.

  "Max!" Jordahk examined at his hand. The compy ring was missing. He looked at Aristahl with wide eyes. "We were hacked! Attacked by something—awful." He scanned warily. The large chamber must be the facility's control nexus. It was familiar in the same way the entire place resonated. "Are we safe?"

  Aristahl chose his words. "The threat has been... isolated."

  "Max put himself up to buy me time. Whoever it was deliberately tried to suffocate me!" Jordahk was starting to ramble. "I've never seen anything like it. It was like sparring with Barrister, but a hundred times worse. The attack piggybacked on the slightest touch of a hatch control. We're dealing with some serious—"

  "I know. Try to stay calm," Aristahl said. "It has been contained."

  Jordahk followed the slight motion of Aristahl's head to a long, high workbench. Various pieces of equipment were scattered in random states of assembly. A hatch opened, and Jordahk whipped his head around in jumpy wariness. Glick walked in, lean and showing competence, at home in her specialized spacesuit. She holstered a pistol.

  "Hatches and airlocks responding out to the Roulette," she said. "Left your little bug on the last hatch. The line's clear, and we'll know if that changes." She appraised Jordahk with a crooked smile. "They said your brain was too dense for permanent damage. I guess they were right."

  As Jordahk swung his legs off the table, it lowered to chair level. He stood up, unsure, but his body responded normally, if sluggishly.

  Aristahl clasped him on the shoulder. "Thank the Creator."

  That was a rare expression from his grandfather. Just what had they been dealing with?

  "What about Max?" Jordahk said hoarsely.

  Opening his hand, Aristahl revealed the ring that had been Jordahk's compy. It was darker and tarnished. Jordahk took it tentatively.

  "Max?"

  "There is no easy way to tell you this," Aristahl said. "Max is unrecoverable."

  The ring was dull and inert. Jordahk gripped it tightly, fighting back a pang of sadness. Long-standing societal mores discouraged emotional investment into AIs for a reason. The lessons were hard earned during a foolhardy android era before the war. Those mores served mankind well, and Jordahk understood them better now. Keeping sadness in check, he still felt a great sense of loss. Max was a great tool honed for two decades. He was a teacher and a repository for experience.

  "Barrister?" Jordahk appealed.

  "I am sorry, Jordahk. Maximilian v4 was a worthy scientum AI. Although his information was not wiped, his quadnapses were hopelessly..." Barrister paused uncharacteristically long as he thought through his communication routines. "Physically disordered with a complexity beyond my understanding."

  "What?" Jordahk was incredulous. "We haven't seen AIs like you since, since—" He appreciated the soberness, but had never known Barrister to be so tentative.

  "There are mystic creations even AIs of my caliber fear," Barrister said in a strange tone.

  "Let us have no more of that," Aristahl said.

  Artificial personalities were destroyed if they showed hints of AI psychosis. Combat bots had limited AIs and triple redundant safeties for their narrow operations. Why would someone, a Sojourner, make an evil AI? Could one truly be evil in the human sense? Jordahk thought that if it were possible, that thing qualified.

  The lifeless ring felt alien in his hand. He gripped it as a wave of anger washed over him. Face flushed, something made him turn to the workbench. He noticed a boxlike device with a thick, raised base. It supported a metal cage. The wires were mirrored rhodium. A trammel snare, used to isolate compies. He stepped forcefully to the bench despite his sluggish body.

  "I'd advise rest," Torious droned, "if I thought you'd take my advice."

  At the table were two identically shaped bracelets, old-style compies, like Barrister. Heat and righteous indignation built up within Jordahk. Something needed to be punished. He scrutinized their details with an intensity fueled by growing anger. The subtle links of both bracelets were composed of complex organic swirls of different metals. The artifact hunter in him promptly recognized mystic work, but it was like none he'd ever seen. The lighter one Jordahk passed over since it lay casually on a makeshift control node.

  The darker of the two was confined within the trammel snare. Its composition was gray platinum embedded with strands of mirrored rhodium and blue-black osmium. Jordahk's head grew hot, and his vision tunneled. Two streams of thought warred. One screamed danger, that things like that bracelet were put in trammel snares for good reason. The other cried out for justice.

  Justice won.

  He reached impulsively into the cage and pulled the dark bracelet out.

  "Whoa, take it easy," Glick said nervously.

  Aristahl put a casual arm in front of her. "Wait." He began sub-whispering.

  Jordahk sensed deep within that this was the source of the evil presence. He could practically hear its sadistic laugh, but up this close and personal, he also detected something else. Was it fear? The bracelet grew burning hot in his hand, but he refused to let go. He felt for his bag next to the table, but the autobuss didn't come to the top. That triggered more anger as he reached in and grabbed its barrel.

  Throwing the bracelet on the floor Jordahk pounded it, using the autobuss as a hammer. The pistol reacted to his desires. The butt changed, shaping itself into an ax head.

  Aristahl watched, slightly surprised, then nodded. He stepped toward the clamor, his expression changing to concern.

  Jordahk pounded the bracelet repeatedly. His left hand sizzled with every repositioning touch. At that moment he thought if he could accomplish just one task, it would be to destroy this thing. Sweat poured off his face, burning his eyes and steaming on the bracelet.

  A number of metal devices near Jordahk began trembling, then rattling.

  "What the?" Glick scanned the area, ready to draw down on an unseen enemy. A rumble filled the room.

  Jordahk assessed his handiwork. He couldn't even detect a scratch despite the pounding. The rational part of his mind, the same part telling him to get a grip, said of course not. He wasn't having it. He flipped his makeshift ax, and the pistol took on a long and dangerous shape. The device shook as its barrel lengthened.

  The lights flickered. Jordahk's eyes blazed. "Where's your laugh now, slag?"

  Despite fear and previous experiences, Jordahk wanted a legacy shell. He would show this thing. But with only cartridges at the ready, he concentrated, imagining one cutting through the bracelet. He felt the autobuss reshaping the five shots of a cartridge into one massive metal wedge. Energy surged in the pistol. He would exhaust every last erg sending this shot out at light speed.

  "Jordahk!"

  Aristahl's admonishing voice brought Jordahk back from that ardent place. All at once, the trembling objects became still. Across the room, Glick sighed in relief.

  Was he actually going to fire into that bracelet at point blank range? Endanger himself and those around him? He lowered the autobuss, not knowing what had gotten into him. His face glowed red with shame replacing the anger. Just then, he felt a searing lash across his backside, which caused him to jump straight up.

  "You best listen to your grandfather, boy!" said a reedy voice.

  Jordahk turned to see an old man with strange eyes scowling at him. In his hand he held a long metal switch? It was like something out of an old cineVAD.

  The man raised his switch again and stared pointedly at the autobuss. Jordahk looked down, feeling chastened. He tossed the autobuss onto his bag where it returned to default shape.

  "It is important you learn to control yourself, Jordahk," Aristahl said quietly.

  "More important than the boy thinks," the old man sa
id. He radiated power like an old-style schoolteacher from back when education was done exclusively by humans.

  Jordahk stood straight, determined not to embarrass his grandfather. The old man bored into him with atypical eyes. His irises were a milky whitish metal. That meant—the realization caused Jordahk to take a step back, then another.

  A second later, Glick saw it, too. In a flash, she drew while moving sideways, aiming at the old man's heart. He was also moving, placing himself behind Aristahl and obscuring Glick's shot. A low rumble was followed by the sound of bending metal as the man flicked his wrist. His switch reached out like a whip to crack across Glick's gun hand. The pistol dislodged and hung from her forearm by the autostock. She dove away from the metal whip and reacquired a shooting grip.

  "Stop!" Aristahl commanded, his voice amplified by Barrister.

  The old man "let" the metal whip go slack. Glick peered warily over her pistol, but didn't point it. Jordahk didn't know where to look.

  "He-he's a—" Jordahk began.

  "—Sojourner," Glick finished.

  "Yes," Aristahl said. His voice carried a tinge of sadness. "And my friend."

  The old man's posture straightened. The metal whip turned back into the metal switch, which shrank to a rod. It folded up onto his loose clothing above the wrist.

  "Your companions are rather fiery..." The old man paused as if thinking of his next word. "Aristahl."

  "Jordahk, Glick," Aristahl said, "let me introduce Alb-Sone Whaye. Sojourner, scientist, and doctor." The name was all Sojourner, right down to the traditional syllabic metering, one-two, three.

  Glick stiffened, ready to scoff, but the man's palladium eyes couldn't be denied. She lowered the pistol to her side, but didn't holster it.

  She was torn while Jordahk, with difficulty, was comprehending. Glick admired the strength, independence, and wonder of the Sojourners, but she never forgave them.

  The war stalemated, and the Sojourners retreated from known space. Afterward the Vallum Corps was unable to defend the totality of the new Asterfraeo. Glick's home planet, Raetia, fell to the Perigeum. If the Sojourner's mighty Centurions had still been present, it wouldn't have happened. Glick respected the Sojourners, and hated them.

  "Jordahk," Aristahl said, "you met Alb-Sone some twenty years ago when your adult link was implanted. You have likely forgotten."

  Yes, Jordahk knew that was true. That was why everything was so familiar. This would be the first time he'd knowingly met a Sojourner, and would remember it. He settled down and turned to face his grandfather's friend. He recalled the traditional Sojourner greeting.

  "Avere, friend, Alb-Sone Whaye," Jordahk said and inclined his head slightly.

  Alb-Sone faced him. "Avere, friend." He paused again, having to think. "Jordahk Wilkrest" He said it with the same unfamiliarity as Aristahl's name. He turned to face his grandfather. "You're looking rather old, Aristahl."

  "Not all of us can wile away the years in entrop and juvi sleep."

  Behind them, Glick stayed her distance. She holstered, but continued to watch suspiciously.

  "So, master Jordahk finally returns, having come of age," Alb-Sone said. "I take it there are some conversations you've yet to have."

  Aristahl was unperturbed. "In due time."

  Alb-Sone picked up the lighter bracelet. His metal rod unfolded into a hook-like tool, which he used to pick up the darker bracelet. Holding both was apparently an effective safety measure as he flicked the troublesome device back into the trammel snare.

  "Any further security breaches we need to take care of, Wixom?" Alb-Sone asked.

  A rich, confident voice answered. It sounded mature with an accent like Aristahl's only thicker. "Aristahl's AI slowed additional contamination in the outer hatches. I'm disentangling the new internal breaches. Our project remains isolated."

  "Wixom?" Aristahl was incredulous, then his eyes bulged in a rare show of surprise. He gestured to the bracelets and with uncommon intensity asked, "Where did you get those?"

  "From him. It was the only way to give the girl a chance."

  "You had these here all along and did not tell me? They are dangerous." Aristahl gestured to the darker bracelet in the trammel snare. "Most assuredly that one. You know the history."

  "Yes, Waxad is dangerous. Wixom here has spent the better part of two centuries keeping tabs on him and triple-checking his calculations. I think Waxad participated out of trammel snare-induced boredom. That and sibling rivalry."

  "So, one of his infamous twins," Aristahl said. "The first, and the rectifier."

  "When he heard of the girl's plight," Alb-Sone said, "he offered these two to help. I hid them because I didn't think you'd approve. After all, you've spent two centuries on your own crusade to clean up—"

  "Yes, yes," Aristahl halted that topic. He paused thoughtfully. "Did they do the job? Is she ready?"

  Alb-Sone leaned back in far-off reflection. "Two hundred years of calcs. It required them both, you know, although Wixom was slowed due to the checks. That part's done. We're just waiting for the synapse growth to catch the quadnapse. It won't be long now. We'll finally know one way or another."

  "The girl?" Jordahk asked.

  Aristahl nodded, and for the first time Jordahk felt like an adult participant in the conversation. Across the chamber, Glick backed toward the hatch, never taking her eyes off the Sojourner.

  The old man was capable of surprising speed. Jordahk had to remember to think Sojourner. One couldn't rest on assumptions of normality when it came to them. Interacting with one was something he never thought likely. Destiny had dealt him a strange hand. He reproved himself for the dramatics. This was no cineVAD.

  Alb-Sone was past vigere and chose baldness with a halo of solid gray hair. Something about him didn't fit the sempai years, though. He was too solid underneath his loose clothing. Speaking of which, in a universe of color-changing garments, his managed to be mismatched somehow. He had the slightest hunch, which made his grandfather's ramrod straight posture taller in contrast.

  "And who's this... energetic woman?" Alb-Sone asked.

  "Glick is an officer aboard our charter. We had to leave in a bit of a hurry. The Perigeum has grown sneaky, taking advantage of Asterfraeo ways."

  The Hatch opened behind Glick, but her eyes stayed on Alb-Sone. "I'll check on the launch." She backed through the open hatch, and it closed on her vigilant gaze.

  Jordahk looked at Alb-Sone and shrugged sheepishly. "She's from Raetia."

  Nobody had claimed themselves Sojourner publicly for years. Though the Asterfraeo and its loose Cohortium government owed them their existence, later generations knew them not. The principles established by the Sojourners became less influential every day in a region of space increasingly filled with younger people acquainted only with laissez-faire governments. They thought the Perigeum a benign, largely misunderstood entity.

  Late in the war, and for years afterward, a few Sojourners lost in the Onus caused harm. Minuscule in comparison to the good of the whole order, but tragedy was newsworthy. Struggling colonies sought scapegoats. As the Sojourners retreated beyond the TransVex or drifted into unknown space, they bore the unfair brunt of the young Asterfraeo's frustrations.

  Through years of effort the Asterfraeo finally built an economic base and experienced relative peace despite no official end to the Sojourners' Crusade. Even post-ceasefire battles like those at Utica Cyr were distant memories. The Vallum Corps continued to play vigilant games of tag with Perigeum Starmada, but encounters were uncommon and larger engagements rare.

  As for the Sojourners, officially, they faded into history. Unofficially, a small number lingered for reasons known only to themselves. Testimonies of Sojourner sightings were likened to beholding the Flying Dutchman. Old, wandering Sojourners still in the grip of the Onus occasionally brought discord, but most encounters revolved around good deeds. The occasional pirate enclave crushed, a Starmada infiltration squadron intercepted uncannily, a distan
t struggling outpost receiving sudden and mysterious relief. The Sojourners had the dubious distinction of being both the bogeyman and the heroes of children's stories.

  A remote Asterfraeo region lit by an object barely qualifying as a star contained little more than vast amounts of unremarkable rubble. At one time planets orbited, but that was more rumor than record. Once named, now it was referred to by coordinates, in the unlikely event it was referred to at all.

  The Monte Crest's dingy launch floated among the rubble next to an asteroid that only seemed like all the rest. In the facility concealed within, three men sat surrounded by walls displaying space beyond the rubble. The system's weak dwarf star shone wanly, giving off an occasional, hardly-discernible pulse.

  Across from Jordahk sat someone with palladium metal irises. To the young man it was still unreal, like something out of a cineVAD. The Sojourner was a relic from a bygone age, likely old when the war ended. Using suspension methods, he probably only experienced a few decades since. It was already difficult to determine the age of a Sojourner, and that was without the extra variables created by various mystic technologies.

  "Were you in entrop?" Jordahk asked the old man. It was used for long term suspension. "If you awakened sooner, perhaps this wouldn't have happened."

  "Just juvi sleep. Our project nears completion and needs frequent monitoring." The old man made no excuses.

  "So you will not be able to join us," Aristahl said.

  "She still needs weeks, maybe months. A pittance really, considering the length of this experiment. Might even stay awake for it. I've a number of projects to complete before saying goodbye to this facility."

  "Can she be moved?" Aristahl asked.

  Alb-Sone's eyes defocused as he stared beyond the dim sun. "Her autonomics might not even function properly on their own. She's in a delicate state. Even after all this time, I just don't know if we managed to save her consciousness in an independently functional way."

  Jordahk sat up straighter. Though he believed he was in over his head, Aristahl thought he should be there. It was time to justify that faith. "I... I sensed her before, when glimpsing her chamber."