Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  Barrister sounded an exaggerated throat clearing.

  "Ah, unusual companions."

  "You have not even met my entire contingent," Aristahl said, "yet." He sat on the only other chair.

  "Max was as far off the beaten path as I want to go."

  The light of the sick yellow nebula tarnished the royal purple accents of Aristahl's clothes. Torious's words echoed in Jordahk's head. Just how old was his grandfather? He didn't need a number to know Aristahl was venerable. He had seen centuries of trouble. Jordahk felt abashed.

  The time before the war was a romanticized era filled with tall tales. Aristahl's role during the war was mystery-studded with a few known bits. The ups and downs of the postwar centuries kept him busy doing things of which Jordahk knew little. But he was sure of his grandfather's character. Had Aristahl spent the last 200 years doing missions like this? When would it end? Jordahk felt like he was in over his head already.

  He snapped out of musing with questions echoing in his mind. Aristahl just sat with dark eyes and enviable patience.

  "Pops, what're we doing out here? This crew could care less what happens on Adams Rush. Shouldn't we be back fighting alongside my father?"

  The old man sat stone-like. Jordahk was impatient. Admirably, he schooled it, and the heat drained away. The emotional spike passed. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  Aristahl stirred. "The egress is not mankind's greatest achievement."

  "You won't get any argument from me."

  "Mystic once gave people hope," Aristahl said soberly, "that mankind was more than what cold science said."

  Indeed, the nexus was filled with undocumented stories, many old, but some not that long ago on far-off worlds like Demeter. Jordahk considered them exaggeration. Mostly.

  "People don't see that mystic anymore," he said. "And everyone takes grav weaves for granted." That was one of the few areas scientum made little progress closing the gap.

  "If you could have seen imprimaturs in the early days," Aristahl took on a wistful expression. "They eased the Sojourners' burdens. They crystallized hope that mystic was for everyone."

  Imprimaturs were nothing like that anymore. "Maybe you're too close to it, but people don't, ah, think highly of imprimaturs."

  "Yes, 'lovers of coin and status,'" Aristahl said citing one of the common refrains. He peered beyond the active wall. "Now they just sit upon narrowing knowledge. The coin is in grav weaves and starkeels. Few pass on other knowledge. Mystic spirals to extinction within the periphery."

  As a collector, Jordahk was knowledgeable about old Sojourner culture. "Within the periphery" referenced space this side of the TransVex, an immense turbulent region bordering the Asterfraeo. It was only pretty to observe, being filled with boiling stellar gas, hard radiation, unpredictable singularities, and anomalies of all sorts tearing suns apart. Probes didn't last long inside the TransVex; the inhospitable domain Sojourners supposedly retreated into after their crusade. As the myth went, the Ajurian Realm lay somewhere within or beyond. No one knew. Many put it in the category of the North Pole and Santa Claus.

  Aristahl saw Jordahk's doubtful expression and chuckled. "Yes, I know. Myths and fairy tales. However, most will not deny that Sojourner influence lives on in the far worlds, and within the Archivers."

  Jordahk's mouth contracted as if on something sour. "I don't see how a small, insular group—"

  Barrister interrupted, "If I may, sir." Aristahl nodded, and the AI rendered a sleek ship in the air. "Highearn passed me data on the Archiver squadron at Adams Rush. They are not in any Perigeum Starmada datalattice. Their estimated capabilities..." Details flashed on the rotating frigate, which flaunted mystic sleekness where its scientum brothers had devolved into boxiness. "Exceed any model manufactured within the last century."

  "Rest assured," Aristahl said, "those advances will trickle down to Starmada general fleet in a few years. Fortunately, the Archivers seem most successful with external weapons systems."

  "Fortunately?" Jordahk stared at his grandfather through the translucent Archiver ship.

  "Yes. The true power of a Sojourner lies in the deep within."

  Jordahk made a quizzical expression, not satisfied with that answer. Aristahl offered no more.

  "My old friend is probably confused and forlorn," Aristahl pushed on. "He made boasts back in the day most thought outrageous."

  Jordahk didn't think his grandfather shared that opinion.

  "His specialty took him deep places few went. I knew one with whom he shared some of that knowledge..." Aristahl trailed off. "She never made it beyond the TransVex." He lifted his head, as if banishing old thoughts. "His work may slow the Perigeum at Adams Rush."

  It sounded far-fetched and desperate, yet Jordahk's desire to fight alongside his father was equally desperate.

  Aristahl pulled a metal bracelet from his vest pocket. He flicked it into the air. Its loose links tightened, turning it into a solid ring. The competent machine generated perfect anti-sound, canceling all noise when it hit the desk. It gyrated on its side, of its own accord, whirling faster until the circlet spun on edge like an ancient gyroscope.

  "But I need you with me, Jordahk. You are key to my approach." Aristahl paused, glancing down at the mystic compy. "You must be equipped."

  The machine continued to rotate, showing no signs of deceleration. Jordahk stared at it, keeping his anger toward its counterpart in check with admirable discipline. The darker one needed to be dumped into a blue star. The verdict on this one was still out.

  "Pops, that other thing purposely destroyed Max. It tried to kill me. It tried to kill us all!"

  A sonorous tone filled the room, quiet but permeating. "I'm sorry we met under unfortunate circumstances." Jordahk was accustomed to his grandfather's accent. This thicker version was noticeable, but carried the same elegance. "My deluded brother's unfortunate choices turned him into a monster."

  Perhaps the matter-of-fact delivery caused Jordahk's anger to flare. "That's an understatement!" He faced his grandfather. "Even Alb-Sone, a Sojourner for Khromas' sake, was wary with these things."

  Aristahl sat thinking, not rushing his answer. "Their creator made things both amazing and terrible." The lights dimmed. Reflections cast off the spinning compy patterned the room. "Oh, stop showing off, Wixom."

  The compy slowed to a stop, standing impossibly on edge. Its texture was different than Barrister's. The platinum base was more like ceramic. Where Barrister had veins of mirrored rhodium, Wixom had fine capillaries. As Jordahk noticed them, a glow of energy pulsed through their network.

  "This one will obey our line," Aristahl said.

  That was cryptic. Jordahk wondered what was so special about their line of imprimaturs. Before he could ask, Aristahl raised his wrist.

  "And, of course, I have taken precautions."

  Jordahk's eyes flicked from Barrister to Wixom. The numenium purple coupling that always gave Barrister character had been transferred.

  "I have added a few," Aristahl said, pausing, "extras to Wixom that will benefit you when the time is right."

  Jordahk felt a sudden irrational poignancy. It was just an old coupling from an old compy, but it had ever been part of his grandfather's unique world. A part now passed on without warning. His universe was changing so rapidly, a storm in whose eye he resided. His grandfather was always there, but now Jordahk was forced to accept the timeless one would be gone someday.

  "Pops, I..." Jordahk didn't know what to say.

  A window opened on the wall showing Glick in a far corridor.

  "I believe with ninety percent certainty that the young lady is headed our way," Barrister said.

  Aristahl grinned faintly. "I know you want answers, Jordahk, but let them unfold naturally when they will do you the most good. Both my old friend and your father need our help. Right now I hope you will trust me enough to pick up that compy."

  The circlet stood on edge, unmoving. Glick continued her approach. Barrister
was right about her destination, of course, and Jordahk didn't waste brain power trying to figure out how he knew. The conversation had reached a natural conclusion, and Jordahk needed to come up with one of his own. He stared at the compy, and again as if it knew he was watching, another glowing pulse ran through its rhodium capillaries. The effect ran the entire circumference, stopping only at the numenium coupling.

  Jordahk didn't want to let his grandfather down. If he was going to do this, he was going to do so without trepidation. He scooped up the compy. The links relaxed, and it became a flexible bracelet once again. He rubbed it curiously between his fingers.

  "Doesn't feel like metal." Jordahk squinted at it. "Doesn't exactly feel like mystic either. But it's familiar."

  Aristahl expressed a modicum of curious surprise but said nothing. Jordahk watched Glick approach, then examined his naked compy finger. He put his right hand through the bracelet, which expanded to let it pass. Then it contracted and flattened, forming a smooth metal band with barely perceptible links. No sooner did it settle when a flurry of scintillating pulses ran through its capillaries. The cabin glittered.

  "My creator warned me," Wixom intoned evenly, "that one day I might come to serve this line."

  Aristahl cleared his throat. "Do remember the parameters of our agreement, Wixom."

  "You've seen to it that I cannot forget," the AI said. The flurry of activity faded.

  "Have patience, Jordahk," Aristahl said. "Wixom here is a little behind the times, but I think you will find his capabilities more than make up for it."

  "Jordahk?" came Glick's voice from the active wall.

  "Open."

  The lithe "procurements specialist" was in her distracting exercise outfit. She raised an expectant eyebrow, and Jordahk schooled his eyes.

  "Jorh-Dahk," Wixom said, "would you like me to collate your exercise data and tailor a routine—"

  "It's Jordahk!" Irritation briefly spiked before Jordahk let it pass. "Just don't talk to me, all right?"

  "Looking for an excuse to get out of another third ring drubbing?" Glick asked.

  "Go on, Jordahk," Aristahl said.

  Jordahk's mind swirled with partial answers and new questions. He needed time to think.

  "Okay, Pops."

  In the corridor, Glick sized him up, lingering for a second on the bracelet compy. She wasn't pleased. Although not entirely unusual, Jordahk's furrowed expression added to her displeasure.

  After a brief uncomfortable silence, he said, "I'm the only non-robot on this tub that'll still get onto the mats with you, aren't I?"

  "Yes," Glick said.

  Barrister opened a window, following the two as they walked. "I do not trust anything made by him," the AI said.

  "It is only the second time Jordahk's come in contact with that kind of mystic creation," Aristahl mused. "Come now, Barrister, my line is one of the few Wixom's creator ever respected. Perhaps feared. That sentiment was passed down to his later creations. Plus, there is Judicum now to keep an eye on things."

  "Yes, it has been long since I have been configured without him."

  "Time falls downhill. There is more to restore within the periphery than you and I can accomplish."

  The open palm strike connected with Jordahk's cheekbone. It wasn't one of Glick's high-speed blurs. He was supposed to block it.

  "You've lost a step," she said through full breaths.

  Glick moved with more aggressive fire than usual, and that was saying something. It was as if a controlled measure of anger boiled just beneath her surface. It surpassed exertion, and Jordahk felt its heat with every blow and block. It had been some time since such aggression was aimed so overtly in his direction.

  Jordahk's third pankido ring was less rusty now, but it was still far from the competency of Glick's natural athleticism. Whatever was bothering her translated into an unwillingness to pull punches. That, combined with his inability to concentrate, was leading to unfortunate collisions—and contusions. And they had not even begun free sparring.

  Jordahk grunted as another hit connected. He went down.

  Despite two layers of cushioned tiles and reflexive mat slapping, he was jarred. She stood over him, legs astride, glistening with perspiration. Her webbed top flexed with respiration. She was a fine figure of a woman, and Jordahk let his mind wander for just a second. It was better than the unfocused jumble dominating his thoughts.

  Glick noticed her opponent's gaze change. She smiled for the briefest second before her brows came down. She kicked him hard, aiming for his butt.

  "You lose focus, imprimatur," she said the word with disdain, "and you could kill us all. Maybe next time I won't jump across fire to pull your ass out of the drak!"

  "Sorry." Jordahk lowered his head.

  She was right. He was letting circumstances toss him. That wasn't the man his parents wanted him to be. It wasn't the man his grandfather needed him to be. Apparently, this was Glick's way of showing concern when his weaknesses threatened to overtake.

  Her brows came down. "You know your grandfather asked us to trim for combat at hill bottom."

  Jordahk was too caught up in his problems. He'd let himself wallow. All of them were in this together now. "I... didn't know that."

  "What's with you? You're actually getting worse." Her eyes lingered on his wrist. "Have you seriously decided to wear that thing?"

  Jordahk was aware of the mystic compy. With hardly a thought, and despite himself, he could feel its vast capabilities. It was like wearing a force of nature on his wrist. At any moment it could become a tsunami sweeping away both friend and foe, and drown him too.

  "At least you can face a slag," she said. "But worse is corrupting everything else to do your dirty work."

  Society would not abide bad AIs. Most of the time "bad" meant malfunctioning or corrupted. A purposefully malevolent AI was the stuff of cineVADs, a nightmare monster to be put down. Corrupting an AI to murder someone was as much a capital offense as pulling the trigger. In fact, the culture was more repulsed when a machine was abused in such a way. It went against the successful admin/servant relationship humanity had finally, and sometimes painfully, forged.

  "This one's, different." Jordahk's words didn't sound convincing even to him. "God knows I won't get far on this mission without a compy. Aristahl asked me to trust him." He paused, not meeting her eyes. "He's never... needed me before."

  Glick stepped away, embroiled in her own emotional war. "So that's where you're headed? An imprimatur?" She made a snorting sound. "Sojourners are self-centered, self-righteous bastards. But at least they stood for something, once."

  "Your concern is touching," Jordahk said cynically.

  "My brother's the only family I've got. This bucket's our freedom. Bad enough to face crazed Sojourner drak, but knowing there's something inside our ranks so dangerous—"

  Jordahk gestured with a sweaty hand. "What about your avian?"

  "You've got an autobuss," she retorted. "They're different. They don't think!"

  Glick stormed off. Jordahk's mind was whirring. What could he say? She was right. A selfish part of him was flattered she argued with genuine feelings.

  Glick was confident she could beat up anyone. Now she faced enemies unknown and unseen, ones upon which she could land no blow.

  The rhodium capillaries on the bracelet pulsed brighter. The AI had obeyed Jordahk, not saying a word since ordered. Even when Cranium commed him on the way down to the stone gym, it only chimed.

  Glick gathered her things. She'd warmed to Jordahk since their disastrous introduction. He liked that. Now she was disgusted with his decisions.

  He held up his wrist. "I don't trust it either." He felt disgusted, too, at his weakness, at his inability to mold the circumstances around him to a good end.

  Glick strode through the open hatch, the perfect form she worked so hard to maintain pleasingly silhouetted. She glanced over her shoulder, and the anger was gone, replaced by a sort of resigned dispassion. I
t was shocking in its difference. Jordahk already missed her fire.

  "Then why don't you do something about it?" she said.

  When the hatch closed, Jordahk was alone among cold granix bulkheads.

  The stone gym lighting lowered to shipboard night, making the manifold space VAD appear more vivid. It bathed the chamber in changing, kaleidoscopic colors. Sometimes one of the unexplainable white streaks passed close, illuminating Jordahk and casting his sharp but fleeting shadow.

  He sat for a long time, staring at the scintillation. It felt good when he and Glick were in sync, training for a common purpose. It was almost like she enjoyed being with him. Despite the deep issues this mission was stirring, he appreciated a glimpse of the woman beneath the hard shell.

  The more plugged in to mystic Jordahk became, the more uncomfortable she grew. Glick respected Aristahl, but she kept their interaction distant and professional.

  In regard to Sojourners, Jordahk already glimpsed the baggage she carried. Some, perhaps unfairly, blamed the Sojourners for the fall of Raetia. Encountering an actual Sojourner on this mission affected them both. Though the stop may have been necessary, the price was pulling them apart.

  Jordahk reached to an inside pocket of his long coat. An item undulated to the top. He fingered the familiar, now cold ring. It felt somehow different. While dead as before, it was as though he could peer inside. He turned it as if seeing the scrambled brain of Maximilian v4.

  The scientum compy his father found was obsolete 50 years past, but it had a chance of running OttoGen's AI. Between the removal of the general's personal data and the risky re-seat into "new" hardware, Max was a different AI from that which served the general. The AI remembered those days as if a detailed dream, and that transfer was done under ideal conditions.

  Since then, Max spent two decades forming a new, unique quadnapse lattice. Such hardware structures greatly influenced the subtleties of artificial personality. It was why admins rarely chose to transfer existing personalities into new hardware. Better to just start fresh. And that was scientum. As for mystic personality creations, no transfer options existed—at least for the non-Sojourner.