Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  It was a system only an astrophysicist could love. Agitated asteroid belts, unpredictable and dangerous, made mining difficult and unsafe.

  On top of that, Gr'jot was haunted.

  Of course, everyone who had not been there wrote it off as coincidence or local phenomena. But the unlucky few who ventured into the restless belts of ore knew better. One person, though never among those rocks, needed no convincing.

  He stood on the bridge of the Monte Crest staring out the crystal panes. Next to him stood an ancient scientum nurse. Out of place on the bridge, it mimicked the older man's solemn gaze. He did not notice.

  Amidst the quiet chatter of system entry, Jordahk walked up to his grandfather. He was about to ask a question when he noticed the robot.

  "What's he doing here?"

  Aristahl, lost in thought, was brought back by the question. "Hmm? Oh yes, what are you doing here, Torious?"

  "After all the buildup," Torious droned, "this was the place to be. Bit of a disappointment, though, don't you think?"

  "Torious," Aristahl chided. "Would you go back to my stateroom please?"

  "Call me for any boredom-induced fainting spells." The nurse trundled out.

  If the robot wasn't so good at what it did, a crew might tie it to a nuke rocket for a personal reconnoiter of the asteroids. Jordahk smirked unashamedly at the thought. "What makes you think your acquaintance is in this godforsaken chunk of nowhere?"

  Aristahl went back to surveying the ocher vista. He nodded at the question. "I recently came across an insurance claim routed through Huguenot Minerale."

  Jordahk noticed a slight change in the sound around him and knew that Barrister was generating an anti-noise bubble to keep their conversation private.

  "A ship was lost here recently," Aristahl continued. "The report stated the ship's shield controllers failed when impacted by asteroids in the outer system."

  "Failed?" Jordahk asked, incredulous.

  "Yes, as in overloaded and exploded. With rampant shield failure and a cascade of malfunctions along the plasma lines, they were forced to abandon ship."

  "That sounds like poor navigation and maintenance," Jordahk said. "Why did they put themselves in such a chaotic area of that maelstrom?"

  "It was not a maelstrom at first. They claim as they pushed in," Aristahl paused, "the asteroids attacked them."

  "What? Sounds like they were hitting the Aquarii Mead." Jordahk focused beyond the crystal, shaking his head at the yellow mess. "Driving one to drink may be the only thing this system's well-suited for."

  Old world scientists were influenced by political agendas and funding needs. Their "facts" often skewed to please benefactors, dooming true observational science.

  As humanity spread to the stars, practical invention became the new frontier of science. Fledgling colonists struggled to survive in places God had not made to sustain them. No established government was there to dole out funds, nor did a need exist for the theoretical. Scientists prospered according to their usable accomplishments.

  Practical science and tenacity made Gr'jot livable, but not enjoyable. The system was lit by an orange subgiant, the gravitational hijinks of which were matched only by its roiling, unpredictable prominences.

  The closest planet was a hot gas giant, another anomaly to old-world scientists. Farther out, a planet toxic in every way. The last planet still holding together before the maelstrom was large and completely devoid of atmosphere. Featureless, it hung like a gray disk amidst a sea of jaundiced space.

  Its jumbo size generated a magnetic field of corresponding proportion, but without intensity enough to crush life. It protected a large sphere of space from the hazardous system's radiation and particles. Within that sphere was the second-largest satellite, Huguenot Minerale Cooperative Facility, Gr'jot. Since the corporation was pulling out, the unwieldy name would soon lose any significance. In recent years, Gr'jot only racked up losses.

  Co-Op Station, as everyone called it, was like most large commercial stations, a rotating design. Practical artificial gravity was still exclusively mystic. Grav weave plating was expensive, so docking ships danced graceful, rotation-matching waltzes.

  The Monte Crest's docking could only be described generously as a waltz. Ports on thrust rings blinked spasmodically with plasma jets. It docked with a decidedly ungraceful thunk at one of the station's aging hammerheads. Though the Monte Crest looked worse for wear, it blended with the surroundings. For many years little coin had been spent on the station for anything but the most fundamental maintenance.

  Freed from extra shielding requirements because of its proximity to the planet, and not size limited for grav weaves, Co-Op Station started large and sprawled from there. Permanently docked and developed-over haulers, cheap housing modules, and improvised containers of all sorts turned it into a ramshackle ring. Normal gravity was attractive to people whose only other option was the lifeless rock below.

  Planetside was an uncomfortable 1.5 Earth gravities. The population of the station far outstripped the few underground facilities and smattering of small, aging domes. Co-Op Station was the financial and cultural heart of a dying system.

  Jordahk felt lost on the retrofitted ring. It wasn't laid out logically. Glick, Cranium, and a surly Chaetan went off in search of supplies and parts. He and Aristahl were heading for the administrator's office. Fortunately, one of them knew the way.

  Jordahk grappled with awareness of his growing universe. Some of his recent decisions were unwise, no doubt giving Aristahl much to think about. His grandfather was more pensive than usual since the AI incident in the gym.

  "Pops, about the restoration of Max..."

  Aristahl did not break stride. He was crisp as usual despite the invisible burden he carried. The old coat he wore and its purple accents did not stand out on a station where fashion was far from people's minds.

  Aristahl did not answer right away. "Our line can create. But just because we can does not mean we always should."

  Jordahk accepted the chide. He really was messing with forces beyond his understanding, as the cliche went.

  Aristahl continued, looking straight ahead. "It is easy to sear your brain and hard to preserve it. Your father would never forgive me if I returned you Onus-wracked."

  "Pops, it was just one time."

  The old man stopped and grabbed Jordahk by the arm with uncharacteristic intensity. "The danger in forcing a mystic device increases with its complexity and power. Depending upon its creator, that danger can be acute. Wixom's creator was a dangerous man."

  "Y-you said it would obey us."

  "Yes, because our line... is even more dangerous."

  Aristahl's eyes bored with strength and fire. It was fearsome, and Jordahk wanted to pull away, but his grandfather's surprisingly unyielding grip held him immobile.

  What was so special about his sporadic line of imprimaturs? After all, his father never even acted as such.

  "I don't understand," Jordahk said.

  "Creating new mystic is also fraught with danger. You combined both actions in a gallant but foolish move." Aristahl raised Jordahk's compy wrist. "If not for my precautions..." Light reflected off the numenium coupling. Aristahl left the sentence unfinished. Letting go, he turned to pluck an approaching metal ladybug from the air.

  "Yes, you are late." Aristahl's intensity turned to the device, which he was—reprimanding? "No, I do not care about the state of the aeroducts." The old man glanced at Jordahk over his shoulder then whispered to the device, "We will talk about this later." He thrust it into one of his many inner coat pockets and stood straighter. "The administrator is not taking comms. This facility is days away from total economic collapse."

  Jordahk was still reeling from the abrupt conversation change. "It looks even closer to physical collapse."

  "I have located him in a private watering hole along the ring," Aristahl said. He took off at a brisk walk, and Jordahk jogged a few paces to catch up, fingering the bracelet compy
. It required a moment to build up his courage.

  "Why would you give me something so dangerous?" he asked.

  "Wixom can protect you, and he will even obey you, though he has some alpha loop directives around which he will not yield. Your vision of Max's restoration required core reconfigurations Wixom fought, and whose implementation thrust you in over your head. We do not know the device's full capability. Barrister will not get near it, so try not to provoke it." Aristahl turned a corner briskly, taking them to a bank of lifts.

  The dingy station wasn't crowded. The few passersby carried belongings. At the lifts they encountered the only maintenance bot seen on station. The worn-out machine looked like it needed maintenance itself. It was half buried in a broken lift illuminated by sparks.

  Aristahl strode into a working lift without a second thought. Jordahk followed because he trusted his grandfather more than the conveyance. He fingered the purplish coupling. A precaution, but how much more? Might he now get more frank answers?

  "What's with the numenium coupling?" he asked bravely.

  "What indeed." Aristahl nodded. "You are like my father in more than just appearance."

  Jordahk's eyebrows rose. He knew little of his grandsire. Not a picture, not even his full name. So knowledge that anchored him to his heritage was steadying. It felt significant to be his descendant, but he didn't know why.

  "Judicum was a parting gift from my father," Aristahl said. His eyes peered far past the lift wall into the universe beyond. "It will watch over you when it can, but it, too, has its own priorities."

  "Judicum?" Jordahk stared down at the numenium. "I've already got two AIs in here at odds."

  "It is not an AI, or rather, it is more than an AI. Quite frankly I am not sure what it is. My father did things I never fully understood. Barrister has never been able to penetrate it. But Wixom knows who made it, and I think he will steer clear."

  The gravity shifted as the elevator traveled toward the center of the station. It made unpleasant noises, rocking off the radial track before traversing the circumference.

  "But even Judicum cannot stop you from destroying yourself if you are hell bent upon that course," Aristahl said. "I wanted to guide you. Apparently you take after your grandsire in this regard as well. He taught himself. But if you assimilate nothing else from this conversation, remember that he was—unique. There were many who went down that road only to be lost in the circus."

  "Where no rules apply." Jordahk somehow sensed the coupling reached deep into that unpredictable inner frontier.

  "Oh, there are rules; just not ours."

  The lift came to a stop with a rough jolt. Jordahk expected opening doors, but Aristahl had a hand on them. Without turning his body, he exuded seriousness.

  "We are like the Creator, with a spark aware of His circus. But we are not gods." Aristahl's words vibrated through Jordahk. "We might be able to venture into His foundation space, but no man can tame it."

  Jordahk had never heard his grandfather talk about such things. It sounded more like something his mother would say. Aristahl removed his hand, and the doors opened. The elder strode out with purpose, the younger deep in thought.

  "You have skirted a dangerous border," Aristahl said. "Judicum and Wixom came from that space and operate with abilities gleaned from it. I suspect Wixom was testing you and got more than he bargained for. Watch yourself, Jordahk. Next time he will be ready."

  Small, out-of-the-way watering holes changed little over the centuries. Details evolved, new intoxicating beverages surfaced, but in the end they were still dark places where people went to forget.

  Jordahk followed his grandfather into an establishment that was probably run down the day it opened. It wasn't a place for high-end Aquarii brand intoxicants, or Fanta-C drug highs. Rather, it was where people nursed large quantities of cheap intoxicants over long periods.

  Watching Aristahl's back, Jordahk stood extra straight. He adjusted his new long coat and sub-whispered it darker. He resonance connected with his bag and sensed the contents therein. His autobuss hummed in comforting response. The metal ladybug reemerged from Aristahl's coat and flew toward the back of the establishment. They followed it to a well dressed man with unkempt hair slumped over a table. Full glasses, colorful and glowing, lined up in front of numerous empties.

  Though some stood in the dim light for lack of seating, the man's large booth remained empty. A bruiser in unremarkable dark clothing stood before it. Alert eyes, unconcealed bracer, and general bulk pegged him as a bodyguard much the same way men in his profession had been recognized for centuries. No doubt his presence kept the table private.

  Aristahl stopped in front of him, peering past toward the man who had imbibed too much. "Feliz Navidad." The bodyguard stepped closer. "Commissioner Feliz Navidad?"

  Fashion names never ceased to amaze Jordahk.

  "Can't you see the commissioner doesn't want to be disturbed?" the bodyguard said.

  "Yes, I can see that," Aristahl said. "I am on a mission of utmost importance, whose outcome may very well affect the livelihood of this system."

  "Yeah, yeah, old man. Get in line. You can fight for the scraps like everyone else when Huguenot pulls out."

  Aristahl made eye contact with the bodyguard. "I am afraid our business is time-sensitive." The bodyguard's stance changed, and his bracer activated. The old man went from "innocuous" to "threat" in one second.

  "You're going to have to step back now," the bodyguard said. A small black object grew in his hand.

  "Commissioner Navidad," Aristahl spoke past the bodyguard, "we have a mutual concern. You will benefit if—"

  "Who sent you?" The bodyguard took another step eliminating the personal space between himself and Aristahl. "Scratch that. I don't care who sent you." He jabbed a bulky finger into the old man's chest. "You're done. Now take that ancient frock of yours out of here." The bodyguard was genuinely pleased to have used a somewhat fitting vocabulary word.

  "Barrister, push past and display for the commissioner some highlights."

  VAD projectors on the commissioner's ring, clothing, and table came alive showing diagrams of the asteroid belts. Information scrolled, and the commissioner sat up out of his stupor trying to get his compy to obey. The bodyguard saw the new activity wasn't his primary's doing.

  "I am sure once the commissioner sees what we are talking about, he will be interested," Aristahl said innocently.

  "What the?" the bodyguard rumbled.

  His arm thrust out in an effort to push Aristahl backwards, but his target was already a step back. The bodyguard became incensed, and the black object in his hand sprang to life. Stun batons were simple devices useful for delivering debilitating shocks directly through skin with micro needles. The cold plasma of a bracer was no protection when a baton was pushed through. The needles could even penetrate light clothing.

  The confrontation ignited while Jordahk was still shifting his momentum toward it. He would jump in front of that bruiser before he let him lay a hand on his grandfather. Who knew what kinds of enhancements the bulky guard sported? As Jordahk moved closer, something flashed between the two combatants. The ladybug buzzed the bodyguard's face. His bracer was likely programmed not to arc items as small as espies automatically. The bruiser staggered back, making shooing motions. "Zap it!"

  A flash of light, greater than an arc, illuminated the entire grungy establishment. Everyone squinted and turned away. A second later, the blinking bodyguard secured his footing. He lifted his bracer and stared in disbelief at the suddenly drained and useless object.

  The blackened metal ladybug hung in the air a second before falling, leaving behind a wispy trail of smoke. Aristahl snatched it mid-fall.

  "Why did you do that?" Aristahl said to the device. "I did not have a chance to prepare you!" He closed his palm tightly.

  Jordahk knew his grandfather was a little eccentric regarding seeker drones, espies, and all sorts of flying devices. It was definitely strange, b
ut it had never hurt anybody. Until now.

  From Aristahl's bag, a marble sized espy shot out, followed by two more. Then a half dozen tiny bird devices Jordahk didn't recognize flocked forth. Last out was a palm-length, beetle-like seeker drone with its distinct warble. That was when people ran for the doors. The bruiser activated a hidden scutum. He swung the hard air shield, swatting aside multiple fliers. They spun end over end before diving back anew.

  The enhanced bruiser's baton swung with supra normal speed connecting solidly with the slower seeker drone, operating on fans. Transferring current crackled at the impact, and the drone tumbled across the room. It righted itself before hitting the wall, and flew directly into Aristahl's hand. It abruptly glowed brilliant white.

  The expression on Aristahl's face was frightening. Coherent rays of light radiated between the old man's fingers.

  He released it. The drone zigzagged crazily as if it had rockets on, but it was still just fans. The bruiser swung in vain with his now dead baton trying to reconnect with the mini star before reaching in frustration for something inside his coat. The seeker drone dove around the scutum and impacted the bruiser's forehead. Lightning arced across his body. He writhed in pain as the shock continued, not allowing him to fall. The bolts covered him like clothes, and he roared.

  Frozen in his tracks, Jordahk could only watch. A few interminable seconds later, the lightning stopped. The bruiser collapsed, clad only in shreds of a securewear undergarment. Even his treaders were disintegrated, but his skin, although reddened, wasn't seriously burned. The man lay smoking, wheezing, and unconscious.

  Commissioner Feliz Navidad was trying to escape into the seat cushion. An arm pushed out trying vainly to ward off danger. The other clawed at his face with drunken, awestruck shock.

  The flock of flying objects returned from floor and air to Aristahl's bag. He stood tall, glancing down at the incapacitated muscle, then to the blackened ladybug. His mouth flattened with a sort of "cannot be helped" expression. He placed the burnt device carefully in his bag. Jordahk noticed a thin trickle of sweat down the side of his grandfather's head, something he could never recall seeing before.