Tethered Worlds: Unwelcome Star

by Gregory Faccone

  "Beta group two, slip back into the corridor. Box formation. Give the destroyer time to turn." He reached a virtual hand into the display and turned icons representing other groups. "Alpha three, new angle, line formation." He sub-whispered commands to his fleet AI to hone the line.

  He was in his element. Although not a "fleet genius," his patient and considered decisions usually left him with the upper hand when it finally came to blows. The Adams Rush ships couldn't concentrate their insufficient firepower. He would tear them up if they went out into space for a better angle. Their only chance to land blows was during short peeks from behind the battlestation.

  Changing the orbit of the battlestation to approach the egress was anticipated. As powerful as its fusion-powered shields were, it wasn't maneuverable. The tremendous beating it absorbed was only speeding its inevitable loss.

  He glanced at the beat of battle counter. Battle actions were most effective when coordinated. All assigned ships fired on the beat. The next was in nine seconds. Pheron decided to focus its firepower 100 percent. He marked the target about to receive the task force's considerable wrath.

  Chatter on the bridge increased. On the beat, pinkish beams arced off into the distance over the planet. A second later, a massive wave of sparkling trails followed, the excited particles marking a full hypergun salvo. It was a sight to behold when an entire task force beat was concentrated on a single target. He never tired of the spectacle.

  Such focusing was rare, because it was inefficient. Ships dodged firepower regularly. In such a case, the offensive power of all those ships would be wasted. But in this case, Pheron knew the target wouldn't dodge. Almost every shot hammered it. Visuals showed a series of flashes and then the vast expanding sphere of a plasma shock wave.

  "What was that one?" he asked.

  The fleet AI projected the schematics of a hefty civilian structure.

  "Some sort of office complex," Aetaire said. "How desperate. At this rate Adams Rush will have a debris ring."

  "Overconfidence doesn't suit you, Aetaire."

  Word came that war veteran Ferric Marculus was commanding local forces. Pheron had not thought about the Iron Commander for years, thinking him long dead. Underestimating your opponent was the quickest way to lose a command, or more. Pheron achieved his position by thinking through even the smallest strategic possibilities. His opponent might be aged, but legends became legends for a reason.

  "The famed Iron Commander was known to employ sacrifice gambits, but always for a reason. What's the reason here, Aetaire?"

  Aetaire lifted his head from the VADs. "I don't—" The adjutant took another moment to think. "Well, he's obviously protecting his fleet. The longer he shields that battlestation, the longer they can hide behind it."

  "Yes, he has closed the distance considerably, but to what end? He doesn't have the firepower to dislodge us. He's fast running out of orbital infrastructure to sacrifice." Pheron glanced at another counter. It ticked down comfortably. "The egress syncs in less than an hour."

  "Maybe the four incoming mystery ships," Aetaire said, knowledgeable of the details as always.

  "Yes." Pheron glanced at another VAD showing estimated specifications of the incoming ships trying to mask their capability. "They're old. Fleetnet thinks them destroyers or javelins." He stared at the closing icons. "I think they're the latter."

  He ordered estimated firing time assuming they were javelins laid at Adranus.

  "One hour, two minutes," the AI said.

  "They'll be just in time to engage the First Fleet," Aetaire said.

  Pheron felt he was missing one small ingredient. The enemy's plan was decent enough, although costly. He should have shot those satellites out of space the moment he noticed their changed orbits. If sending 20 satellites to ram the egress was intended to cause a big mess and a little confusion, it could claim success. The Iron Commander coordinated his first strike with the desperate move. Spectacular? Maybe. Effective? No.

  The purple VAD that refused to go away moved to the top. Pheron was about to push it back with an annoyed gesture when its display caught his eye. His hand froze as he examined a trajectory. He sub-whispered, and numerous VADs showing the egress appeared.

  "Interference again, field commander?"

  Pheron stared at the new VADs. "I want a closer look at the egress. Do we have any owls?"

  "They're all planetside, sir. Besides, anything that massive is prohibited near the egress one hour before sync."

  "Yes, yes, I know." Pheron paused. "Then I want suits out there."

  "The Legion?"

  "Human eyes, Aetaire. These coordinates. Now!"

  The adjutant jumped. "I can conscript a work pod. They're not massive, and the suits can hitch a ride."

  "Do it."

  Two seeker drones bore down on Kord.

  He had few options. Retreat was out until he secured—whatever it was that needed securing. He hurled himself down the newly formed tunnel and flipped midair, spraying the opening with grister fire. To get him, the drones would have to come down the tunnel. He smart barrel-shredded them as they tried, causing explosions that further trashed the interior of his cabin.

  Kord glanced around the small chamber. It was lit evenly with a cool light, the source of which was not apparent. Two niches in the smooth wall held objects at the ready. Maybe his father designed this vault, maybe someone else. But whoever it was anticipated a hot entry. One niche held two legacy shells. Some choice words came to mind which, with great discipline, he didn't vent. Destiny was what it was. He was a scientum guy. Mystic was his father's—and his son's—destiny.

  The other niche contained a ceramic statuette. A fairy?

  "I'm so dead."

  The synthsound of rocket hissing grabbed his attention. With speed and efficiency he lined up and wrecked another incoming seeker drone with direct hits. It fragmented without even exploding, but the implications of a single seeker drone were clear. If they could keep him pinned, it would be over.

  He touched the wall, and the room came alive. The entire vault was coded to his line. Two room-sized storage chambers extended off this one, their entrances not visible. But they were dead ends, which killed Kord's short-lived hope of an underground escape. He sensed the primary reason for this vault. At the far end he touched a specific point of the seamless wall. It split.

  The creator of the vault had made assumptions. If one mastered the opening sequence and was able to see into the wall where this object was stored, then he was worthy to take it.

  When the thick layer of wall finished splitting, it revealed another, which split apart in interlocking sections, and then another, which came apart in an even more complex pattern. The layer materials changed from granix to metal to ceramics. Kord was curious about how someone might drill through it, or at least try. When the layers finished peeling away, they revealed a purple, glowing object in the shape of a legacy shell.

  "Huh? I guess I was expecting more."

  He laid aside hesitation and grabbed the shell, only to feel a burning sensation move up his arm. The heat was incredible. His hand was boiling, but he couldn't let go. He fought to concentrate despite the pain. He felt the shell examining him—his blood, his brain. The pain stopped in an instant. Kord leaned against the wall, drenched in sweat, breathing hard. Now he saw the object for what it truly was. Though activated by autobuss, it was a key, a tremendously complicated key.

  The wall layers closed. He placed the key in an armored pocket on his good thigh. It had to be safeguarded. But how to get out? Vittora was somewhere nearby, perhaps fighting for her life. She could handle herself, but what were the odds?

  "Comm still down?"

  "Yes," Highearn answered, "but I believe it's only for a small radius around Vittora."

  Kord moved to the entrance and peered up the tunnel. "Is she okay?"

  "Longwave pings indicate her AI still functioning."

  On impulse, he went back and grabbed the two legacy shell
s by the door and put them with the key. Just that short contact communicated to him their great power, though not helpful to him. He was about to dash out. The ensuing battle wouldn't be pretty. He holstered his grister; ready to draw again at the slightest synthsound hiss. Reaching for his sheller, he saw the fairy glimmer.

  Kord shrugged. "Oh, what the hell." He grabbed it on a whim. It was like the key experience in reverse. His hand felt as though it was freezing, and the sensation traveled up his arm. "Whoa!"

  Staggering back, he was thrust into an invisible battle. The fairy statuette was not ordinary mystic. His father warned him about the old unbelievable stuff. It sized him up, and he sized it back with all his will. Mental sparks flew at the intersection. The object was like a void, drawing in everything warm, everything energetic. It was made by a Khromas, but not Thule-Riss.

  The battle slowed, and the freezing sensation didn't relent. The fairy was an enemy of scientum, not a good thing for him. Activated by his lack of experience, he didn't know how to turn the glittering thing off.

  Highearn amplified sounds and used the hidden espy to keep abreast of events outside. "They're reloading seeker drones."

  Frustration built to the breaking point. "Oh, for Khromas' sake!" Kord hurled the fairy out the entrance and laughed aloud at his use of the expression. It actually fluttered its wings and left a trail of sparkles. This reinforced his opinion of just how eccentric highest echelon mystic creators became.

  He stood, poised to race out the second the fairy did—whatever it was going to do. He knew it wouldn't be good for his tech. Hopefully, those outside had more to lose than he. He looked himself over. His grister would be useless, and his sheller... His sheller? The piercing shells were hot stuff. Their focused explosives used active current buffers once primed in the chamber.

  Kord's eyes grew wide in sudden realization. With one smooth motion, he flung the sheller off his back and up the entrance. At the same time, he felt more than heard a deep twang. A wall of white sparkles filled the cabin above him and sped down into the vault. When the sheller crossed into them, it exploded.

  Few people who passed through an egress fully understood how big "mankind's greatest achievement" actually was. It dwarfed starliners, superhaulers, and even dreadnoughts. It was more easily likened to an oversized mountain, like the volcanic behemoths seen on uninhabitable worlds.

  Jordahk had to turn his head to take in the entire hexagon. Compared to it, he massed like a flea on a horse, or so he guessed. After all, few fleas and even fewer horses resided on Adams Rush. They kept closing, yet did not arrive. The egress just kept getting bigger. He reconsidered his mass assessment.

  "More like a dust mote."

  "What?" Cranium asked.

  "Uh, it's big."

  The data rider lowered both of his raised eyebrows. "I can still crack it."

  Cranium's false confidence made Jordahk a little nervous. So many things had to go right. "You know a mystic AI runs this thing, right?"

  Glick listened but kept scanning space with vigilance. Jordahk's arms, long clamped to the siblings, were beginning to cramp. The battle continued silently around them, bathing them in waves of color, distorted through the helmet's field.

  "A mystic AI performs the calculations for entanglement syncing," Cranium said. "A scientum slave AI handles 'mundane' tasks like fueling and maintenance."

  Seen on edge, the egress surfaces glinted blue and white. Plasma shields saved their chromatic color prominences for when they absorbed incoming fire. As if the object knew of their approach, the edge highlights faded. The power of six fusion reactors redirected. Even if the power wasn't needed elsewhere, the fields generated by shield controllers interfered with the subtleties of entanglement. But even without shields, the egress was one of the most durable manmade objects in space.

  Faceted sides with subtle features and glowing lines gave way to new levels of surface detailing. An egress wasn't a ship. Few things on its surface offered scale, and none as familiar as engines or launch bays. When they thought it could get no larger, Max signaled final approach. The impact would be fewer Gs than their explosive launch. It required a short burst of propellant, but that was better than losing time with a blackout.

  "In three, two, one," Max counted it down.

  Their grips released, and AIs turned them for the brief braking gush. They slammed onto the granix surface, packs first. Jordahk didn't hear the siblings grunt, seeing as they no longer touched and were on wave communication silence. They didn't even want to risk line of sight for fear an errant beam would give them away.

  A strand snaked out from Glick's suit to Jordahk's. His sent one in turn to Cranium. Wired communication was positively ancient, but stealthy.

  The data rider felt along the egress, searching for markings and landmarks. Close enough to touch, the surface was dull from years of use. "Come on, we gotta move." They glided across the surface with minimal puffs of propellant.

  "That thing still working?" Glick gestured toward Crae-Tarn's helmet.

  "Wixom is angling the field," Max said. "It doesn't have three hundred and sixty degree coverage, so stay close."

  After a minute, they rounded the corner onto one of the enormous inner faces. They proceeded until Cranium stopped them near the centerline. Strands shot out from his forearm, attaching to the egress. A smallish mister deployed from a suit compartment, displaying information.

  Debris flew by. Jordahk felt concealed in the donut hole. It blocked direct view from many of the closest P-star ships. A minute passed in silence.

  Glick continued her outward vigilance. She detached a heavy suit rifle and cradled it, unpowered. "What's the hold up, Clutch?"

  "I can't get a good read." The data rider sounded frustrated. "There's too much data to go through." He produced another mister. Information flashed rapidly across the two.

  Jordahk was concerned about the screens affecting their concealment, but if Cranium couldn't crack it, the mission was over.

  "They can't make routine maintenance too onerous," Cranium said, half to himself. "Most security is on the personnel side. No worker gets close unless checked down to the peptide, and their mother held hostage." He highlighted bits as he continued to ramble. "A maintenance panel doesn't know the egress is on lockdown. It just obeys signals to open and close. Besides, a tertiary energy distribution line is not critical."

  As Jordahk floated helplessly, a strange sensation passed through him. It was physical like a vibration, yet different.

  Glick turned around and saw Jordahk's face. "Yeah, I felt it, too."

  "It's syncing," Cranium said.

  Glick moved to her brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're officially running out of time, Clutch. What's the problem? You can do this."

  "I need to see more of it at once." He closed his eyes. "I need to see the patterns."

  "Then project onto the egress," Jordahk said.

  "That might give us away," Cranium said.

  Glick was no doubt concerned, but they all understood the mission. She nodded at Jordahk with solemn determination. "Do it, Clutch."

  The words filled the data rider with new resolve. "Okay, it's on."

  Jordahk saw a glow on the crystal panes of Cranium's helmet. The data rider was going octal. Light raced through the tat lines on his face. Large displays projected onto the surface of the egress. Jordahk instructed Wixom to do whatever possible with their concealment then grabbed the back of Glick's pack, drawing her closer as she scanned.

  "This is the Holy Grail for octals." Cranium's swagger was back.

  "Magnify," Glick said.

  Jordahk looked up. "Max, show me." The waver generated by the Crae-Tarn helmet's field worsened under the significant magnification his suit applied. "Three, no four suits. What're they on?"

  "Some sort of construction frame," Glick said.

  Cranium was in the zone, but still half-listening. "Nothing massive near the egress now."

  Information flas
hed on all displays. Jordahk hoped it made sense to the octal because he saw nothing in the stream. A pit grew in his stomach. "Have they found us?"

  "I don't think so," Glick said. "Look." The construction frame slowed, and two of the Legion suits jetted off toward where they had first landed. They disappeared behind the egress. The vehicle continued closer with the remaining pair. "They were sent to our general area, but they can't see us. Yet."

  Lines of access panels stretched across the egress. A panel was just below them, and the next nearest was across the centerline. Cranium focused on them. A small ejection port next to the nearest jetted a puff of gas, and its control sparked.

  "Don't worry," Cranium said. "That's isolated from the maintenance AI. I got this."

  Jordahk had an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. He remembered when they last floated together in suits, the tug hulk in a system far away. But it wasn't déjà vu. Somehow he had glimpsed what they were experiencing now. But was anything in that vision of use? Typical. He blinked, trying to clear his head. He would have rubbed his eyes if he could. His mother had dreams. Did he have visions?

  Cranium continued his running commentary. The only thing mystic about an egress was the AI that ran it. Added before the war, they sped up sync calculations. The egress structure was scientum, and common functions were handled by parts with known lifetimes and failure rates.

  "I've accessed the maintenance logs."

  A small housing opened next to the access panel, and a little wheeled cleaning bot emerged to work the surface. That was a good sign. Similar housings by adjacent panels also opened. Two more little cleaning bots outside of Crae-Tarn's field began working.

  "Not a problem. I've taken those guys out of the system, too," Cranium said.

  The two Legion suits continued closer, perhaps following a faint propellant trace. They wouldn't have done so openly if they knew Glick was aiming her suit rifle at them. She was ready to power it up at the slightest indication of discovery.

  The frame was little more than configurable spars, clamps, and powerful, fine-control rockets for moving construction payloads. It put out tiny puffs of thrust that were hardly detectable as the suits rode it closer.