Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

  "Fifty-eight seconds," came from within the hood.

  An old-fashioned, jeweled pin affixed it. He wouldn't have known it was called a brooch had she not educated him. It was shaped like an elliptical leaf. Pointed on one end, it was about as long as her smallest, slender finger. It matched no vegetation among the evergreen forests of Adams Rush. The face of the leaf was composed of pale blue gems, and the veins were deep brown, smoky topaz.

  Vittora wasn't a grand accumulator. She had but a few pretty things. Most were simpler in design, like the leaf, yet pieces in which she found meaning. She had owned it for as long as Jordahk could remember. According to Kord, she bought it about a decade after his older brother Stannis was born. As the story goes, she had to be quite persistent, and paid a considerable sum after a bidding war. But it was an old Earth antique, an arena in which if you wanted quality, you had to pay. That was familiar to them all when it came to weapons and defensive devices.

  "That's under a minute," Jordahk pointed out.

  She turned to him and pushed back the hood delicately. Her classic features were accented by auburn braids that fell, one to the front and one behind. Her beauty had been restored after the horrible disfigurement of an impersonal sniper's shot during the Egress Incident. He had always known his mother to be pretty, but a child wasn't the best judge of such things. However, he also saw it in the looks other men gave her, and in the pride that inflated his father's chest.

  She didn't smile. To Vittora, training was serious business. She loved her son too much to go easy on him.

  "Targets," she said. Two VAD hexagons appeared on the distant hilltop across the valley. The Visual Air Display targets were red. "We're going to the top, with three shooting gates along the way. Are you ready?"

  "Well, I'm a little winded—"

  In a flash, her cloak was flung back, and she drew a pistol. With no preamble, she started squeezing shots off at one of the red VAD targets. Orange splotches blossomed around it as her grister's accelerators whined. The shock of immediate action took a second to pass before Jordahk drew and squeezed off clunky shots at the other target.

  It was a long shot even with smart barrels and AI help, but within the low-tech restrictions of this exercise, it was even more difficult. Vittora's target flashed bright white and turned green, signifying a hit. She holstered and bounded up the path in one smooth motion, leaving behind only the lingering sound of her flapping cloak.

  Jordahk redoubled his efforts to take a steady shot. Still breathing heavily, he took a knee and braced his elbow. He had to hit it fast if he was going to catch up. He relaxed and let the big hunting pistol recoil naturally. The remaining red target flashed white with a solid hit. He was off to the races.

  He holstered first. That was day one basic training—never turn on the firing line with a primed pistol. At a fast trot, but trying to conserve energy, he rounded a ridge and caught sight of his mother halfway up a tree. There was never a reason to climb that particular conifer because it reached only halfway up the cliff it sided. As he continued closer, he noticed two smart ropes coming off the top of the cliff and bending into the upper branches.

  Skidding to a halt at its base, he leaped and climbed recklessly to catch up. Vittora moved at a steady pace which looked effortless. He took more chances than he should have, but the lower branches were strong. He caught up, fueled by the abandonment of youth's last vestiges, but he was out of breath, and his hands were raw. The gloves that would have unfolded from his coat would have been nice, but most of that garment was far down the mountain. It was bulky for tree climbing, anyway.

  The branches became too thin for recklessness, but he still tried to pass Vittora as they approached the unnaturally hanging ropes. She swung easily to a branch above him and put a treader right onto his fingers as he grasped the next branch.

  "Ouch!" Jordahk pulled his hand back, shaking it. "Really?"

  She continued upward, lengthening the space between them. Kord and Vittora had taken his training even more seriously, if that was possible, since the Egress Incident. As he reached for higher branches, his smarting fingers told him it was possible.

  Vittora was already halfway up her rope when he arrived at his. It was one of those safe-climb types that formed holds wherever hands or feet gripped. Not looking down, he swung the short distance from treetop to the cliff face and climbed, thankful for the rope's assistance. He wasn't particularly afraid of heights, but looking down would not be helpful.

  Much like looking back.

  He rolled over the summit and began running before he even oriented to the new surroundings.

  There were multiple ways to the top, but his father had marked the pond for the next leg. It was frozen over and strewn with rocks. Vittora was already on it and hopping the rocks like a weightless faerie. How did she do that? Her cloak waved like the cape of an ancient superhero with every arcing leap.

  Without an AI to auto-configure his treaders for ice, his best bet was to leap from rock to rock as well. Fatigue was taking a toll, though, even with the extra pharma-stim Solia had given him. Falling short on a long leap that should have been split in two, he landed hard on the ice and spun like a child's toy until a boulder stopped his careening.

  "This just keeps getting better."

  "I heard that," Kord's voice said from nowhere. "If I catch you, they'll be dawn workouts for a week."

  Tough love could really suck hydrogen. Jordahk got his feet under him and renewed rock-hopping.

  The roles parents and children played had not changed for millennia, but a new facet had been added in modern times. The advent of the retta and ravelen, competing lifetime therapies, made peak physical performance possible for centuries. He had been his parents' child for over three decades, but now with long adolescence coming to an end, he felt the relationship transitioning.

  With hundreds of years of potential interaction possible, when children reached vigere, the long plateau of peak performance, a new way of relating developed naturally. It was a little like senior student to junior student, as demonstrated in ancient, old-world Asian cultures. The sense of respect and hierarchy never went away, but a new element of camaraderie and peer-like association was added.

  Clearing the ice without further incident, he dashed through a short stand of trees and into the next clearing. His mother was already there, plinking away with her slim grister. Her target was the same one they had shot previously. That hill, now overlooked from much farther above, was nearly rifle range. Vittora was an ace with a rifle, but the standing pistol shot, unaided by AIs, was challenging her.

  Jordahk came to a stop next to his mother. He drew on his red target, now so small the aiming reticule on his rets practically eclipsed it. Pistol shooting was probably one of the few areas in which he had an advantage over his mother, but his body was heaving with exertion. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Vittora breathe fully but evenly. Peak physical performance was a possibility with a lifetime therapy, but it was only achieved through effort. Anyone who encountered her physically was soon aware that she had turned possibility into reality. Just ask Ermine Fuiret.

  Her target flared white again and turned green as she bounded off. He was impressed by her standing shot with an underpowered grister.

  "Keep up, Jordahk," she said over her shoulder.

  He was forced to take a knee again. It cost him style points, and was tactically impractical, but it was the only choice that kept him in the game. With a deep exhale, he covered the target with his reticule and activated the trigger studs. A distant orange puff blossomed at the corner of his target, which flared white.

  "Supra-aim!"

  Holstering, he dashed off after his mother, who was only a short distance ahead. She was racing toward an escarpment about 20 meters high. At its base was Goldy. His metal hands were clasped to form a stirrup. His position changed subtly as he calculated her approach. Stepping away from the base, he stabilized a ready position.

  Vittor
a hardly slowed as she lined up on the robot and leaped some distance into his waiting hands. One treader landed squarely in the stirrup as he redirected her momentum and flung her skyward. The light armor she wore was not as protective or fully-featured as spring armor, but it enhanced joints, keeping her boosted leg stiff for the launch. With the other leg bent upward, and her deep red cloak fluttering, she flew up the side of the escarpment like an avenging angel. Goldy's calculated toss was perfect. Vittora touched down lightly at the top, barely bending her knees on the landing, and bounded out of sight.

  "You'll have to use both legs, Jordahk," Goldy said.

  His amplification cut through rushing wind. The robot's deep voice seemed strange when trying to be helpful, rather than intimidate. Goldy lowered his hands close to the frozen ground. Without armor, it was up to Jordahk to keep his legs straight.

  "I will make the acceleration as smooth as possible," the robot said.

  Jordahk leaped into the stirrup. He grimaced and stiffened both legs, using only the power of his enhanced muscle. The face of the escarpment blurred before his squinted eyes, but he held steady and trusted. When his stomach rose, it signified the end of the ride. Where Vittora kept her orientation, he flailed, trying to maneuver a decent landing. He was unsuccessful, and tumbled ungracefully.

  Goldy raced past him. Apparently, Kord still had something in mind for the machine. It made Jordahk curious and uneasy at the same time. He willed his body into a loping gait despite fatigue. Being taller than both of his parents was some small advantage when it came to stride. He couldn't see Vittora while bounding through trees both fallen and upright. The area funneled to a log bridge they had fashioned over a deep, running stream. Intuition told him to push the pace, although he didn't know why.

  Clearing the evergreens, the stream arced before him. The solid log bridge was just where they had felled it years before, and Vittora was almost across. Goldy stood at the other end, apparently uncaring. Jordahk raced to the log and got to it just before Vittora cleared the other end. Suddenly, Goldy lifted his angular metal arm to bar her way.

  "None can pass while two are upon the log," he said with mechanical precision.

  Vittora stopped short, nodded, and turned.

  He took careful steps as his mother faced him. Though the tree was large, the surface was imperfect, and the moving water below, icy. Vittora closed, and he slowed with caution. What was it to be? Hand-to-hand? He still carried baggage in that area and felt inadequate. On top of that, he disliked sparring with his mother. Not that he was worried about hurting her.

  Please. She wins every time.

  It was in the way she held herself. So elegant. He could never get used to full-contact sparring with her, even in these kinds of scenarios.

  "What's the call, Goldy?" Jordahk asked. He was hoping for some sort of reprieve.

  "Staffs." The bot reached to the ground and pulled up two wooden staffs, concealed in ruts. He tossed one to each of the opponents on the bridge. Vittora caught hers with ease, but Jordahk balance-checked as he leaned out. "I carved these myself," the machine said with the barest hint of robotic pride. "They're identical as far as natural wood and my tolerances will allow."

  "Dard's going kilo-classic," Jordahk said. Lack of technology played into his mother's strengths. She just didn't need it to be effective. "Isn't this an ancient scenario? Robin Hood or something?"

  "You both can be rather dramatic," Vittora said. Her tone implied appreciation rather than cynicism.

  The latter was his department, although he was making headway in lessening the tendency. When it came to the staff, he liked to think his skills superior, but that was only in knowledge. He still used it as a weapon. Though his parents didn't know all the forms, any martial weapon in their hands became an extension of their abilities. He didn't feel bad about that. They had over a century of dojo and gung hall experience on him. How good might he be after another 100 years of hard training?

  The subtle, grainy texture of finely hewn wood was pleasing in hands made raw from the day's exercise. He did a couple twirls to get the staff moving and made his approach. Vittora stood resolute, and, in his opinion, rather unimpressed. She kept her weight centered, and easily deflected a couple of halfhearted swings. It was increasingly apparent the challenge was more about balance than staff technique.

  He tried straightforward lunges, watching his footing, careful to not overextend. Vittora parried them.

  Hard to catch winter flurries stuck to the staff where his hands had warmed it. The resulting droplets reminded Jordahk of the frigid, waist deep water flowing just two meters below. He dared not look down, for his mother would surely strike. Right now, she seemed satisfied to defend.

  He initiated a wide, heavy arc in an attempt to sweep her legs. It was an unwise decision which left him off balance. She lowered her body and blocked it with staff outstretched. He was forced into another balance check. Foot slipping, he took an awkward step back.

  Vittora poked Jordahk in the kneecap with her pole. "You're better than that. Pick something that keeps you centered and doesn't require a wide stance."

  Rubbing his knee, he held off to think. It was tempting to just charge, using his extra mass as a weapon. But Vittora would take a step back and club him before he even made contact, turning his momentum and sending him into the icy drink. The maple gyre, a fancy staff move he had used on Glick the year before, would be too challenging to pull off on this log. Maybe with another decade or two of practice. What then?

  "I'm waiting," Vittora said.

  A military axiom came unwittingly to mind. "Feign madness but keep your balance." Such things were not unusual in light of how much he and his father war-gamed, and it seemed as good a strategy as any. Also, he was learning to trust his growing and sometimes uncanny intuition.

  He took an aggressive, hopping step forward, reminiscent of classical fencing, and came down with the first of a frenetic series of blows. Striking high and low on either side, he was determined to keep his balance and leave no opening for counterattack. While this made his strikes less effective, Vittora was quite occupied fending them off. He picked up the pace as fast as he dared, and to his surprise, she took a step back.

  Defending took more skill than attacking, and his mad flurry of blows continued with increasing frequency. He was certain she was looking to counterattack, but with amazing patience that surprised even himself, he continued with even greater speed, ignoring any perceived openings. She gave way slowly, eventually glancing back at Goldy and his barring arm only a couple of meters away. Room to retreat had run out.

  His muscles burned. Without AIs, his blood micros were not actively removing lactic acid or conducting a myriad of other helpful tasks. With no counterattack openings at her disposal, Vittora started to use her blocks offensively. Instead of just deflecting or gently absorbing his blows, she jolted him back at every connection, and the pace slowed. His advantage evaporated, and soon they were back on even footing.

  Another axiom came to mind, unfortunately to the benefit of his opponent. "Leisurely await for the labored." Now she was picking the time and place for her stand, and he was tired. Her blocks became blows, and his hands went numb with vibrations his fancy metal staff would have absorbed.

  Vittora could channel tremendous intensity and yet not be consumed by it. She had great faith in a Creator he still didn't understand. It powered her zeal and purposefulness. But how long could even she maintain this magnitude? The end was coming. He was just beginning to back off into a defensive position when she charged.

  "Wha—!"

  The move was completely illogical. It nullified her balance and played into his mass and strength. Or it would have if the crazy maneuver had not been so completely unexpected. His hands jerked reflexively and ineffectively. That split second was all she needed to bat his defense away and put a shoulder right into his ribs. He staggered back, flinging his arms sideways to balance. Vittora thrust her staff forward, catching
Jordahk squarely in the solar plexus. He gasped, clutched his chest, and fell.

  The shock of hitting the water was greater than the icy cold. His waterproof treaders kept his feet warm, and the hard air helmet kept his face dry. As his feet gained purchase on the bottom, he realized he was still clutching the staff. He stayed under for a moment, breathing the half-used air within his helmet as the water rushed over him. Nearly unintelligible sounds filtered down from above.

  "Shall I retrieve him?" Goldy asked.

  "Oh, he's all right," Vittora said. "All right" meant a lot of things not normally associated with the phrase when training with his parents. "He just needs a minute."

  As Jordahk stood to full height, he saw Vittora standing tall on the bank next to Goldy. When they made eye contact, she offered the slightest nod then trotted up the final path to the top. He powered through the current and pulled himself up the bank.

  "How about a little help?" He held a hand out to Goldy.

  "That does not fall within the parameters Kord provided," Goldy said.

  Combat bots. Not the most flexible social thinkers.

  Jordahk clawed his way to dry ground. Aside from the vest, his clothes were not the fancy ones Aristahl gave him. Although water ran off them, and they would soon air-dry, they were not self-warming. He shivered. "Here." Jordahk handed over the wet staff. "Nice carving. Next time, how about more circumference?"

  "Noted."

  He trotted up the path to the end of the course. On the way up he heard the whine of Vittora's grister. So the exercise would end with a final shot. Indeed, she was squeezing off ammo nuts toward their original target hill, which was at rifle range now. The large, red VAD targets seemed like specks.

  Taking up a position next to Vittora, he drew, only to discover the standard reticule was much too large for the shot. It completely obscured the target, and he couldn't change it with AIs locked. But he could turn it off. He pressed out, both hands on his grister, and tried to aim the old-fashioned way over the barrel. If not for the exploding orange training ammunition, he wouldn't be able to see how far off the shots were. The gun wouldn't stay steady, and he couldn't deploy its autostock. Such exercises proved how dependent he had become on AIs.