Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

  It wasn't about his capability, it was his tools that relied upon the little quadnapse thinkers. The AIs themselves were just tools, too, of course. Ultimately, it came down to an admin's attitude. He was confident the "rustic" worlds of the Asterfraeo, especially Adams Rush, were more on top of their technology than the other way around. He wasn't so confident regarding the dependence-minded Perigeum worlds.

  Lofty thought wasn't helping Jordahk hit his target. He might as well be hand-sighting a cannon from some ancient war. A part of his mind was reaching out to shape his weapon to his will. But this grister wasn't his mystic autobuss. It couldn't "hear" him. Without preamble, he took a knee and his arm steadied. Vittora saw this, and apparently not satisfied with the time it might take her to score a hit, laid down prone for the most stable firing position.

  They were all well versed in the classic techniques. That's what his parents did for a living, after all. They covered beginner level to advanced security. He supposed it was his vocation, too, since he had no other income aside from what he was paid out of their little corporation.

  He was getting nowhere and figured on going prone as well when his mother stopped firing. He looked down at her and saw her breath easing out slowly. He knew this was it. She squeezed off a shot, and there was a bright flash and a speck of green on the distant hill.

  It was over. Vittora stood, and for the first time since the exercise began, she smiled. Things were always a little formal between them. They didn't hug or anything, but she gave his forearm a squeeze. It was a simple gesture that said a lot.

  "How's your chest?" she asked.

  Jordahk holstered and smiled. "Pops's ravelens made us tough, but do we have to keep pressing their limits?"

  "Your flurry of simple blows worked better than I expected," Vittora said, a hint of admiration in her voice.

  "Well, that bull rush was even more effective, and the last thing I expected from you."

  Movement through the trees caught their attention. Kord was about to round the path's bend and join them when he stopped suddenly, gripping his shaking thigh. It was another of his tremors, the price paid for a desperate mystic foray into foundation space during the Egress Incident.

  Jordahk and Vittora exchanged a quick glance in unspoken agreement to ignore what they had just seen. The trembling episodes had not lessened in severity, but had in frequency. Perhaps because Kord had begun flexing mystic muscles that were rightfully his heritage. He did it secretly, though, to keep the family line safe from prying Archiver eyes.

  In a moment Kord trotted into the clearing, breathing fully, as if nothing had occurred.

  "I told you not to become too comfortable with your initial assessment," Kord said in his teaching seminar tone. "Threats will surprise you." He looked back over the course with an exaggerated exhale. "That's really not fun."

  He spied the distant hill, its one target still beckoned red. He drew his grister with a twirl, extended the overpowered piece with one arm, and without even using his autostock, fired exactly one shot. To no one's surprise, the red target flared white.

  He gave Jordahk a lopsided, boyish grin. "Couldn't just leave it like that."

  NEW FIRST CRUISER IS MOST POWERFUL SHIP IN SPACE

  Magnus Cemtar, Six Sisters Province

  (Ithaca Parchment, Confederated Comm staff writer. 182/2614)

  The First Cruiser rebuild has been completed at the premier staryard Umbria Magnus. Its new configuration hearkens back to classic Artemis designs of old and sports the most powerful T-beam ever fielded by the Perigeum Starmada. With fleetwide maneuvers about to begin, the Prime Orator is greatly anticipating the return of his flagship.

  The inexplicable hostility of frontier world Adams Rush continues since the aborted sync last year that damaged the cruiser. The loose Asterfraeo government, the Cohortium, is adding tension by refusing to return the damaged egress. The call for applying military pressure to retrieve our property is growing, and many believe that is the purpose of the upcoming war games.

  Sedge Braksaw, former governor of Magnus Cemtar and now House of Orators member in good standing, is accompanying the delivery of the massive ship. Once political rivals, he and Prime Orator Janus now lead a coalition that sees the Perigeum Starmada's preeminence as the best means for peace throughout all human space.

  Earth was busy, but beautiful. The jewel and birthplace of humanity. A planet whose unique and utterly complex ecosystem had yet to be matched, or even neared, upon any world people dwelt.

  Low orbit was dominated by large stations servicing an unprecedented seven beams. Cargo and people had quick orbital access from every major commercial and tourist zone on the planet.

  Tons of sterile raw materials were brought down to the surface for organic treatment. Live soil, seedlings, and engineered samples of every kind were sent back. Enormous airships brought it to the transport sites and beam barges got it to orbit. There, via hauler, it was distributed to points outward.

  Some only went as far as the crowded, high orbit geosynchronous ring. Others serviced the massive Perigeum Starmada High Command complex on Luna. Some transported their wares to Earth's in-system neighbors or the foundries of the outer planets. The rest went through the egress to the Six Sisters, and beyond to the far-flung outposts of humanity amidst parsecs of empty, dead space.

  The geosynchronous ring above Earth wasn't really as its name implied, but the prime orbital space was so cluttered with satellites that at distance, it created that impression. Warehouses, orbital farms, quasi-governmental enterprises, and freight lines formed a long line of stations, most of which rotated for gravity. But the single largest contributor to the ring were offices for the endless bureaucracy of the Perigeum. Many of those stations didn't rotate. They were equipped with expensive, imprimatur-made, grav weave plating—at taxpayer expense, of course.

  The seat of the Perigeum moved through each of the Six Sisters according to the Prime Orator's term. Every six standard years, another of the founding Perigeum worlds hosted the Executive Offices, Governor's Chamber, and House of Orators. There were permanent government facilities on land and in orbit around each of the rich worlds. Arguably the plushest facility in the Earth ring was the permanent Executive Offices.

  A huge, tri-hulled ship pulled away from those facilities at a stately gait. One might expect a ship of such mass to be too cumbersome for combat maneuvers, but recent, albeit expensive, improvements in ship's systems was breathing new life into formerly obsolete, heavyweight ship classes. Two iconic, diagonal stripes marking the rear third of the ship, pegged it as Perigeum Starmada. But whereas most of those ships were colored in mid-toned, gunmetal gray, this one was pristine white.

  The new and improved First Cruiser was splendorous. Like the warrior emperors of ancient cultures, the Prime Orator's ship served as symbol, field office, and vehicle for furthering political ends through military power.

  Buried deep within the rear half of the largest, central hull was the bridge. Like an ancient hill terraced for crop growing, the armored chamber followed a tiering convention. The lowest housed technicians and newly minted officers, while the middle contained large stations for specialists, such as data riders. Command officers near the peak made general decisions for distribution downward through AIs. The top of the mountain, a bridge unto itself, was the executive plateau.

  The rear of the plateau was dedicated to nonmilitary politicking. After all, military campaigns were infrequent events. But the business of holding power, influencing orators, consuls, and public opinion never ended.

  Prime Orator Janus sat comfortably in the opulent command chair, fingers splayed over the hard controls on the armrests. The command station could be obscured or sink completely into the executive suite below for various levels of privacy and protection. Today, Janus had it fully open, relishing the grandeur and commotion associated with this inaugural test flight.

  He was a big man, though not overweight, with sharp features. His deeply tanne
d skin was darker than his blonde hair. This moment had been long in coming, and he allowed himself a mirthless grin. It brought crows feet to the corners of his eyes, which would have displeased him had a mirror VAD been active. Those familiar with the Prime Orator, a handful at most, knew mirror VADs were not uncommon around him.

  His scientum lifetime therapy had transitioned him from vigere to sempai four decades early. The quality of pre-war rettas varied greatly, and, unfortunately, he was a victim of the lower end. Although he had coin and access to high-end imprimaturs, he refused a correcting mystic ravelen. He distrusted mystic technology and imprimaturs, and he had an extreme dislike for Sojourners. He would sooner submit himself to leeches or witch doctors.

  Long ago, at the hands of Sojourners and their ilk, his father received his three-gun salute at the infamous Draconem Battle. Many thought that score settled when the Perigeum took control of Numen, the birthplace of mystic technology. Janus thought otherwise. Sojourners, mystic, and all it represented seemed to him an amorphous ghost hovering just beyond the borders of the Perigeum, waiting to haunt those within.

  No, there was still more to settle, and he needed the years to do it. The best retta he could find slowed the premature deterioration. The whole thing led to his new recent vice—cosmetic procedures and tissue replacements. He was only 264, much too young to be showing outward signs of sempai, especially with one more term as Prime Orator to win. At the end of that third term he would seek out a suitably trustworthy imprimatur—although those two words seemed incompatible in his mind. He would get the best corrective mystic ravelen Perigeum coin could buy. Until then, the taxpayers could bear the cost of his excessive tissue replacements and anti-aging therapies.

  He reclined in his chair, which conformed to his desire. A sub-whisper deactivated the VADs before him. Feeling the excitement in the chamber, he looked beyond the heads of those below, letting his mind wander in the vast empty space between himself and the forward active bulkhead.

  He was no fool. Where mystic technology could further his own designs, he would use it. In fact, mystic was helping him right now. It was evident throughout the granix hull of the First Cruiser. "Artemis" wasn't a strict class. It was more akin to a ship design philosophy. An entire vessel dedicated to firing a single, massive beam. Various starmadas from all over human space had fielded such one-off designs here and there. None could match the ferocity or firepower of the few mobilized by Sojourners during the war. At least until now.

  "Approaching the egress zone," the command AI's voice sounded, "traffic has been cleared."

  Janus let his eyes focus on their path through space depicted on the far bulkhead. The flaring points of light were ships scampering out of their path. Although used to such deference, the ego-stroking still pleased even after ten years of being the "first amongst orators."

  The Jupiter egress grew in the display. It wasn't pretty. The prototype machine lacked the smooth surface and clean lines of every other egress out there. It was the price paid for being the first, but the prestige of that accomplishment had long faded in the centuries since. Today most people took egresses for granted and considered the Jupiter egress a relic used for in-system cargo transport.

  "That relic's keeping us in the game, dolts," he murmured.

  Earth was the only system with two egresses. It had kept the utter disaster of the first one's loss from being catastrophic, as it would have been anywhere else. Moving the Jupiter egress was a massive undertaking, since it wasn't modular like the production models, it couldn't even be separated into facets like the egress sent to Adams Rush. It took months to break it down into any form that could be stowed on a superhauler or towed through manifold space to Earth. Reassembling and re-balancing it took copious resources akin to inventing it all over again. All that plus the massive disruption of trade and the resulting economic impact.

  Let the link-heads at the Martian tech clusters sift through the debris of the destroyed egress trying to sort out how it had happened. He didn't care. He knew the most relevant factor already—it was Sojourner work.

  But he could make mystic serve his own ends as long as the tech clusters kept pumping out the new hybrid shield controllers and other cutting edge scientum/mystic wares that made the new First Cruiser possible. The Perigeum Starmada had not built anything like an Artemis for a century. Larger warships, like those seen during the Sojourners' Crusade, might soon return to the front lines of battle. Instead of relying largely on maneuverability, like most of today's fleet, future hulls would be able to withstand considerable wrath from current weapons without the extravagant cost of his ship of state.

  The hollow, hexagonal mountain of the Jupiter egress filled half of the forward bulkhead before whipping offscreen to the left.

  A slight change in tenor washed over the executive tier. Janus, ever the politician, knew immediately what it was. He swiveled the command chair. His personal assistant approached from the rear executive lifts. Her implacable appearance seemed to attract the eye of both men and women, though likely for different reasons. Her toned and tall frame was outwardly enviable. Her long legs were accented by a clinging skirt that flared at the knees. The hand-selected reporters, including the new Confederated Comm shill, Ithaca Parchment, various hangers-on, and even some of his entourage were still not used to Sybaris.

  He made eye contact with her and she gave a subtle, noncommittal nod of acknowledgment. Though he was used to her features, he had yet to fully accommodate himself to the coldness of her stare. One of his entourage looked to intercept her, but when she turned her gaze upon him, he blanched and faded back.

  "Sybaris," the Prime Orator said, "must you always cause such a stir?"

  She wore classic business wear that was almost, but not quite, antiquated. A clinging jacket, which flared at the waist, left a large "V" of translucent bodshirt down her chest. The garment was supportive, not that she needed it. Apparently, exposed bodshirts were the fashion these days. He had an entourage to handle such trivialities.

  "I've finished my task list," she said, "and taken the liberty of writing a first draft for your test-firing press release."

  Her voice was strange. Neither high nor low. Her intonation operated in the gray regions between respect and sarcasm. She wasn't intimidated by him. Few could make that claim.

  "Orator Braksaw will be joining you at hilltop in five hours and thirty minutes," she continued. "I believe he wants to give you a tour of your new ship during the MDHD trip to the test range."

  "So formal, Sybaris. Downhill drive will do."

  "Such slang and informality for Manifold Dipole Hyperplane Distortion are unbecoming the Prime Orator."

  "Losing votes because the low-information populace think you're an academic is also unbecoming, and nationals want a little 'warrior' in their kings."

  She looked at him with what passed for dry incredulity. "Kings? Really, Prime Orator?"

  Her shiny hair was a pale blonde not far removed from white. It radiated off the back of her head like spokes, forming a Saturn-like half ring. The fine braids stuck straight out with no acknowledgment of gravity. Her jacket and skirt were programmed in the fashionable "monochrome," but set up vertically. Icy gray ran down the center of her garments, gradating to dark gray on either side.

  Janus paid no attention to the deficit of understanding displayed by his lackeys and tools. "Just do your job and spare me your moronic musings."

  He swiveled back to gaze into the stars. His eyes crinkled again in conjunction with his furrowed brow. There was a planet around one of those stars just ripe for him to "lead" after a successful third term. There was no chance at Earth, a planet pulled in so many directions that no one really controlled it. He wanted to swing an enviable "behind-the-scenes boss" deal like Braksaw's at Magnus Cemtar.

  But the smelting "Egress Incident" had eroded the perceived infallibility of Perigeum power. The bold, outside the borders, might reconsider opportunistic gambits. That was bad, but at least
it could be countered with swift military action. The egress network made that possible in a way no other starmada could match.

  More disturbing, though, were the voting nationals. The veneer he used to cover the egress debacle was dangerously thin. They were seeing through it and making unfortunate discoveries at increasing rates. Janus could make only so many of them "disappear" before that became a bigger issue drowning out the first.

  The media was under his thumb, but there was too much underground activity to ever believe it could be controlled fully. He glanced at Ithaca Parchment. Her predecessor, the once popular Gaston Canterbury, was now reaping the rewards of improperly managing the Egress Incident. He was no doubt enjoying local newsVAD reporting from the most backwater market in the Perigeum. Janus allowed himself a wicked smirk.

  If the nationals caused enough ruckus, they might arouse the masses otherwise buried in the social nexus. Dullards and young skulls full of mush, they were a political non-issue—unless agitated. The Perigeum wasn't ready for the kind of imbalances they could cause with even moderate upheaval.

  "Escort formation has fallen in," the command AI said.

  Janus activated the tactical, trimensional VAD with a sub-whispered command. The space before him filled with glowing representations. The First Cruiser was at the center of a wedge formation, cruisers and destroyers flanking out to either side.

  "Thrusters to one hundred percent, Captain. There's work to be done." His command displays showed the increasing acceleration, though he couldn't feel it through the grav weaves. "Show me your press release, Sybaris," he said without turning his head. "And call up the latest government confidence indices from Magnus Cemtar." He needed all the leverage available to keep ambitious types like Braksaw at bay.