Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

  "AIs free," Kord said.

  Jordahk sensed activity in the fine platinum group links of his strange, Sojourner-made bracelet compy. Its appearance was more akin to ceramic. Those knowledgeable would recognize it as a most rare and dangerous class of mystic creation. Light ran through its fine capillaries of mirror rhodium corresponding to the surge of activity.

  Numerous dormant micros, scattered in his blood and tissues, woke up to active AI control. He felt warmer as the tiny machines went to work. Almost immediately, his fatigue started to ebb.

  "Welcome back to the fight, Max," Jordahk said to his AI. "Could've used you back there."

  "Wasn't that the point kid?" Max's gravelly voice sounded in the air around them. "Reviewing the log. Hmm... Went for a swim, I see."

  Jordahk shook his head. Irascible Maximilian V4, never a popular personality, obsolete some 50 years past. Kord had gone to great lengths to procure this particular Maximilian from the estate of decorated Vallum Corps general Curasam "Otto" Binkel. The wisdom of his father's choice was proved out, and Jordahk grew to greatly appreciate the AI. It aided navigation through the technology of life, was a repository for knowledge, and was loyal to the point of its own deletion. That last quality made an impact upon Jordahk that wouldn't be forgotten.

  "Yes, you're magna-observant," Jordahk noted drolly.

  The AIs present on their training hilltop ran the gamut. There was the non-personality AI, Rel, embedded in the ring on Vittora's slender hand. His father also used a compy ring, the common, modern convention. Jordahk used to joke about the popular-amongst-the-military-crowd personality he used, Highearn. Usually something about how dull it was, and barely a step above a non-personality AI. That was before he started interacting with Goldy, who made Highearn look like a social doyen.

  The immensely powerful compy on Jordahk's wrist sensed his stare, and a new flurry of activity ran through its rhodium capillaries. Yes, it was no ordinary machine, nor was there just one personality within. Housed for years in an old, scientum compy ring, Max gave his entire existence up in order to save Jordahk during the Egress Incident. In a supposedly impossible procedure, Jordahk managed to reconstitute Max's personality within the vast confines of his recent acquisition, the Sojourner-made bracelet compy.

  It was a stretch to say he owned the machine, because he didn't believe anyone but the legendary Bitlord truly could. It was run by an uber-powerful, elitist AI named Wixom, the bracelet's original occupant. And, as if that wasn't challenge enough, a peculiar gift from his grandfather complicated matters. Added to the bracelet was a purplish coupling made from the last and rarest of the platinum group metals, numenium. Within it, two more creations which acted of their own accord, something frowned upon in modern society.

  The first was Ohrias, a data construct made by his grandfather. It only dispensed information when it thought the time was right. The other, Judicum, was... well, Jordahk didn't know what it was. He suspected it also came from a legendary maker, for even Wixom wouldn't mess with it.

  "Being asked to go dormant didn't please Wixom," Max said. "He believes only his creator can legitimately order him to that degree, not his current admin. But he did it... this time."

  Rel, Highearn, and his parents' rings were all conventional scientum technology. They were programmed to obey, and could more or less be forced to do so. Even most common mystic technology had to obey. But legendary Sojourner creations followed only the rules of legendary Sojourners. That was dangerous, especially to those who were not Sojourners.

  Jordahk had recently discovered that his grandfather, Aristahl, was a Sojourner, and not the imprimatur he always portrayed. But the revelations didn't stop there. Although he didn't confirm it in so many words, it was implied that Jordahk's grandsire was probably the most powerful Sojourner who ever lived. Thule-Riss Quest's shadow stretched across two and a half centuries. His origins were shrouded, and his end unknown. The numenium coupling was his work. Even the Bitlord was wise enough to respect his power.

  Jordahk once fought Wixom along the pathways of its mystic construction and in the battlefield of the mind, where mystic technology originates. It would be a stretch to say it was a draw. If not for the intervention of Judicum and then his grandfather, the outcome of that encounter would have been less positive. Wixom reluctantly obeyed for now, but sooner or later they would have to have it out again, and next time they would both be ready.

  For now, Wixom was okay letting Max, his protected and unwelcome roommate, do most of the interaction. Jordahk wasn't even sure what Max was anymore. A defunct personality line, written for a relic scientum compy, then ruthlessly scrambled and deleted. But miraculously restored into the increasingly crowded mystic bracelet. Did that make Max a mystic AI? Another one of those questions best left for techno-philosophers.

  Kord put his arm around Vittora. "Nice going Little John."

  She smiled and patted his stomach. "Does that make you Friar Tuck?"

  He rolled his eyes then fixed on his son. "Master your AIs, Jordahk. You don't need me to tell you that your life may depend on them."

  "I don't suppose either of you two heroes are looking for a race down?" Vittora asked.

  "Message just came in," Max said.

  "What is it?" Jordahk asked a little too hopefully. His mind leaped upon any possibility that might save him from racing Vittora.

  "It's from SloanVessna. She wants to meet you."

  "Ugh..." Jordahk felt his stomach contract. Suddenly, the race didn't look so bad compared to facing his ex-girlfriend.

  Kord read Jordahk's pained expression and shook his head in wonder. Mimicking the slang and metering of the younger generation, he simply said, "Man up, adam."

  "One minute to MDHD drive initiation," Sybaris said.

  Janus felt a spike of annoyance at his supposedly helpful personal assistant's obstinance. She had to be doing it on purpose. But he wasn't going to let anything get the better of him.

  "Perhaps you'd like to polish outboard communication spars while we're in manifold space."

  "If that's what you feel my best use to you is." She said it with nearly imperceptible dryness.

  The tight parade-formation wedge the First Cruiser led spread out, creating distance between the rapidly moving chevron of ships.

  "Have Braksaw's galleons filled the defensive positions?"

  "The twelve galleons lent from Magnus Cemtar have taken up defensive positions along the MDHD border of Earth. Freed up fleet units have been transferred to Mars and the outer foundries."

  Janus was taking a lot of firepower out of the Earth system. It pained him to be indebted to Braksaw to replace it, but big plans were in motion. Bigger than Braksaw and the media toadies behind him knew.

  Galleons were a class of ship he couldn't order around through normal Perigeum Starmada channels. They were an exception to the phenomenon of larger ships being unsuitable for front-line battle. Their shields were nearly as powerful as a space station, because like space stations, they were powered with fusion reactors.

  Of course, everyone knew that fusion reactors didn't respond well to the spatial distortions of downhill drive. Thus, the price galleons paid for their immense size and power was lack of faster-than-light drive. They could never travel too far from the hilltop of the planet they guarded. Unlike regular fleet ships, they carried no starkeel.

  Since they were not technically Perigeum Starmada units, worlds were free to buy and/or construct galleons as they would other defensive structures. Since Earth housed Starmada headquarters, there was never a deficit of fleet ships for its protection. But bold plans sometimes called for distasteful actions.

  Magnus Cemtar was a large and rich system. It had galleons to spare and could probably defend itself without any fleet ships. Though it pained him to make the request, he knew Braksaw would egress in enough galleons to do the job, and be owed a favor for it.

  "That guy's too happy, and too fortunate," Janus grumbled.

  "I
shall keep your thoughts in mind when I observe him."

  Sometimes Janus wanted to hit Sybaris. Or space her. Or use her for grister practice, or send her to the asteroid mines. He smiled at the guilty pleasure of such thoughts.

  The ship's subtle vibration changed. Beta-phonon radiation created by the teslanium reactors was diverted into the starkeel. Despite being used for centuries, complete understanding of MDHD drive still eluded academia. Most of it they got, but a lot of mystery was squeezed into the small percentage of unknown.

  The two poled starkeel created opposite phenomena at either end. Constantly generated in front of the ship was a dark, insatiable maw of contracting space. The ship lurched forward to fill it, though like the proverbial carrot on a stick, never reached it.

  Behind the ship the starkeel swirled a bright, bulbous region of expanding space into existence. It was like a giant hill following the cruiser, constantly pushing it forward, but never closing on it. Like a ball dropped from a high place, gaining great speed with no effort, the ship was carried between the dual phenomena many times faster than light. From within, it was evidenced by colorful manifold space. An outside viewer might only catch the occasional, fading "smoke ring" wake.

  Janus sensed the minute disturbances in space as they accelerated. It was amazing how attuned humans could be to such a thing. He supposed when you spent just about every moment of your life in the constant pressure of normal space, you would notice even the slightest change. He glanced back at the executive plateau and saw shared subtle expressions from lowest plebe to highest aide. Sybaris wasn't participating.

  Frigid mannequin.

  "Janus! My old friend," boomed from the lifts.

  A large man approached, but his bigness was expressed in a rotund middle rather than the general size of Janus. It stood out in a metabolism adjustment society, especially among the Six Sisters where body sculpting was common within the upper crust of society. Despite the extra weight, he seemed light on his feet, like some dancing gypsy from an ancient historical docuVAD.

  Sedge Braksaw worked the crowd of the executive plateau like everyone's long-lost cousin. He waved and bumped forearms in greeting as if passing out magic elixirs. His retro ensemble consisted of a long coat and vest, accented by tall boots. The colors were classic navy blue, hunter green, and black. They seemed as real and unprogrammed as natural, old world cloth.

  Janus grit his teeth, put on a fake smile, and stood. He had designs, and to pull them off successfully, he needed this buffoon.

  "Governor Braksaw."

  "Janus, Janus, it's been too long. And it's Orator Braksaw now, but let's dispense with the formalities, yes?"

  Janus didn't lift his forearm for a bump. Sedge spoke with a slight accent, something out of ancient Eastern Europe perhaps. No one in the Six Sisters spoke with an accent unless they wanted to. In addition to his stoutness, it was another of Sedge Braksaw's affectations, but not the last. His entire appearance seemed designed to elicit feelings of some distant, jolly uncle.

  Janus maintained his fake smile. "Orator, of course." One did not become the Prime Orator unless one was first in the House of Orators. While planetary governor was a more powerful position, everyone knew who was still in charge at Magnus Cemtar.

  Sedge gestured widely. "Quite a ship I put together for you, is it not?"

  Janus was confident in his own steely nature. Having changed the course of entire worlds, and seen to the demise of many, he wasn't going to be thrown off his game by the clever tricks of this dangerous man.

  The former governor's long, slightly unkempt dark hair was a fitting contrast to his finely-cut, dark goatee. Janus wouldn't focus on the last affectation, Sedge's strange, enlarged pupils and irises. Undoubtedly designed to intimidate or otherwise shake his opponents, they seemed double-sized within normal eyeballs. It was unnerving.

  "Yes, it's the pride of the Starmada," Janus said. "I've no doubt it'll turn heads on this voyage."

  Sedge looked at him as if expecting more information. That may have worked on the weak-willed. Dealing with the former governor was a little like dealing with the Consortium. They were always working an angle, always wanting to do you a favor, and always wanting you to owe them. Janus was satisfied letting Sedge wonder just how far beyond the test range this trip was destined to be.

  Making as if noticing Sybaris for the first time—although Janus saw the sidelong glances while they talked—Sedge smiled almost inappropriately and squinted with a look that bordered on lecherous. "Ah yes, your personal assistant. Aren't you quite comely, my dear." Sybaris was unmoved by Sedge's antics. For once Janus was glad for her cold stare. "Our Prime Orator is quite fortunate to have such a skilled aide."

  Somehow, her countenance lowered to zero Kelvin. "Thank you, Orator Braksaw. You can address me as Sybaris."

  "Certainly," Sedge said, a little too eagerly.

  His queer eyes took her in openly. She stood unmoving, like an ancient Valkyrie stuffed into a business suit.

  "A considerable number of messages have piled up for you, Prime Orator," she said. "With your permission, and if you don't need me," she said with a glance toward Sedge, "I'd like to prepare responses for you in demi-mode."

  "Do that. I'll check them before we leave downhill." Janus gestured to Sedge, partially to pull his riveted attention away from Sybaris. "Ready to highlight the fine work of Umbria Magnus, Orator?"

  Sedge let his glance linger an extra second before following Janus's gesture toward the executive lifts. As the two began walking together, the sound around them crystallized briefly then reduced to a faint muffle.

  "Privacy mode," Sedge's AI said.

  Sedge nodded back over his shoulder. "She's Operis?"

  Operis Apparaticum was the premier maker of highest-quality androids. The kind that you likely couldn't afford if you had to ask how much they cost. A sum, in this case, borne by the taxpayer. But Janus didn't let that diminish his pleasure at having something that Sedge obviously wanted.

  "Why yes, she is. Quality workmanship, wouldn't you say?" Most of the time he couldn't stand Sybaris, but that was inconsequential, at least to this conversation.

  Sedge shook his head as if mourning spilled Aquarii Mead. "Yes, but they're such prudish snobs. No offense meant."

  For whatever reason, it was culturally inappropriate to talk to androids about the fact that they were androids. It wasn't that you didn't know, and it wasn't that they didn't know. It was just something left unsaid. Perhaps it was the sole remaining social holdout from the short-lived, needlessly tragic, android era from before the war.

  There was no middle ground when it came to androids. Either machines were made to approximate human appearance as closely as was practically possible, or they were made to look like robots. There was no societal tolerance for gross distortions of the human form. People were repelled by obvious idiosyncrasies and polymer skin stretched over artificial flesh and bone.

  Techno-philosophers believed it was a result of the Mark One movement, a school of thought that sought to perfect humankind's form "as originally designed by the creator." Janus could care less about such drak.

  "Is she..." Sedge paused and raised his eyebrows like a long adolescent. "Fully functional?"

  Anyone who knew androids knew Operis Apparaticum's were as "functional" as they came. With the right software package and configuration, they were capable of anything from personal protection to sexual congress. Janus found the thought revolting. It called up images of the red-tech parlors of Chryson Genos and their minimal quality androids.

  He wasn't interested in relationships. Ambition was his companion. And the revulsion he felt at artificial physical release bubbled to the surface in rare candor.

  "I'd sooner touch a hammer!"

  Immediately, he felt a pang of regret, and then anger. He had let the conniving, jolly uncle provoke real emotion.

  "Please excuse me, Prime Orator," Sedge said with practiced artificial caring. "I didn't mean to offe
nd your sensibilities."

  Janus was almost prepared to let it pass. After all, the barb count was nearly even. Nearly. "That may be how you do things out there, but here in the cradle of civilization, we take a higher view."

  The former governor's smile dimmed just slightly, and reaction to the designed jab could be seen in his eyes. Though the Six Sisters were deigned equal at the Perigeum's founding, the five planets other than Earth still harbored the faint resentment of stepchildren next to the natural firstborn.

  As the two men arrived at the lifts, the Prime Orator's mood lightened. Now the barb count was even. Onlookers watched them interact with rapt but surreptitious attention, no doubt believing some high-level negotiations were taking place behind sound buffers. How disappointing the truth would be if they heard it.

  They stepped into the lift, not breaking stride as the doors split before them.

  "We are industrious at Magnus Cemtar," Sedge said, "our reputation for using every resource to the last gram is apt. However, you're the beneficiary of that mindset. Certainly, the rebuilt First Cruiser exceeds your expectations."

  It did. Even the Perigeum Starmada's own staryard at Luna couldn't have produced the same quality as quickly. It was time to stop playing games, or at least to stop playing stupid games.

  "Yes, this cruiser is magnificent." Janus was determined to set the rest of the conversation to accomplishing worthy ends. "Why don't you show me advancements from Umbria Magnus that'll have even the Martian tech clusters gossiping."

  "Starboard engineering," Sedge said to the lift. His humor was restored. "You'll be impressed. The starkeel's been split in two, housed in the outer hulls, leaving the core of the central hull dedicated to the ship-cannon."

  The lift raced through the kilometers-long network of travel-tubes. Its grav weave deck nullified the momentum to a faint vibration, overshadowed by those created by Sedge Braksaw's booming voice.