Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

Perhaps he should have chosen suspension. Another benefit of riding in Auscultare was access to high quality juvi chambers. Though it was a cliché, nobody made those like they used to. Normally, there wasn't much need for them, especially if one was operating within the egress network. Depending on stellar positioning, sync schedules, and a stubborn, unaccountable X-factor scientists had yet to crack, you could get almost anywhere within the vast Perigeum in just a few weeks. Often less if you planned ahead, and even the same day if it was a direct, one-stop trip.

  Collecting himself, he labored to a standing position, careful to avoid the vomit. It was already flaking off his uniform as cleaning functions kicked in. He plopped back into the command chair as a maintenance drone appeared and efficiently cleaned the mess. His mouth tasted horrible and dry, and the brightness of Garlande was suddenly too much.

  "Turn the viewport down."

  Its pinkish intensity, monotonously upbeat, halved as the bridge hatch opened and a maintenance drone approached with a specially infused body tonic. It was his usual egress transit fare. He took it from the spindly drone, its cleaning cousin already disappeared into an alcove. Drinking greedily, it artificially restored artificial vigor.

  One man's artificial is another man's enhanced.

  The splitting pain in his head faded, and his thoughts cleared once again.

  "The Overtrade Autonomy? Why the hell that end?"

  "A message was left here by... my master. I'm afraid I'm being compelled to play it."

  Rewe was in no shape for another dominating experience, like his last conversation with the Dragon. And it was unlikely any of the other arkhons above him wanted to audience or even message him. Perhaps a prerecorded message would be easier to handle. That hope diminished when the viewport faded to black, and the bridge lights dimmed to a faint, eerie red. He had an unsettling flashback to the suffocation of the last experience.

  The heat rose as all the surfaces on the bridge appeared to glow. A creature formed in the center of the bridge, the very air seeming to harden from bottom to top. The thick neck and enormous head of a scaled green dragon crystallized to fill the chamber. Its head was horned, and its jagged, interleaved white teeth were frozen in a Cheshire smile.

  The Dragon's voice was a deep rumble. "Apparently you're not useless. So try not to smelt this next task, and you may yet have a future."

  The belittlement was aggravating. He wasn't used to being addressed that way. Rewe could feel bile coming up again.

  Hold it together. It's just a recording.

  He forced calm. It was the only way he ever achieved it.

  "I'm sending you to the Overtrade Autonomy. As you know, they're allowed to trade rather liberally. And not only to those primitives in the Strident Cluster but also the halfwit refugees in the Asterfraeo Territories."

  Everyone with a brain knew the government looked the other way when it came to the Autonomy's trade shenanigans. The Perigeum was desperate for hard coin to bolster its sagging excuse for a currency.

  "Jump onto one of their trade routes and get to this point."

  A series of alphanumerics floated in the smoky air before the Dragon, and a star chart appeared. The code was an astronomical denotation for a distant binary star. It was out-of-the-way even by Asterfraeo standards. Rewe's eyes watered while he read, as if stung by hot ash.

  "And Fifth, do try to not make any noise this time." The implied threat was clear. "If your debacle last year accomplished anything, it allowed us to spread assets in the Asterfraeo Territories and hunt down leads. When you arrive at the designated location, give aid to any of your brethren, recover that which is of interest to us, and sanitize the rest."

  Rewe's breathing was heavy. His modified lungs were pushed to oxygenate organs already required to do too much. He refused to lose clarity, using anger as an anchor. Aside from that gem in the hold, this was the best opportunity to get his hands on mystic technology worthy of him, at least until he could return to Adams Rush. He had an appointment to keep with the not-so-proxy Kord Wilkrest.

  The significance of their last encounter, Rewe was satisfied to keep to himself. For the shell they had wrestled over was a key. It seemed both he and Wilkrest wanted to keep what it unlocked secret, but no doubt for different reasons. Rewe's eye gleamed with the possibility of being out from under the thumb of the ruling Arkhons.

  "And by the way, the artifact you retrieved will be transferred to a waiting owl at the Autonomy. I advise, for your own sake, it does not get lost en-route," the Dragon threatened. Rewe broke discipline and let out some choice words. The Second was a step ahead, even in the recording.

  The fearsome image's smile seemed to broaden, but it wasn't at all friendly. The temperature spiked briefly as flames consumed the creature from bottom to top. There was a brief moment of darkness before normal lighting returned.

  Rewe wanted to ask Auscultare if such theatrics were really necessary for non-direct communication, but he dared not. Who knew the additional commands embedded into that message. He had no desire to be choked, burnt, or suffocated.

  Pulling out his stimgar ring, he slouched back in the command chair and took a hit. The drug, injected through his skin and jolted into potency with a charge, was a welcome if artificial relaxant. He stared at the octagonal legacy shell still standing on the console, completely unaffected by the show. Five minutes later, he was still staring at it. Ten minutes later, a grim resolve filled him.

  "It's about time, Aristahl," Alb-Sone said.

  "You can address me as you knew me," Aristahl said. "My grandson knows that much now."

  Alb-Sone's audio-only transmission was thin and distorted, relayed through one of his scouting espies scattered throughout the asteroids. The encryption was so thick, the messages were more code than information. Max couldn't reply with enough to thwart the Archivers without more time. But Wixom stirred, creating something quite obtuse, using cyphers only the doctor could access immediately. Even if the Archiver intercepted it, which was unlikely, it would appear as an unreadable fragment.

  "I see," Alb-Sone said. He straightened. "Avere friend, Jordahk." The old doctor used the traditional Sojourner greeting. "Welcome to the knowledge... and the burden."

  Jordahk felt Alb-Sone's piercing gaze even through the low fidelity audio on the bus. He knew "Thanks" wasn't the appropriate reply. He chose to keep it simple.

  "Avere friend, Alb-Sone Whaye." He paused, trying to fill his own shoes. "If I may ask, wasn't the girl supposed to be, uh, ready by now?"

  "The work is done. However, to synthesize the final injectable crystallines, I need more power than my lab's mini-fusion reactor can put out at once. I was planning to use my ship to supplement it, but the bay's close to the surface and vulnerable. That kind of power generation would light up my Archiver visitor's detensor."

  Alb-Sone's Sojourner scout ship was war-era built. No doubt it was tough and versatile. But Jordahk knew it was their only way off the asteroid, and it would be a sitting duck powered up in the bay. It might be able to go toe-to-toe with the new Archiver corvette out in space, but it was a risk, and the doctor was no warrior. Of course, any Sojourner was dangerous.

  "How are your defenses holding up?" Aristahl asked.

  "Wixom and Waxad pre-calculated many contingencies, some of which were moderately effective, all of which are exhausted. A fresh trail from your last visit, and debris from when Waxad's antics caused you to blow the hatch didn't help us stay hidden for long. And this Archiver is a cautious one. You're right Arh-Tahl, they've become quite sneaky. He's systematically destroyed my defenses and remote eyes. Is there another ship out there? Two originally showed up."

  "We think a commship is double-keeling in," Aristahl said.

  "Probably the one he arrived with. It only had to bring word back to the nearest egressed system."

  "Even if the Archivers are keeping this to themselves," Jordahk said, "it's a good bet they're sending their own backup."

  "Let me out," a chilly
, tinny voice said, "and I can hold them off for another week."

  It was like the whisper of the devil. A repulsion dormant for nearly a year erupted within Jordahk. "You let that thing out?"

  Aristahl gave him a rare, reproving look.

  "Sorry," Jordahk said, admonished. "You know what it did, though."

  "Yes," Aristahl said, "it cannot be trusted."

  "You two are a pair," Alb-Sone said. "Anyway, it's not out. It's still locked down right here in the trammel snare. I only gave it an audio pickup in, and an unpowered tin speaker out. It was the safest way for queries during the defense. There's no trusting its information without Wixom to double-check. But Waxad would still rather be doing something than nothing. If there's one thing it's good at, it's breaking things."

  Jordahk grit his teeth then closed his eyes for a moment. He concentrated on his forehead, and settled his emotions into it. It was just enough separation for him to get a grip. Hate wasn't the way. But he was close when it came to that thing.

  "Can't you just retreat?" Jordahk asked. "I'd lay odds your scout is faster than even a hybrid Archiver corvette."

  "I think you'd be right." A little bit of old Sojourner pride surfaced in Alb-Sone. "But the girl cannot be moved until it's done. And then there's Waxad. You'd best think of something, because the explosives and tricks we had out there are expended, and the asteroids are naturally thinning out according to their cycle."

  "I can stop them," came the seductive whisper of Waxad.

  Jordahk shook his head. "That thing's gotta go." He looked over at Aristahl. The man was staring into space, stroking his chin. When that much thinking was going on, something remarkable usually came out. But it didn't mean Jordahk would like it.

  "Can the girl's chamber be removed from the lab?" Aristahl asked.

  "Yes, for a short time," Alb-Sone said. "But she can't be freed from the chamber until the finished crystallines are injected."

  "Barrister tells me a scoop can be fashioned onto your mini-fusion reactor," Aristahl said. "Do you have enough heavy matter to force-feed it for five minutes?"

  "That's about how long it would last. You know cracking matter that way is inefficient and unstable. But yes, there's much forged-heavy Sojourner work in her lab of no further use if she's removed."

  "Prepare the bay of the scout to hold the girl, receive the raw power transmission, and synthesize the crystallines," Aristahl said with an air of authority.

  "You're not forgetting a certain corvette with silver and purple stripes?" Jordahk asked.

  "Oh no. In fact, I am inspired by by an old friend you briefly met. The Iron Commander."

  Ferric Marculus, known to the universe as the Iron Commander, was a hard-nosed space warfare tactician, a veteran of the Sojourners' Crusade and every other major conflict for the century following. He was known for sacrifice gambits which, in the end, saved lives, but at the time appeared rather painful. For his own reasons, he believed in Jordahk and was instrumental in their victory at Adams Rush.

  "This bus is adequate for basic transportation and target practice." Jordahk said.

  "You came to rescue me in a bus?" Alb-Sone asked.

  Jordahk couldn't help but smirk. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who thought things were about to get outrageous.

  Floating out in space, Jordahk felt strangely connected to the universe, even in his father's scientum suit. It had little to do with the visible, for that was little more than the shifting tides of orbital rock. No openings showed the system's dim dwarf from his vantage point. Yet somehow, he felt its strange, irregular pulsations.

  Something happened here.

  Max kept the suit graphics updated with whatever he knew. They appeared painted upon the environment, overlaying the view as he turned his head within the crystal helmet. A small distance away, their bus was set, like them, at the edge of the uncluttered eddy surrounding the laboratory asteroid.

  Nothing was perfectly safe out in the rocks, but their positions were good for a few hours before shifting rock would force them to move. An indiscriminate force of nature, the rock didn't care who it crushed.

  Between where Jordahk and Aristahl floated and the bus were its four escape pods, also screened among the rocks. More accurately, three escape pods and one "shuttle pod," which was little more than an enlarged escape pod with a thrust ring for maneuvering. It was the closest.

  Torious was in the shuttle pod, grumbling as usual. Apparently the job of securing Aristahl's mysterious crates, and Jordahk's belongings, so they didn't crush occupants upon violent maneuvers was beneath him somehow.

  "What am I, a bellhop?" he asked. His purposefully mechanical drone was extra dry.

  Was it any wonder Torious version two was one of the most reviled AI personalities of all time? Jordahk sighed. The artificial "sentiment" expressed in that low-quality, short range transmission was typical.

  "A bellhop? I don't even know what that is."

  "It's an old-world job," Max said. "A person paid to carry luggage at a hotel."

  "I thought you were tired of being cooped up in the stateroom," Jordahk said wryly. "You're welcome to join us out here."

  "No thank you. Even the foil-thin walls of this so-called pod are better protection than nothing."

  "You'll find Pops's crates as unforgiving as asteroids if you don't secure them for high G maneuvers."

  To his right, Aristahl floated in silence, staring at the lab asteroid. Occasionally Jordahk felt sub-sensational phenomena centered around his grandfather, similar to what he experienced in the bus. The Archiver was working his way through the asteroids toward the lab. If Jordahk could sense it, he wondered how much more Aristahl could divine.

  They had taken the bus immediately into the asteroids, and worked their way toward the lab. The bus was relatively small in comparison to the old Roulette—whose scrapings still littered the space around them—so they made decent time. Plus, there was no concern about defenses, now expended, and the asteroids were lighter as the system's solar season progressed.

  Undoubtedly, the Archiver had seen them enter. But he was taking his time, knowing where they all must end up. Considering the beating he probably took in previous forays, there was no blaming him for caution this time.

  The grayish dwarf at the center the solar system let off another of its strange pulsations. This one was large, and Jordahk could tell his grandfather felt it. Aristahl's mystic no-suit was somehow easier to look at now, despite functioning in stealth mode and nearly invisible in all spectrums. Along its dark, mirror-scaled surface was discoloration across the abdomen and arm. It looked like a lot of repaired damage, a scary amount if someone was in the suit at the time.

  "You never did tell me the name of this place," Jordahk said. They had spoken little since the spacewalk began.

  "Drekka."

  "Ugh. Perhaps it is best lost to history." Jordahk felt regret at his sarcasm. It didn't fit this cold, eerie system. His grandfather said no more.

  "Smooth move, ace," Torious said. An icon indicated it was a private transmission.

  They floated silently for a moment or two. Too silent for Jordahk's liking.

  "Max, turn on synthsound."

  "Okay, kid," Max said. His gravelly tone contained a subtle hint of understanding.

  Jordahk was about to try talking again when the synthsound of distant thrusters and an indication on his graphics interrupted. He turned his head to follow the sound. A circle contracted on a distant, generated silhouette of the Archiver's ship, obscured by asteroids. It was more than halfway through the field.

  "That's it," Alb-Sone transmitted. "She's set up in the bay of the scout. I've stripped this place bare, including your remaining crates Arh-Tahl. I've got charges set for when the reactor goes, even a thermo-magnetic I acquired along the way. That one's set inside the girl's lab. Nothing will be left for our Archiver friends."

  "And Waxad?" Aristahl asked.

  "As discussed, throwing him into the reactor
at peak temperature should slag his intricate innards. But knowing his creator, I doubt even temperatures from cracking heavy matter will be enough to break down the casing in that short time."

  Jordahk's displeasure at a plan lacking 100 percent destruction went unnoticed within his father's suit. The evil AI had nearly succeeded in killing him cruelly, not quickly. It deserved it's just comeuppance, but alternative plans for its destruction carried more risk to others. Did he want that on his conscience? On a mission where they couldn't be sure of their own safety, did he want to risk bringing Waxad to a populated system? Imagine what the malevolent thinker could do in the Hex's endless social nexus. That thought made Jordahk shiver in revulsion.

  It was no surprise that Aristahl picked up on his thoughts. "I do not like it either, Jordahk, but it does seem our best option under the circumstances."

  Any mid-sequence star, unlike the one at Drekka, could break the monster down over time. But to ensure immediate, observable destruction, casing and all, they needed a blue star like at Windermere. While that would be a fitting sentence, it was the mind of the thing that actually needed to be destroyed. It wasn't safe to launch it from the middle of some system on a year-long solar entry vector. A lot could happen in a year. Their plan might leave the casing intact, but it would only be a decorative piece of platinum group jewelry.

  "I'm sorry Waxad, your useful days are done." It sounded like Alb-Sone was moving things around. "With Wixom gone, I needed the computing power of the entire complex, including my ship AI, just to double-check your final adjustments for the project. You cannot be trusted, and it's beyond our ability to fix you."

  "I can't let you dispose of me," the evil AI said. "My master has created me for a destiny."

  Aristahl stepped in with the authority of a supreme judge. "You lack regard for human life. You are a sad reflection upon your master."

  There seemed nothing else to be said. After a moment in which Jordahk imagined more activity within the asteroid lab, Alb-Sone spoke again.

  "Take this down to the reactor." He must have been talking to a maintenance bot. "Feed it onto the heavy material pile when the matter cracking temperatures reach peak level. You have the plan. It's top priority, even over self-preservation. Now go."