Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

  "I would appreciate your help with this," Aristahl continued. "It is a project, a person, upon which I have dedicated much. Alb-Sone slept away the centuries to bring it to fruition."

  Aristahl gave him much and required little in return. He carried more burdens than Jordahk understood. Was it too much to overcome some personal anxiety, man-up, and help?

  "Why the need to interact with me?" Jordahk asked. "You and Alb-Sone know how to do this stuff. Ingots, even Torious would relish long conversations with such an 'interesting specimen.'"

  "She cannot easily relate to me. Alb-Sone is a comfortable, familial presence. We are being careful not to overburden that relationship and leave it to her as an outlet. And the last thing that would be good for her right now is a robot. What she needs is a peer. She has already, of her own accord, reached out to you twice in the past. She felt your curiosity and compassion."

  "I'm just a guy. What do I know?"

  "Your humility is admirable, but would we ever venture out if we waited for one hundred percent certainty?"

  Jordahk sagged in the command chair. Its name inappropriate suddenly. He let out a deep breath. "Okay, what happened to her?" He doubted the whole story would be forthcoming, but he would take what he could get.

  Aristahl thought for a moment. "It started before the Sojourner's retreat out of what is now Perigeum territory. Her mother was beautiful but foolish. Her own abilities endangered her. She fell in love with an extremely powerful and charismatic man, and used her talents to further their combined efforts."

  As the story unfolded, Jordahk took in the colors of manifold space and purposely kept his perspective. It was hard, since the girl appeared so young, but he had to remember the events described took place over two centuries ago.

  "She became pregnant, and the baby developed...difficulties. The father could not be reigned in, venturing onward to an infamous destiny."

  The colors of manifold space darkened, and suddenly the crystal seemed too flimsy to hold back their weight. No white streaks lit the horizon.

  "What happened to the baby?" Jordahk asked.

  "An implausible treatment beyond any of our understanding was devised. Alb-Sone volunteered to see it through."

  "This sounds out of my league. What can I do?"

  Aristahl's expression softened. "She no longer needs advanced treatment. She needs life experience to make sense of things. The steady growth of long adolescence was not something she experienced, at least the same way you did."

  "I'm not sure that's a bad thing."

  "None of us have definitive answers regarding her condition," Aristahl said. "But my intuition tells me she needs a friend. Someone of upstanding character. Critical but intangible qualities like integrity go beyond mere data and need to be exposed to her." He got up, and the chair sank back into the cold recesses of the deck.

  Jordahk had been won over, but that last part about character surfaced self-doubt.

  Aristahl must have seen it when he turned back from across the dome. "Do not lose confidence. This universe is beyond what any of us, even the Khromas, can control. Everything about the girl is a miracle. Our greatest material efforts are crude in comparison, but not the qualities to which mankind aspires."

  Sometimes Aristahl was too deep. Jordahk, already feeling like he was in a tumbling orbit, struggled to comprehend.

  "Consider this advice as you will," Aristahl continued. "Her body was not allowed to atrophy. She is quite strong, but naive."

  Aristahl stood, back straight, silhouetted by the colors of manifold space, which now appeared a little brighter. Jordahk needed to go with the flow, influencing destiny from within. Constantly fighting everything that came his way would spend his limited strength, likely futilely. Maybe he had caught a little bit of what Aristahl was trying to impart.

  "Okay, Pops." Jordahk nodded. "By the way, you never told me what system your ship's in."

  Aristahl looked thoughtful, his eyes peering far away again. A burst of white streaks appeared in manifold space, passing their dome. He began to sink into the deck, standing in the exact center of the lowest stair. Why did he have to think so hard about giving this simple answer? Before his body disappeared from sight he met Jordahk's eyes with one of those man-to-man looks. "Beuker."

  Jordahk's compy whirred at the information. The sound of the lift doors opening and closing signified Aristahl was gone.

  Janus enjoyed the quiet of his First Cruiser flag quarters. Between the media and his full entourage, in addition to all the Starmada staff, the bridge was always a hive of activity. Some conversations were too sensitive even for the command chair's privacy screening. Braksaw rode down on the platform next to him.

  "You can see it in every system we visit," Janus said. "Confidence is shaken, and the markets are down despite our controls."

  "It's the damn Banking Confederation," Sedge said. "They'll ride this sell-off momentum as long as they can manipulate a profit. Then they'll inflate recovery news and ride it back up."

  "Hmm. People trust the Transcultural Exchange because they perceive it's fair. People would drop it like molten metal if that image broke down."

  Sedge stared at him with oversized irises. He may have been going for a conspiratorial expression, but the eyes made it hard to tell.

  "It would help," Sedge said, "if our currency was... well. You know controlled economies. While beneficial to us, they're not, shall we say, as robust as those in the uncontrolled markets of the Overtrade worlds. Or even the lean economies of the Asterfraeo."

  "That's Asterfraeo Territories, Orator. Thank you for that insight," Janus said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The banking planets were not united as one, but they worked together in a confederation, facilitating within each of their regions the profitable Transcultural Exchange. Four planets covering four regions. The Perigeum, the barbarians in the Strident Cluster, the idiots in the Asterfraeo Territories, and whatever weirdness the Far Worlds cultivated. It worked to everyone's benefit. Why was the one closest to home acting up? "I've a good mind to make one of our stops Aventicia. See how their neutrality, and vaunted galleon fleet, stand up to the new First Cruiser and a full strength First Fleet."

  Sedge's brows raised over strange eyes. "You're fully assembling the First Fleet out here?"

  The First Fleet was dissolved temporarily during the recent, large-scale maneuvers. Outside of wartime, it rarely ventured beyond the Six Sisters with its full compliment even when the First Cruiser went on "diplomatic" missions.

  "Aventicia may be beyond official influence," Janus said, "but they're not outside our territory."

  "That's a dangerous game, First Orator. I thought you were pushing the repairs for the sake of your confidence-boosting tour. Assembling the First Fleet... out here? To what end?"

  "Don't lose your nerve now, Braksaw. Not with all those staryard mouths to feed back at Magnus Cemtar."

  The former governor's changing expressions amused Janus. If nothing else, this trip was helping him get a leg up on a man whose politicking was becoming irksome.

  The lift behind the sunken command chair opened, and Sybaris strode out in her tight skirt as if it were an admiral's uniform. The strong, feminine figure walked like she owned every piece of decking below her feet. Braksaw's eyes were glued to her features. He had become more infatuated with her as the trip went on. Janus couldn't believe how such a powerful man could allow such weakness. Swayed by the surface appearance of this thing?

  Perhaps it was because he didn't know Sybaris very well. The cold hunk of metal. That's what she truly was, regardless of her alluring exterior. Janus was starting to feel an old-fashioned prude next to Braksaw. The former governor flaunted, quite openly with his irises, his disregard for the Mark One tenets that had come to guide humanity since gross alteration became possible. Perhaps he disregarded other tenants humankind had learned the hard way regarding androids.

  "I have personally inspected the latest replacements provided by Orator Braks
aw," Sybaris said. "They all test well enough to handle our revised capacity."

  "As I said they would," Sedge boomed.

  "Our next egress departure is in twenty-six hours, Prime Orator."

  "You best prepare your next set of messages, Braksaw," Janus said. "Just keep in mind informational secrecy. After all, we wouldn't want to ruin the surprise, would we?"

  For the first time since arriving on the First Cruiser, Braksaw displayed a true flash of uncertainty. "Yes. Yes, of course," he said, regaining his swagger.

  "We expect three destroyers with some prototype hybrid systems to be joining us in a few hours," Sybaris said. "You may want to see if they need any deliveries expedited from Umbria Magnus."

  Braksaw excused himself with a respectful nod toward Janus, and a rather libertine look at Sybaris.

  Janus stayed silent until the lift door closed. "Fool."

  "But one with great influence. His stamp gets things done, even beyond Magnus Cemtar," Sybaris said.

  "Spy sweep."

  The android did as instructed, moving her head in a slightly unnatural way while tapping into the flag quarters security system.

  "No new threats detected, First Orator."

  "Yes he's powerful, smelt it. I can't keep him any closer than taking him with me on this. Now show me, the full atlas."

  The subdued lighting of the quarters darkened further, then the air came alive with a bulkhead to bulkhead, deck to ceiling VAD. It showed multiple starmaps combined into a huge display. Almost three dozen member systems, and many associate neighbors. It was an active thing, showing egresses syncing and timetables counting down.

  "Run it sequentially," Janus ordered.

  The atlas filled with small depictions of Perigeum Starmada squadrons. They were accurate, too. Sharp enough to reveal whether ships were one of the new prototype hybrids or not. They started out consolidated, mostly in the region of the Six Sisters. But as the timeline clicked through the days, the groupings broke up. Some made treks through manifold space, others used egresses.

  What started as a few lines representing the paths of the squadrons grew into a branching tree. The general momentum was outward, away from the Six Sisters. Janus walked along the leading-edge. Many squadrons were being sent in seemingly random directions. Sometimes they would double back. Sometimes they would cross the entire cabin in enormous egress syncs.

  As the days turned into weeks, the tree became even more complicated until it was a hopeless tangle. Lines crossing over lines, egresses syncing to routes not seen in years, and with an expensive, energy-gobbling frequency. Slowly, Janus worked his way across the cabin keeping pace with the dispersed cloud of ships. He approached a string of planets, free of egresses and Perigeum markings, at the far end of the quarters. A few steps before he reached them he stopped at a glowing orb still in Perigeum territory.

  It wasn't a member world but neighbored one. He tapped the planet, and it highlighted, halting the overall progression.

  "Aventicia."

  Information flashed about facilities, population, and defenses. Large battleship-sized warships flared to life in non-Perigeum colors.

  "Radiated galleons. Sybaris, any chance of routing some of the largest groupings through here?"

  "We have to be most careful with the largest groupings, for they attract attention. Aventicia, due to the time-sensitive nature of their financial dealings, has one of the largest fleets of commships. Word of an unusually large Starmada task force passing through their neutral system could quite possibly reach ears we would rather surprise."

  "Pity." Janus touched the planet again to deselect it. "Don't worry, your time will come." The outward movement of the ships continued as he walked toward the far end, and the time codes moved into the future. He passed a number of uninhabited systems, the light from their VAD-depicted stars illuminating his tanned skin.

  The crazy tangle of squadron paths reached its zenith of complication, seemingly becoming an unintelligible mess. Then in a matter of a few short days, it all simplified abruptly into groupings across the cabin. In a couple more days, all of the groupings converged impossibly in a single spot a few steps behind him. There, an egress synced, and the product of the convergence made one last transit.

  Janus watched it appear next to him at the last egress, and then walked with it for a final leg to the planets lining the far bulkhead. He smiled mischievously as blue light illuminated his features.

  A TIME OF SOJOURNERS

  By Sparber Quintile, Historian (22??-2450?)

  The Fractionation of Mankind and the Rise of Mystic

  (excerpt from the series)

  The introduction of MDHD drive fractionated knowledge, scattering it to the stars. Most agree this fractured accepted scientific consensus, and it never recovered. But brilliant minds, perhaps previously trapped in staid thinking, were freed to enjoy new lines of unconventional thought.

  Some say humanity was not ready to be split, for they had not matured enough to work out their differences. As a result, those attitudes and divisions were transported to new worlds. People groups, now separated by great distances, had no need to look back or get along. Cultures and scientific advancement continued in unusual directions for a century until the egress network began to homogenize them again.

  Some cultures, out of need or desire, were quick to duck under the new Perigeum umbrella. Others, not so willing, were subject to more heavy-handed encouragement. A century of separation was not easily overcome, and many would not submit to what had, at that point, become a foreign power. People groups and even entire populations (see Aner Betera) sought new homeworlds in the Asterfraeo, the Far Worlds, and even the vast beyond. Few who ventured into the latter have ever been heard from again, though it is likely over time mankind's continued expansion will discover their enclaves anew.*

  The benefits from the century of separation in regard to independent scientific thinking should not be overlooked. From it, many technologies now considered mainstream were devised. Early mystic, thought by some at its introduction to be quite eccentric, changed the course of humanity. This historian seeks only to present the facts. Judge them as you will.

  An entirely new trans-world culture developed around mystic. Innovations were forged by the Sojourners, manufactured by the imprimaturs, and enjoyed daily by populations interested only in a better life. Delineations, which now seem like rigid divisions in Sojourner society, were once less firm. It is hard to know how mystic integration into broader human society would have developed if allowed to mature, rather than being thrust into the war that divided mankind.

  Would the paths of the Khromas have changed? They were already withdrawing from the worlds we know, on their way to becoming one of history's enigmas. Their stories are peppered with acts of mercy, disaster, refusal to be governed, and impossible feats some describe as miracles.

  * Editor's Note: In the 150 years since Sparber Quintile's original publication, few enclaves have been discovered beyond the Far Worlds, either mystic or not. This does not mean they do not exist, only that they have yet to be discovered.

  Two centuries past...

  Arh-Tahl drifted, but not in peace. He was cold. Very cold. He felt on the verge of suffocation and wanted to twist and turn to free himself, but his body remained immobile. How dreadful a weakness when the mind spun but the limbs belonged to another.

  Who he was and the life he had lived were distant and dim memories. He sought contact, first to his wrist, where desires for communication habitually went. But it was wrong somehow. There was no outlet for communication, nor even a wrist. He repeated this cycle many times, with each ending in a sobering spike.

  Over time, mercifully, it all drifted into cold grayness. He felt no energy to communicate, no contact with his body, no desire... for anything.

  A great heat brought him back. It blazed through every bone he could still number, though it did not burn. Energy coursed from his bones into his muscles and organs. There were stra
nge gaps in his tissues, a thought for later. He stayed with the comforting heat. It was familiar.

  The tenor, the frequency of the energy, it was his father's. He had known it all his life but rarely experienced it with such personal intensity. But Arh-Tahl's mind felt fractionated. He could not contain the energy. Slowly, it seeped away. The intensity of another invigoration seemed more than he could bear.

  He lay deep in the earth. There was a mountain atop him, an immeasurable weight bearing down, its apex pointing to the stars. Energy sent to his limbs dissipated before initiating action. Everything he did drained his infusion, leaving him weaker. He remained steady through force of will, but apathy was looming as one of the few choices left to him.

  Another presence appeared, like but not like the first. With the new arrival came another infusion of energy, but it did not fill his bones. Instead, his mind came alive. It was made whole, becoming his own again, as shadows were blown away. His body felt once again under his control. Hope returned, and he knew he could go on, wondering if he ever thought otherwise.

  Then the presence left. He saw it go, whether with his natural eyes or the envisioning of his mind, he was unsure. He was in a brilliantly lit chamber of octagons. She was the light source, beautiful, even walking away, with brilliant, coruscating energy streaming off her like wings. His memory was filling back in, and he put a name to her. Olahn-Dehr.

  Then he let a long, deep sleep come upon him. Voices of the two presences drifted with it like a warm desert wind.

  "Where shall we take him?" the woman asked.

  "Back to Numen," the man said. "It's where he wants to be. They'll finish his repairs."

  "What path will he choose now?"

  "That of his own crusade."

  Her husband was back, and nothing would prevent her from seeing him. Centurions had a reputation for making their own rules. Though she hadn't been one long, and few were females, she had taken to it easily and word about her was spreading. Of course, it didn't hurt that her husband was the "Son of the Khromas."