Tethered Worlds: Blue Star Setting

by Gregory Faccone

  Pheron zoomed out the trimensional. Picket ships were stationed around the Darkwine system. No doubt it was embargoed while the fleet assembled. There would be no word of this until they were on their way. The Vallum Corps could only guess what would be showing up on their doorstep.

  "Those in the Asterfraeo Territories will be given opportunity to return to the Perigeum fold. Unanimity is offered to all who join us. We move out immediately. Standby for the flag admiral with marching orders. Onward Perigeum. Onward to victory." The VAD closed with the executive tones.

  Pheron admitted the strategy was brilliant. Surprising considering it wasn't his. Details came over fleetnet. Coordinated decoy squadrons were being sent across to a number of other Palisades worlds. And so far, the Vallum Corps had played into their hands. Spy reports showed their squadron deployments were skewed alarmingly. The Cohortium transition was wreaking unusual havoc.

  "Foolish grimes," Pheron mused.

  "Order of battle coming in," the ship AI said.

  "Accepting the new course, gruppe lieutenant."

  He entertained no notion that his failure at Adams Rush was forgotten. To emphasize the point, the new order of battle put his squadron in a most vulnerable position. It was a slot designed for armored ward frigates or even destroyers. His ragtag squadron of mothballed rejects wouldn't last ten minutes.

  "I'm sorry for the short notice," Sedge said, "but I really must insist upon leaving immediately."

  Janus knew this day would come, and he was relishing every minute of it. The flag bridge behind him was ant colony busy. To his left, Flag Admiral Buisart was surrounded by so many VADs he was obscured.

  The Prime Orator's command chair was set before a great open space, at the end of which were the giant displays for the flag bridge. The ship's bridge was situated below. It didn't look as frantic as the flag deck, but it didn't carry responsibilities beyond the First Cruiser's hull.

  Only his personal displays, and a rare word from Sybaris, disturbed his noise-buffered concentration. That and the sweating former governor of Magnus Cemtar.

  "Don't you want to see how well the new First Cruiser performs?" Janus said. "After all, you and your Umbria Magnus yards are responsible for its unprecedented power."

  "Yes, well, considering the magnitude of the military strike you've planned, innumerable high level directives need to be enacted for repair and replacement hulls. I need to get back to the Six Sisters, and the yards, of course, immediately."

  The man who had boarded the First Cruiser weeks before with such bravado was now, at least temporarily, humbled. No doubt the pompous, ambitious governor would resurface, freed from these confines. But then he would be shackled with a cowardly reputation, one being spread even now by every means possible. The Perigeum still liked their warrior kings. It would put a kink in his overly enthusiastic ambition.

  If Janus was successful, Braksaw lost. If Janus was even partially successful and returned to spin the tale, it would probably be a political draw. Only if by tremendous mishap he didn't return could Braksaw turn this to his advantage.

  Oh. I'll be back you windbag.

  "I quite understand. But keep in mind, I expect starships, Braksaw, not galleons. We can't afford to sit back and just defend what we have. Oh, and I'm afraid we can't slow down. The fleet's already forming up peletons for hilltop. If you're going to go, it may be an uncomfortable ride."

  Sybaris stared wordlessly at Braksaw. Was it his imagination or were the android's eyes icier than usual? Whatever it was, the former governor could only meet them for a short time.

  "Sybaris, Prime Orator, good hunting to you." Braksaw made an ungraceful turn and slinked off the flag bridge.

  The android stared at the man's back all the way to the lift.

  "I want a pilot we can trust to shuttle our fleeing friend, Sybaris. And tell him I want the ride to be as rough as possible."

  There were warships, and then there were ships designed for war. The scout was warship-tough, but designed primarily for its support role. A corvette was designed to engage, and a Hesperus designed to win.

  The five of that latter class were similar in size and layout, but each as unique as the Khromas who touched it. Jordahk could almost feel the presence of his grandsire in every corridor of the Aurora.

  He could see a Hesperus touched by The Strength and The Mass doing something impressively powerful. One touched by The Wisdom could probably accomplish the unusual and amazing. The Spirit's was no doubt as unfathomable as most her works. But the Aurora, touched by The Will, could perform a variation of the strengths of all the others. That is, if the pilot was Thule-Riss Quext.

  For others of the Quext line, if the impossible was called for, it was a tremendous strain. Aristahl had called upon full mystic functionality despite gaps in the parts necessary.

  Yeah, I'd call that impossible.

  Alb-Sone and Torious worked on him for a couple of days before he retired to a juvi chamber to rebuild and de-age for 30 days. The doctor brought over a special chamber for Khai, whose unique physiology wouldn't work with standard juvi.

  Jordahk had encountered inferior, imprimatur knockoff juvi chambers in his travels. But his time aboard the mystic scout, and now the Hesperus Aurora, exposed him to the real deal. His mystic link and basic skill allowed him to use it as a base level suspension method. But to gain all of the rejuvenation properties, one had to "join the machine in a meditative state." At least that's how Alb-Sone described it.

  It took a couple of days, but it sounded more daunting than it was, ultimately, at least for him. Once able to operate it at standard mystic level, he went under for twenty-eight days.

  Aristahl had brought the Aurora to a speed in manifold space that Jordahk thought reserved for double keeled commships. Any faster truly was the province of the robotic vessels that plied the highest speed bands awash in lethal radiation. Certainly, the Aurora was going faster than any manned ship he knew of using downhill drive. No wonder his grandfather needed a rest.

  The scout, whose benign AI didn't mind being called "scout," followed along at best speed. It would arrive at their destination days later, losing a race to one of the few ships in known space that could carry passengers faster.

  After juvi sleep, which repaired their bodies, they took a full day of regular sleep to rest the mind. The Aurora also needed repairs. As good as Aristahl's grease monkey was, Gasket couldn't make mystic components.

  The fabrication level overlooked a bay about one and a half times the size of the scout's. In non-combat configuration, the wall facing the bay was completely open, and Jordahk leaned on the railing looking down.

  Khai was below, exercising in her unique way, clad in her black outfit with the glowing stripes. The highlights of her black hair appeared an energetic yellow. He had stopped trying to understand how that color changed.

  "This bay looks configured for something more specific than omnispheric craft like shuttles and owls. That section over there, it looks equipped for something."

  Aristahl was behind him on the forge, intervening when a mystic touch was needed. The fabricators next door were busy churning out high quality replacements. His grandfather had shown him how to forge wisely and right, but not how to engage with mystic. That, he maintained, must be learned through careful experience. Though he did not say it this time, the idea was to follow the method used by Thule-Riss.

  "Hmm?" Aristahl glanced in the direction of Jordahk's indication. "Oh, I left an interceptor secreted out there." He gestured vaguely to space beyond. "A sneaky thing. I suppose you could consider it the smallest of fleet combat craft, though the era of its favor has long passed." He looked wistful for a moment. "We were a young, foolish, colorful band. Anyway, I mostly used it for shuttling once the Aurora was passed to me... Mostly."

  The hatch to the bay opened, and Gasket walked in, a drone following.

  "You had a starfighter?" Jordahk continued. "And used it for shuttling?"

  "Come now
, most equipment is just equipment. Although some high-quality mystic creations can be made truly your own."

  Jordahk surmised that little of what Aristahl owned was "just equipment." The floor opened next to them to accept the lift plat from the bay level.

  "I believe you think of me as more than just equipment, Skipper," Gasket said. He and the drone rose into the chamber.

  Jordahk couldn't help but smile at a robotic legend. In the 200 years Gasket v3 had slept, the value of grease monkeys of his generation had increased exponentially. Personality revisions one through five were considered most valuable, with one being the weakest of the batch. After five, a new chassis and personality were created that lacked the "magic."

  "True, Gasket," Aristahl said. "Where would Aurora be without you?"

  "I shudder to think." Gasket's large, comical eyes were expressive. Even his movable eyebrows got into the act. "Although it's my privilege to work on arguably the most powerful and unique ship in the galaxy."

  The robot was human sized, his composition largely brass and silver. He had big, knobby knees and oversized feet fashioned to look like ancient work boots. Like Torious, he wore a palm-sized ceramic box, with the numenium band, retrofitted to his head.

  "Hey, Gasket, what do you think of all the cachet and popularity foisted upon your model?" Jordahk asked.

  "I did glance through the media dump we got on the way out." Gasket shook his head and tried to shrug his shoulders with exaggerated human humility. "I'm sorry for the state of robotics today."

  "Did you see the epiVAD, 'Oh That Grease Monkey!'?"

  "I'm a little perplexed at the show's apparent popularity. Then again, I've been away from popular culture for two centuries."

  The fabrication level hatch opened to receive Torious.

  "Don't try to understand the whims of popular culture," the nurse droned. "You fix machines. I fix people. Where's my epiVAD?"

  "Take heart, old bean," Gasket said, "you're appreciated around here." His voice wasn't the mechanical drone of Torious, but neither did it try to duplicate human tone exactly.

  Jordahk was starting to understand why the gasket series was so popular. The encouraging robot never had an unkind word for anyone. Not even Torious.

  "Yes, I suspected you might say as much." The nurse rotated its head. "Are we having a party?"

  Aristahl turned back to the forge. "Apparently so."

  Jordahk felt a subtle change. The bay level switched to half-gravity. Khai-aLael was doing an impressive series of maneuvers, even for her. She ricocheted to the top of a shuttle and somersaulted with extra airtime to a high stack of raw materials. From there, she leaped without pause, grabbing the cargo mover. Launching again, she soared toward them, nabbed the railing and spun to perch atop it like a cat waiting to pounce. Vittora's pin, the girl's constant companion now, glimmered above her breast.

  "Impressive," Gasket said.

  Jordahk couldn't keep one side of his mouth from raising up. "What're you doing?"

  "I am here for the party."

  Her dry delivery made him laugh. She really was coming into her own. "Keep working on that sense of humor," he joked.

  "Quips are supposed to me my department," Torious said.

  Aristahl finished the last piece on the forge and walked to the fabricator. "Perhaps we can reconvene the party at supper. Gasket, let us get these installed before then. I suspect the Aurora will soon be tested."

  "Aye aye, Skipper." Gasket motioned to the drone, who picked up the container of finished parts. "Come along."

  "Jordahk, do you think you and Khai can finish your no-suit?"

  "Okay, Pops."

  "Remember, focused and controlled. Let the forge do the work."

  Torious turned to leave. "I'll prepare a cake." His head rotated back to gauge Khai's reaction. "That was humor."

  "Oh," she said.

  The nurse-bot's curious head shake punctuated his leaving. "Humor is a terrible thing to waste."

  Jordahk told the forge to set up the no-suit. Aristahl kept teaming him up with Khai-aLael, not that he minded. The girl had tremendous capacity to interact with mystic, though she displayed no ability to create something new. Jordahk had ample creativity but had to continue working on his stamina and focus.

  The grips on the forge were composed of strands of every platinum group metal. He concentrated, and piece by piece, the suit was finished. Khai-aLael's well-timed contacts eased the effort. Now for their "special project."

  Aristahl had been putting the ship first, and for good reason, because there was so much to create. Only at the end of a long day would he spend a few minutes, if at all, working on his old ladybug espy. The little machine had sacrificed itself for Aristahl, and was now being rewarded by having its minute, original personality and memories painstakingly reassembled, though they were not yet functional.

  With the hard stuff already accomplished, they wanted to finish the job for his grandfather. Jordahk grasped both control nodes. Smart metal strands reached out to every component needing mystic augmentation. The ladybug's micro assemblies were coming together slowly. The little espy was more remarkable than he thought.

  After a moment, he felt as though he had to push too hard for final completion. That was when Khai-aLael placed her warm hands on his shoulders, and his head cooled. The strain bled away, and he finished the job. The components were whisked over to the fabricator which completed final assembly in a flurry of tiny sparks.

  He was covered in a sheen of sweat, but he smiled triumphantly. "We did it."

  Khai wiped perspiration from her temples and picked the ladybug up from the fabricator ready plate. "You are ready to fly, little friend."

  "Go find Aristahl," he said.

  The ladybug looked around and flapped its wings haltingly. Their action smoothed, going from slow to a blur. It took to the air, bobbing before them both, in thanks he supposed. It whizzed toward the opening hatch.

  His grandfather appreciated a miniature lookout with some smarts. Jordahk's understanding of such things was increasing. Aristahl had no one to watch is six like his father had Vittora. "Let's celebrate with some of your uncle's cooling concoction."

  He knew the solitude and peace of manifold space couldn't last.

  Windermere. The blue system. Stalwart pinion of the central Palisades. Technically, it was still headquarters for the Vallum Corps, but in truth the resources and trappings that went with that role now resided in Castellum.

  Windermere. A large system with many planets and resources. A primary world that took well to arability terraformation. Its ecosystem was complex, at least by Asterfraeo standards. Sophistication and development were often gauged by such things.

  Windermere. A tempting target, always too fortified to attack.

  Almost always.

  Capt. Mason Steede of the Adams Rush Navy was learning to appreciate Windermere during his Vallum Corps hitch. It was friendlier than when first encountered. Perhaps because he was working with real professionals, now.

  No, that's not it.

  The squadrons that shipped out to Castellum were professional soldiers, many from the Palisades and the more cosmopolitan neighboring worlds. The rest were smaller contingents from Asterfraeo contributors with little political will to fight this high-stakes deployment game. Reconsidering, he determined that it was attitude that separated those who remained from the rest. He was pleased to be working closely with the Patram Guard and the strange Demeter ArgoNav.

  The Adams Rush Navy fit well with them. Although the politicians back on Adams Rush had blown it, the culture of the navy wasn't so fickle or easy to budge. Its traditions had remained true.

  Nice-sounding words.

  Too bad it had not been enough to push the Perigeum out of Adams Rush without such loss. His homeworld was rebuilding on many fronts.

  He doubted his fellow sentinels had similar issues on their worlds. But like most, he knew little about Demeter. Its warriors were smart and competen
t. While not unusual, their uncommon humility and eagerness to learn definitely were.

  They joined formations wherever ordered. They asked questions and gave suggestions. He had learned much about running a squadron just from interacting with them. He had hosted their senior commander, Savalis, and his officers for dinner once. But no one had been allowed on their ships.

  "We're at the top of the hill," Capt. Thaddeus said. "Sneakership dropping out in one minute."

  Thaddeus was the senior captain of the Patram Guard contingent. Though easily 50 years Mason's senior, he was cooperative and helpful, though rather stern. The Guard proceeded outside the gravity well to get a better detensor picture of the incoming targets. That's when an automated sneakership reported it was also coming in.

  Incoming groups from the Hex were not unheard of at the Palisades. There was a fair amount of trade, both legal and not. But readings of this size were consistent with a superhauler convoy. Such events were usually accompanied by a propaganda media blitz detailing how the "fine wares of the Perigeum were finding a market out among the rustic Asterfraeo Territories."

  Once, before his time in the military, the Perigeum sent out a deep space exploration convoy, a rare expense for them. It stopped at the Palisades for publicity and supplies before venturing out beyond the Far Worlds. He never followed up on what became of them.

  Occasionally, P-Star squadrons had to be intercepted and nudged back toward their territory—undoubtedly checking Vallum Corps readiness. But these incoming targets didn't match any of those scenarios. There was no publicity, and the readings weren't right.

  Per protocol, when the detensors showed unknown incoming, commships were sent to neighboring Palisades for reinforcements. Windermere never really needed them, being the most reinforced central Palisades world. This time the fast double-keelers returned with word their neighbors also had incoming unknowns, and couldn't release reinforcement squadrons without further confirmation.

  It would have been more disconcerting had their Perigeum spy network not told of the state of the P-Stars. They were quite disorganized and spread out. No dangerous fleet concentrations anywhere, and sightings of full squadrons scattered randomly within their territory.