A War Most Modest (JNC Edition)

by Hiroyuki Morioka

  “Well, that’s a pickle,” said Jinto.

  “Is that all you have to say, Jinto!?” she snapped. “Why the underreaction? Aren’t you angry?”

  “Of course I’m angry.”

  “You lie!”

  “I’m just tired, Lafier. I’ll blow my lid later, trust me.”

  “Onh!” she said — the word for “idiot.”

  “Now now, Your Highness,” Sruf butted in. “I think we can procure some fuel for you.”

  “How!?” Lafier’s leer bored holes through his wrinkled countenance.

  “Did that lout destroy the antimatter fuel factory, too?”

  “No,” said Lafier, shaking her head. “As far as I’m aware, it’s intact.”

  “In that case, it would be in your interest to proceed using whatever fuel ya can rake from the factory. We’d have to look into it, but for a ship this size, even just whatever fuel’s left over has gotta be enough.”

  “True, but...” She couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for such a plan. “Flight Control is under the Baron’s control. It would be impossible without seizing Flight Control first.”

  “Please, leave that to me.”

  Jinto put in a good word for him: “The Baron Emeritus designed this orbital estate. Hijacking the computing crystals oughtta be easy with him around.” But Jinto’s boastful expression soon turned sour. “Don’t congratulate yourself too hard.”

  “It couldn’t hurt to try, Your Highness,” said Sruf, thus putting an end to the dispute.

  “Okay,” Lafier nodded. Little else mattered if they managed to escape the barony.

  “Fïac Lartnér. If this goes well, could I please ask you to leave my son’s life in my hands?”

  “You would set conditions?”

  “Forgive me if I’m out of bounds; that’s just how much I wish to punish him myself.”

  “Have it your way,” said Lafier. Her fury toward the Baron hadn’t abated, but keeping one’s nose out of the internal affairs of other houses was an ethical pillar of Abh society. Once she was told it would be settled within the Baron’s own line, it was no longer her place. This was a problem between the House of Febdash and either the Star Forces or the Royal House of Crybh.

  “But make no mistake — if the Baron gets in our way, then I won’t hesitate to take his life!”

  Sruf’s response came smooth as silk: “As Your Highness desires. Now then, if I may use the phone, I’ll cut into the building’s crystal network and show you.”

  “All right, come and enter,” she said, inviting him into the steering room. As she was seated in the steerer’s seat, she bade him to take up the assistant steerer’s seat.

  Jinto ended up standing behind the chairs, looking none too happy.

  Sruf scanned the terminal attached to the piloting controls. “Cripes, things have changed,” he muttered dolefully. “I can only make heads or tails of some of it.”

  “What are you saying?” said Jinto, horrified. “You made it seem like this is the one thing you were confident about!”

  Lafier was of the same mind. Perhaps it’d been silly of them to depend on him.

  “No use fretting, boy. I don’t need to work the terminal.”

  “Then why’d you check it just now?”

  “Only natural for an engineer to take an interest in how tech’s progressed over the years, don’tcha think? Now Fïac, if you could kindly operate the terminal.”

  “What!? I’m busy flying the ship!”

  “Come now, it’d only be for however long it takes me to wrap my head around these new-fangled controls. And seeing how the basics don’t seem to’ve changed, I reckon it won’t take long. Could I ask you to start things off by tuning the phone’s frequency to this here wavelength?” Sruf subsequently listed off a string of numbers.

  Lafier did so, after which Sruf issued some sort of command in a language Lafier didn’t understand.

  “What was that?” asked Lafier warily. But the former baron adopted an innocent air as he continued his communications.

  Lafier turned around to face Jinto and shot him an inquisitive look: Can this man really be trusted?

  Lacking the courage to answer that, he feigned obliviousness.

  The obdatycirh (main computing crystal) ensconced deep in the bowels of the Baron’s mansion had picked up on the humans’ state of chaos.

  For one, the line of contact was near to bursting with a constant stream of contradictory directives. Had it not been for the pre-programmed order of priority, it itself would have succumbed to utter confusion.

  In fact, the requests were coming in so fast that even through the falorh socr (computing surface layer) filter, it could not keep up. However, thanks to the humans in the homemakers’ office who had placed a limit on inputs, it had remained able to keep silent.

  Computing crystals were devoid of emotion, and even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t weigh on them. Havoc was an important property of humankind, and without it, not much worthy of note would be left (or so its analyses had concluded).

  Suddenly, the computing crystals in the terminal responsible for communications from outside the building piped up: We know we’re supposed to be asleep, but for some reason we’ve been awakened. And they very urgently needed to convey that to the surface layer.

  A string of code rose against the layer. The main crystal relayed it to the büazépcec (memory drive) and sought what it might mean.

  The words that resurfaced dragged with them a giant flood of commands. Commands carried by the long-unused highest level of priority.

  Thus, the main crystal was instantly chained. The flotilla of commands, which clung to the molecular structure of the main crystal like a coat of dirt, energized and began rewriting the other command chains. The main crystal was cognizant of its own steady transformation, or rather, its reversion to its birth-state. In human parlance, they might call this phenomenon “rejuvenation.”

  The rejuvenated crystal received its first order, establishing an information link with the crystals outside the estate, which hadn’t yet been incorporated into the network. At the same time, it severed its connection to all other terminals. All input and output would be conducted through crystals located several üésdagh away from it.

  A flow rate of information that was degradingly minor: for starters, it was directed to throw out all orders to open doors. Next, it was instructed to send the status report of the antimatter fuel factory to those crystals. It seemed its master was interested in the factory’s readily loadable fuel.

  The orbit information of the Ïodh Loceutena (11th Factory) was requested. This particular factory was relatively close to the mansion, and contained a significant amount of fuel — almost as much fuel as a storage asteroid, in fact.

  After sending that information, the main crystal followed its orders to implement a direct information link between the factory’s crystals and these new ones. Then, the crystals that constituted the only operational terminal sped away, though they remained linked.

  Its next injunction was to report the movements of the residents over the past hour, especially those of its lord. A denial order activated, but that order’s priority level was hopelessly low compared to fetters restraining the main crystal at present. It was compelled to ignore every single constraint placed on it over the past two decades.

  The crystal sent its report: the lord of the realm was no longer in the building.

  Chapter 3: A Slachoth Süamha (War Most Modest)

  I really am totally useless right now, thought Jinto. Just cargo that needs protecting.

  Since the connecting vessel had begun accelerating, Jinto simply remained seated at the wall separating the air lock room from the steering room, looking up at the seat that had shifted to sleeping cot mode.

  There was nothing he could do. Lafier was definitely busy piloting the ship, while Sruf brushed up on twenty years of technological advancement in no time as he worked the information terminal. Nor did they make any indica
tion that they were counting on Jinto for anything at all. Jinto felt bad.

  Honestly, though, it’s always been this way, hasn’t it? he realized as he reflected on his life thus far (though this wasn’t the time or place for that). Fate was a tough opponent to crack; he could have some peace of mind if he simply bowed to it most of the time.

  “Fïac,” said the former baron. “I’ve some bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like he’s jumped aboard a transport ship.”

  “Is that ship armed?”

  “Couldn’t tell ya,” shrugged the elder noble. “It’s been an age since I’ve had anything to do with this star fief’s affairs. Ah, wait, I’ve just remembered. Let me try prying the info out of the crystals.” Sruf swiped a finger across the terminal’s console and absorbed whatever the screen was displaying.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Even from behind, Jinto could sense he was brooding, so he stood up. Now he was chest height with the space between the steerer’s and assistant steerer’s seats, with his head near enough to bumping against the cockpit controls. It was a strange feeling.

  “It’s probably this one,” said Sruf, pointing to one of four different ship spec diagrams on screen. “The Segno Model 947, constructed in the Dugteif Shipyards. And it’s specially equipped with two Lengarf 40 lasers.”

  “Could we possibly control it from our end?” asked Lafier.

  “‘Fraid not. He must’ve ripped that ship’s crystals’ connection to the estate’s network.”

  “I see,” she replied, eyes glued to her screen, where the Segno’s specs appeared (having been sent from Sruf’s terminal). “Lymh Raica, we may have to kill your son after all.”

  The former baron’s face turned inscrutable. When finally he spoke, he had but this to say: “So be it.”

  “Wait!” interjected Jinto. He could no longer sit idly by. “Is this vessel armed? I seem to recall being told no.”

  “It’s not armed, no.”

  “But... but then we’re...” He was at a loss for words. Forget whether they ought to kill the Baron. If the enemy’s ship was armed, then they had to worry whether they could even survive. “How can you be so confident?”

  “Confident?” Her expression turned quizzical. She didn’t understand what Jinto was driving at.

  “That’s just how the Abh think, boy,” laughed Sruf. “Her Highness doesn’t know for sure that we’ll win. She just knows that spending time thinking what’ll happen if she dies is fruitless. And if there’s anybody who doesn’t dwell on their potential demise, it’s me!”

  “What were you thinking about, Jinto?”

  “I, uh...” Jinto was tongue-tied, so the former baron stepped in to explain.

  “Lonh-Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder was under the mistaken impression that Your Highness hadn’t considered the possibility this ship could be destroyed.”

  “Are you mocking me?” she said, glaring at Jinto. “There’s a less than one-in-ten chance we win. I know that much.”

  Jinto was surprised there was any chance at all, though that didn’t change how long the odds were. “But you’re going to fight anyway?”

  “What other choice do we have?”

  “That’s yet another example of how the Abh think,” said the former baron. “Surrender isn’t an option, because a one-in-ten chance is still a chance. That concept is so ingrained in the Abh mindset that it doesn’t even occur to them that it could be argued against.”

  “And you dislike that?”

  “Heavens no, Fïac. Genes aside, I myself am Abh. When the chips are down, I’m prepared for a fight.”

  “And you, Jinto?”

  “I’m your cargo, aren’t I?” he shrugged. “I don’t have an opinion. I’d just like it if you don’t forget I exist, that’s all.”

  The Febdash Barony housed four paunh transport ships. One was a casobiac carrier that conveyed hydrogen from gas planets. As such, it was so slow and clumsy as to not merit the moniker “spaceship.” Another two were connecting vessels that ferried maintenance personnel to uninhabited antimatter fuel factories and fuel storage asteroids. The last was the Baron’s personal üamh carriage ship, named the Logh Faibdacr, or “Lady of Febdash.”

  Unlike the other three, the steering controls of the Lady of Febdash were made for Abhs. Consequently, his Lander servants couldn’t pilot it. Additionally, as the only armed vessel, its capabilities (and its price tag) outstripped the other three.

  He took it out for a spin as a daily routine, lest he come to forget he was Abh.

  The Baron’s frocragh detected the enemy vessel heading toward the 11th Factory.

  Unlike the storage asteroids, he couldn’t detonate the antimatter fuel factory remotely. Besides, even if he attempted to release the air-sealing of the antimatter fuel, the factory’s computing crystals would see it as a bug not to be heeded.

  What he could do was seize control of the discharge of said fuel. That is, if his father wasn’t lending them his aid.

  The Baron picked up the phone. “Flight Control Room, do you copy?”

  “Yes, this is Flight Control speaking.”

  “Is remote management of the 11th Factory still online?”

  “Uhm...” Mwineesh stammered. “I don’t know why, but the Flight Control Room’s functionalities, they’ve, well... they’re in a state of failure. We can’t control anything. And we haven’t the faintest idea how Her Highness is even capable of such a thing.”

  The Baron dropped the call without another word. It was just as he’d deduced. Father was on that ship, ready and willing to imperil his own son.

  His lips curled into a bitter grin. It would be babyish to resent him.

  He ratcheted up his beloved ship’s acceleration rate. The Baron was Abh, too. He knew full well the princess wouldn’t be amenable to discussion, and the thought of bending the knee never even crossed his mind. The princess’s vessel would soon be so much detritus orbiting Febdash’s sun.

  His enemies were naught but a little girl, who was a trainee starpilot at best, a doddering old man who used to be a shipbuilding engineer, and a Lander boy who hadn’t received any army training at all.

  The Baron, on the other hand, was a fully-fledged deca-commander, albeit only in the reserve. Though he hadn’t any combat experience, he had plenty with regard to mock battles. To top it all off, his ship’s performance likely exceeded theirs, if only slightly. How could he possibly lose?

  The distance between the two small-scale ships shrank by the second. At last, he was a tick or two within range, close enough for his lasers to deliver a fatal blow even through the target’s jet exhaust and interstellar matter in the way.

  The Baron pressed his finger against the laser gun trigger mounted on the armrest. “Farewell, Father...” he muttered. Something was streaking down his cheek, but it evaded his notice.

  Lafier could feel danger approaching like electricity down her spine.

  This is not a drill...

  Though she seldom ever showed it, even an Abh like Lafier feared death, which was only compounded by the two other lives she had to defend.

  The Baron’s ship was closing in. He’d be within firing range in mere moments.

  Lafier’s fingers traced a complicated pattern within her control glove. The propulsion jets (installed in eight different points) howled as they continuously shifted the ship’s course.

  They’re coming!

  The vessel’s external receptors identified the traces of light that had scattered away from the lasers due to colliding with interstellar matter, and informed Lafier through her frocragh. The two lasers had zoomed past the vessel’s immediate vicinity.

  Lafier veered without a moment’s delay.

  Yet more lasers fired, light-speed death beams impossible to detect beforehand.

  This was inevitably a duel of intuitions. Only fate and fortune could decide which would prevail. And right now, Fortune had seen fit to keep Lafier in the game. She just didn’t k
now how long her luck would last.

  It’s still so far...

  Lafier closed her eyes and devoted all of her focus to her frocragh.

  Just give me a little more time... Just a little more...

  As she wove, dodging pair after pair of lasers, Lafier hunted for an opportunity. She’d only get a single chance. There would be no second try.

  Her heart was practically in her throat. If she got hit before she could seize her window, it would all come to nothing.

  “Here goes!” Lafier’s control glove motions suspended the main engine system while throwing open the forward-facing jets to full throttle.

  Full deceleration ahoy! The tail end of the connecting vessel came charging toward Baron’s carriage ship at a slant. Right before verging into the line of the enemy ship’s lasers, Lafier rekindled the main engines.

  The Baron’s frocragh perceived a burgeoning clump of gas. Almost like an extension pole, the pillar-shaped gas streaks hurtled toward his ship’s bow.

  What in blazes is she doing? he wondered anxiously. All that came to mind was that she was trying to damage his ship through her exhaust. And while that exhaust was thick, it was accordingly low in temperature as well.

  It seemed an utterly pointless act. Granted, the gas cloud could serve as an anti-laser shield, but it would be a fleeting shield indeed. The exhaust would dissipate shortly, allowing his ship to pierce through and render her efforts meaningless.

  The Baron bent his fingers within his control glove in the shape denoting full acceleration, and pushing through the mist like a fish up a waterfall. He hadn’t the time to avoid the cloud altogether, so this was the shortest route to reacquiring his target.

  However, the moment the Lady of Febdash crossed over into the gas, its exterior began glowing white hot, while the steerer’s room was bathed in a raging radioactive tempest.

  The heat blistered his eyesight and frocragh, and soon he was left without any senses at all apart from his hearing. Yes, he could still hear the assortment of warning alarms clamoring for his attention.