On a nation as large as Sfagnoff, there had to be a considerable number of imperial citizens. Besides, it wasn’t as though the enemy would exhibit that much interest in one nation’s citizenry anyway.
By contrast, Lafier’s blue hair and Empire-issue military uniform were dead giveaways. Jinto would’ve liked to see the idiot who wouldn’t cotton on straight away. Lafier getting spotted by somebody was the greatest crisis they could face at the moment.
Jinto was stumped, until he hit upon a primitive alarm system.
“Be careful when you’re out of the cave, all right?” With that, Jinto let out the carbon crystal fiber (sans coating). He wedged a protruding rock onto the hook at about knee-height. He set the fiber to be covered in the coating, and let it out to a suitable length, holding it taut horizontally. Then he fastened the part of the line coated in the synthetic resin onto a protrusion on the opposite end.
“What is that for?”
“It’s a trap. It’ll alert you if somebody comes too close,” he explained, pointing to the non-coated fiber. “Not only is it invisible, it’s sharper than any blade, too. So if somebody doesn’t think better than popping in, then GYAAHH! Their legs, sliced clean off. Now that’s tight security.”
Lafier cocked her had. “What if an innocent falls for the trap?”
That, he hadn’t thought of. To call the act of attacking an unrelated party with a snare that could easily sever a limb or two “barbaric” would be an understatement. But Jinto quickly squashed his pangs of conscience.
“If that happens, it happens.” He snapped a finger. “Sometimes, civilians get maimed and killed in war.” And so Jinto left for the city.
Lafier remained sitting, holding one knee. She was tuning into the airwaves of this land of “Clasbule” through her compuwatch.
And she’d thought Jinto’s accent was bad. The language spoken on this planet was barely even Baronh. There were traces of Baronh vocabulary, and it did have a more refined ring than the language of the United Humankind, but it was all a bunch of unintelligible mumbo-jumbo. She soon ran out of patience attempting to follow along.
As she absentmindedly watched the outside world get brighter, her mind dwelled on how she’d been left all alone. She was out of her element. Since they’d come aground, it had been Jinto calling all of the shots. This did not amuse her.
Until she got Jinto aboard an Empire ménh interstellar ship, she could not say she’d completed her mission. She had to protect him, and the navigation log, at all costs.
Despite that, she felt as though Jinto was protecting her — a reality she was loath to accept. What angered her the most, however, was how much better things seemed to be going after she’d ceded the initiative to him.
Am I relying on him? Should I? she asked herself. Considering how flustered he’d been with her in space, she never thought him a particularly dependable individual.
She laid her head sideways against her raised knee. Earlier, she’d put up a brave front, acted tough in front of him. But she was tired. So, so tired. She’d even acknowledge her cat Horia was one of her gene providers if it could somehow strip her muscles of all the lactic acid.
The surface gravity on Clasbule was comparable to most other terrestrial worlds, but twice the daimon gravity-level to which the Abh were accustomed. Lafier had endured upwards of ten times the G-forces, yes, but she was always sprawled on a specially crafted seat designed to cushion her back during times of heavy acceleration. While the surface only clocked in at 2 daimon, it was her first time moving about in heightened gravity for such a long time.
Naturally, she couldn’t be expected to keep a steady pace without ever tiring, but she felt pathetic, nonetheless. The bodies of Abhkind were expressly engineered to allow them some freedom of movement even during high acceleration. Her ancestors hadn’t had the luxury of gravity control systems, nor did they complain.
The Star Forces had equipped the vessel with an emergency surface-landing function, but she’d never given much thought to what that would precipitate. There wasn’t usually a planet with a breathable atmosphere conveniently close by when a ship was caught in danger, after all.
It was little wonder, then, that her scenario hadn’t cropped up in her training much. She’d learned how to land the ship, but all that was projected for the aftermath was to stay in place and await rescue.
Waiting for rescue in this particular situation, however, was a fool’s errand. As a mere trainee starpilot, she was not privy to Star Forces soldier deployment, but she reckoned it’d take 10 days at the very shortest. She’d have to prepare herself for it taking more than twice as long.
She’d even have to make peace with the possibility that they’d never come... They might run out of food, or get captured by the those of the enemy army who pursued defeated soldiers.
She had no choice but to get through this while counting on Jinto, no matter how dependable he truly proved to be.
A smile played at her lips as she nodded off. He’s been full of life ever since we landed on a surface. Even though the danger now exceeded what they faced back at the Barony of Febdash.
When she awoke and noticed Jinto was absent, her mind ran wild. She was beset not by the fear she’d failed in her mission, but rather by the uncertainty of what to do from that point forward.
As hard as it was to believe, Lafier was relying on him. Lafier, a royal princess of the Empire. Depending on another.
But so be it. For there was no one else in a 100-light-year radius she could trust.
Chapter 7: Bach Lunar Bigac (Lune Beega City)
“You know, it really wouldn’t kill her to say ‘Jinto, you are the only one I can trust in a 100-light-year radius.’ Talk about a hard-ass,” he muttered to himself, breathing heavily as he crawled on his belly.
As he traversed the valley, he spotted a bridge — and a bridge meant there must be a trail. That much he had going for him, but there was no path nor any stairs to the bridge from the ravine.
When Jinto found purchase on the towering cliff and crawled his way up, he was already dog-tired. Clearly, he had overestimated his own stamina. He ought to have taken a break before heading out.
Being beside Lafier had distracted him from it, but now that he was operating alone, the exhaustion came walloping. Sure, he was raised in a terrestrial world, but one with extensive public transport. Spending days in the great outdoors wasn’t exactly a hobby of his, either. The stamina that he’d built up through playing minchiu could only take him so far.
Look how much I’m busting my ass. A word of thanks would be nice at some point.
He did realize, however, that since he had volunteered for this, he had no right to complain. Besides, this was necessary for his own continued survival as well.
But wait... was this necessary for his survival?
Wouldn’t it be, in fact, easier for him to simply abandon her? To go on living by himself?
A shudder ran down Jinto’s spine at the thought. He’d never seen himself as a man of unimpeachable virtue, but self-loathing naturally set in.
As long as he was entertaining these hideous thoughts, he might as well plunge the whole way. Selling Lafier to the enemy military and getting some coin for his troubles. That was an option.
Jinto cracked a grin.
A grin he knew didn’t suit him, even without a mirror.
The boy known as Jinto Lin was no saint, but he wasn’t quite that craven or devious, either. Neither a hero for all time, nor a moustache-twirling scoundrel.
He was like a comet on an extremely elliptical orbit: following a path chosen for him, always scorched by the light of the sun, and at times budged by the gravity of some nasty nearby planet. Yes, that was the life for him.
But enough of this pity party. He got to his feet.
Just as he’d expected, there lay the road, the whole surface of which was shining softly. At first the light looked faint, but upon stepping onto the road, it was bright enough.
&
nbsp; Jinto began trekking toward Lune Beega.
The time it took Clasbule to make a single rotation technically lasted 33.121 standard hours (so Jinto had actually slept for around 15 hours). The planet’s residents divided those into 32 hours. Daily life, however, was measured in 24-hour periods. The most basic math would clue one in on the 8-hour difference between those two standards. It caused Clasbulians to set the start of their days as either midnight or noon.
Headaches were inevitable, but the alternative was allowing the populace’s biological clocks to go out of whack by 9 hours at a time.
Disassociating internal biological clocks from the planet’s actual rotation period boasted an additional upside, as it mitigated the need to establish time zones. The sheer amount this benefited the planetary information superhighway could not be overstated.
The day had broken now, but according to the biological clock, it was nearly noon. He’d probably arrive at the city at around 1 in the afternoon — the perfect hour for some shopping.
Guess rushing to get here wasn’t totally dumb after all, Jinto thought, patting himself on the back ever so slightly.
After tuning the compuwatch to the local feed, he stashed it into his jumpsuit’s pocket. He kept his ears open along the way to absorb the Clasbulian tongue with which he needed to familiarize himself.
As he was picking up words here and there, Jinto’s mood grew rotten.
It was the enemy. They were broadcasting the rationale behind their invasion of the Sfagnoff Marquessate.
They were claiming that the Imperial Star Forces started this war themselves. They were saying that a Star Forces warship — which could only mean the Goslauth — attacked the United Humankind unprovoked while the UH was exploring the flat space near a newly opened gate.
That, as retribution against that heinous act, and in order to seek the safety of the new gate, they had to “secure” the Sfagnoff Marquessate through “protective occupation.”
“What a joke!” Having been on the patrol ship Goslauth when it happened, Jinto knew it was all lies. That fleet was far too large to be engaged in exploration, and even worse, it had been the UH who had started the war by sending out small high-speed spacecraft.
Sadly, no one here would be receptive to the truth.
Jinto changed frequency, hoping to happen on something apolitical. Yet every channel was taken over by the enemy’s broadsides. No trace remained of the kind of entertainment he’d been able to view the prior evening. The enemy must have consolidated their grip in the intervening hours.
One broadcaster aired a lecture on the concepts of democracy and liberty. Another featured the middle-aged woman from before, still singing the UH’s praises while exposing the Humankind Empire of Abh’s twisted deeds.
How were the residents of the planet taking all of this? He definitely knew how they were taking it on Martinh. They must be backing this latest conqueror — or as they’d see it, friend and ally — with considerable zeal.
But what about here? To state that a world the Abh built up to begin with was “under the thumb of the Abh” was to overgeneralize.
That said, Jinto didn’t know anything about Clasbule apart from what he’d read in an encyclopedia article. He needed to know more before he could make up his mind as to whether or not that sweeping statement held true for this planet. It was also eminently possible that a populace that had been submissive to the Empire’s reign would also submit to a new ruler.
He hoped that at the very least the people would be wholly indifferent. If the men and women of Clasbule joined the enemy soldiers in running wild on the hunt for Abhs, then his chances of remaining safe, but especially Lafier’s, would nosedive.
Maybe staying in the fields would be wiser after all. Jinto could go into the city to procure the necessary food and everyday supplies by himself. But he would leave that decision for after he’d inspected the situation in town.
Jinto passed by a number of üsiac (hovercars) but didn’t come across any other pedestrians.
At last, Lune Beega’s structures stood before his very eyes.
Jinto reached a hand into the pocket and turned off his compuwatch. He was now confident he could follow the language.
Speaking was another matter entirely. He had no confidence he could convincingly imitate a Clasbulian accent.
I know. I’ll pretend to be a newly-arrived immigrant. He’d done it before on Delktu, and there was no reason he couldn’t pull it off here.
The fields gave way to the ring-road encircling the city.
There they were. The people strolling through town.
Jinto walked past a group of co-eds. One of their number cast him a suspicious look.
Was it his clothes? Upon giving the attire of the people around him a look, Jinto could see why he might stand out.
First of all, there were the colors he was wearing. While the locals apparently preferred primary colors to a garish extent in their garb, Jinto’s getup was a solid dark rouge. Perhaps that gave Clasbulians cause to view him as a shabby, seedy sort. In this world of the flashy, his unassuming hues were actually pushing the spotlight on him. On top of that, Jinto had carelessly forgotten about how thoroughly disheveled he looked.
Damn, are we screwed?
Did Clasbule have police? What was he saying — of course they did.
They wouldn’t take me into custody over this, though, would they?
Jinto trod to the city’s center, fretting all the while. He had to focus on pawning off the sash clip for some clothes and other essentials.
Thankfully, he had discovered something with regard to people’s general look that would serve them. It seemed dyed hair was the norm. Coiffs of gold and vermillion abounded, and eye-catching shades at that. He even caught some blue and green hair. Now he didn’t have to worry about Lafier’s bluish-black hair.
As for the city itself, it wasn’t a metropolis by any means. The tall skyline he’d been able to make out from afar constituted the entirety of Lune Beega, not just the center as he’d assumed.
Cities on Delktu were, by-and-large, sprawling, endless seas of short buildings. Here, on the other hand, it seemed commonplace to house many families in single structures, many of which were cylindrical in shape. Streetlights stretched laterally from the outer walls, their lamps illuminating the ground below. That light, coupled with the gleam of the windows, made the towers reminiscent of ornament-strewn trees on some festive occasion. Perhaps they really were modeled after those arboreal decorations.
Through the spacious gaps between buildings ran luminous roadways. The passages possessed wider sections along their lengths. The hovercars parked off to the sides of those wider sections intimated their purpose. Hoverways snaked from those parking spots, curving around any buildings they happened to encounter. Grass blanketed the outsides of the roads, which likely looked lovely when viewed in the sunlight.
In all of the towers, the first floor was a store of some kind.
As he sought a store that could help him, he weaved around the urban forest. He then crossed paths with a group of men in green-brown uniforms. Their dress wasn’t a one-piece, and as such clearly differed from that of the locals. Moreover, they were toting what could only be weapons.
Enemy troops! Instinctively, instantly, Jinto hung his head.
The soldiers failed to notice Jinto’s dubious behavior and continued on their way, chatting loudly.
Jinto sighed with relief. When he looked up, what met his eyes was a sign.
“HIGH... CLASS... PERSONAL... DECORATION... GOODS... DECORATE... ROOM” — so read this establishment’s advertisement. Dealers of luxury accessories and interior decoration, if he was right.
Jinto peered into the display window. It was packed with nouveau riche ornaments and accessories, like earrings and necklaces, that Clasbulians seemed to favor.
On Delktu, stores like these also purchased off of customers. But that was a different planet, with different rules. There was great
diversity among the terrestrial worlds of the Empire.
Jinto mustered his courage and stepped inside.
“Welcome.” A man with a jumpsuit of, by Clasbulian standards, understated pink and yellow, and a thin black scarf wrapped around his collar and tied in a stylish knot, greeted Jinto from behind the counter.
“Excuse me...” Jinto’s lips were dry from the strain, so he licked them. “There’s something I’d like you to buy.”
“Certainly,” he beamed. “Do you have the item on your person?”
“Yeah,” Jinto nodded, placing the sash clip on the counter.
“Hoo-wee, this one’s a beaut.” He took it in hand and scrutinized it. His probing eyes also found their way to the expression on Jinto’s face. The man flashed him another smile, a sly one.
“It, it is, right?” Jinto’s heart threatened to fly right out of his mouth.
“How much would you take to part with this, good sir?” he asked, returning the clip.
“Uhh...”
Well, shoot. Not only was he unaccustomed to haggling, he didn’t know the baseline market prices of precious metals. The plan he’d come up with while on the hunt for the store had been: have the storeowner set a price, counter by doubling that price, and then negotiate a middle ground. Yet he’d been beaten to the punch.
“Hmmm...” Jinto looked around at the wares on display in search of reference, but they lacked price tags.
He had no choice. Though it might leave him with egg on his face, he had to take actual market value out of the equation and resort to asking for the amount of money he needed. If only he had 100 scarh on hand, he could shop for enough to tide them over for a month.
That was when he once again realized his mistake. He had no idea how much of the local currency 1 scarh went for. He didn’t even know what the currency here was. If he’d thought to look it up beforehand, he could have easily done so using his compuwatch, and now he was kicking himself. Naturally, he could hardly whip out his compuwatch at the moment.
A War Most Modest (JNC Edition) Page 11