The Ties that Bind

by Hiroyuki Morioka

  “What did the Premier suggest as derogatory terms for land peoples, again?” she asked.

  “‘Land swine’ and ‘mud turtles.’”

  “‘Land swine’ and ‘mud turtles’...” Eyes downcast, she folded her arms. A smile curled her lips. “How quaint. But they do have something of a refreshing quality, oddly enough.”

  Please don’t take to those words, longed Cfadiss.

  Just like the majority of Abhs, Cfadiss was areligious, but during times like these, he very much wished for there to be a divinity to pray to.

  Chapter 2: The Assault Ship Basrogrh

  The Captain of the assault ship Basrogrh, Deca-Commander Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Lamhirh, Viscountess of Parhynh, closed her eyes, and focused her frocragh spatiosensory perception.

  Right now, the Basrogrh, alone in its space-time bubble, was dashing headlong for the attack.

  “Ten seconds to space-time fusion. Eight... Seven... Six...” resounded the voice of Senior Vanguard Starpilot Sobach.

  Presently, the Basrogrh’s space-time was still featureless. Then, a point on the space-time bubble’s surface began seething intensely. That was the sign space-time fusion had commenced.

  Lafier budged her left hand, which was encased in the control gauntlet. In response, the Basrogrh’s main engine system roared to max output.

  The ship’s acceleration was coupled with rotation on the space-time bubble’s part.

  “...Three... Two... One... fusion,” stated Sobash calmly.

  Lafier could perceive the giant hole that had now opened on the bubble. Beyond it lay the enemy assault ship.

  It’s approaching! Lafier revved up the attitude control systems and caused the ship to skid sideways.

  Until a little while back, torrents of antiprotons had been streaking through the space in which the Basrogrh existed. They had lightly grazed the assault ship, but its magnetic shield deflected them.

  Lafier fired her own antiproton cannons, but didn’t actually expect any of the beams to strike true. But while they didn’t connect, they did serve their purpose as a diversion.

  The enemy maneuvered to the bottom-right to avoid them. Seizing on that opening the Basrogrh slipped down to its flank.

  “Fire the laser cannons at full power!” ordered Lafier.

  Linewing Starpilot Aicryac, who, as the Roïalm Lodaïrh (Deputy Starpilot), was filling in the roles of both communications officer and gunner, worked the mobile multi-turret laser cannons and launched the offensive.

  Needless to say, their target fired right back at them, yet the mobile laser cannons of assault ships were generally powerless to destroy other vessels.

  Lafier had the ship shift position, pointing the warship’s bow at the enemy’s flank; she would consign it to oblivion with one blow of her antiproton cannons.

  The enemy, however, proved swifter still, for while the ship was still undergoing attitude control, another antiproton torrent blasted diagonally from in front.

  Lafier tried her best to swerve, to dodge, but there was no time.

  “Antiproton cannons destroyed,” reported the ship’s inspector supervisor, Faictodaïc Scœmr (Mechanics Linewing Starpilot) Samson. “Engine output down. 0.9... point eight... point seven, and falling! The magnetic shield generators have lost function.”

  “Air’s leaking from Compartment 7; atmospheric pressure at 0.63 and dropping. No response from crew; will close bulkhead immediately,” said the ship’s clerk, Faictodaïc Sazoir (Quartermaster Linewing Starpilot) Lynn. “Bulkhead closure complete. Compartment 7 has been disposed of. Commencing pressurization of adjacent compartments.”

  Lafier bit her lip. Now that her principal weapon, the antiproton cannons, had been taken offline, she was at the end of her tether. At this rate, all she could do was witness in vain as the enemy reared to land the finishing strike.

  “Split away from this space-time!” Lafier took the only option left to her.

  “Hurry!”

  “We can’t. We won’t make it,” said Sobash.

  She unconsciously clenched her fist, but the control gauntlet wasn’t reacting.

  And together with the impact of the final blow, the lights illuminating the bridge suddenly surrendered to dark gloom.

  “Ship has fallen. Ship has fallen...” a machine voice apprised them coldly.

  “Was something the matter?” asked Lafier, as calmly as she could muster.

  “As of now, no, no anomalies,” replied Samson, who stood in charge of all the ship’s equipment. “I’ll keep checking.”

  “I see. Carry on then,” said Lafier, tepidly.

  “Captain, we have a transmission,” said Ecryua.

  “Put it through,” she said, then got on her feet.

  A hologram of a male starpilot with bluish purple hair appeared before her. “My, my, Deca-Commander Abliar,” he said.

  His name was Hecto-Commander Cotcœrh, a labésiac (evaluator) belonging to the training fleet. The Basrogrh had traveled here to Vobayrneh Astrobase from Lacmhacarh for its familiarization voyage. This mock battle was to be the voyage’s closing exercise.

  No real antiproton cannons were employed, of course. Feeble lasers were all they’d been trading.

  The Abh’s confidence in their shipbuilding was absolute. Regardless, interstellar ships were each an assemblance of sensitive and delicate technologies, and that went doubly for ships of war. Defective ships were bound to come off the block every now and again. It was, in fact, one of the aims of a familiarization voyage to discover defects as early as possible, so that they could be fixed if feasible. That was part of the reason the last stage of such a voyage was a combat simulation.

  The other aim of the mock battle was to eliminate any would-be captains who were deemed incompetent. The militaries of every interstellar power apart from the Empire had compucrystals do all of the piloting, but the Abh were a race born expressly to fly ships through space, and had no desire to leave the elaborate and involved maneuvering necessary in war to the whims of machines.

  When it came to assault ships, the Captain piloted the ship themselves, as well as wielding their main arms, the antiproton cannons. The lives of all the crew were in the palm of the Captain’s control gauntlet.

  It made more than a little sense, then, for whichever Captains were judged to be strikingly unskilled during the mock battle to be reshuffled elsewhere. And while for an Abh it was exceedingly humiliating to be viewed as bad at piloting, it was hardly the end of the world if one couldn’t be a Manoüass gairr (assault ship Captain); there was plenty of work for crew starpilots.

  Of course, many an exam was implemented to test aspirants’ qualifications to be Captain even before the battle simulation. However, the Abh tended to be strangely oversensitive regarding ship safety.

  So, for the task of judging each Captain’s innate qualities, the training fleet employed evaluators, all of whom were starpilots with plenty of experience that newbie Captains could scarcely rival.

  All that said, Lafier was not amused by the fact that her ship had gotten decimated in a blink.

  “It’s clear to me you have a strong inclination toward fighting gracefully, with poetry. And if fortune’s on your side, you might even survive. Let’s just say I wish you and your subordinates the best of luck.” The Hecto-Commander’s salute was slightly off, but then he disappeared.

  Lafier stared blankly in the Hecto-Commander’s wake.

  “Captain?” said Sobash.

  “I’m leaving the rest to you,” said Lafier. “I... wish to rest a while.”

  Meanwhile, Linn Ssynec Raucr Dreur Haïder Ghintec watched from behind as Lafier slunk out with uncharacteristically visible disappointment. Yeesh, that must have stung.

  Curiously, despite the Basrogrh not having ever engaged in battle, it had amassed some notoriety. The root of the rumors lay in the two noble manors aboard ship.

  The first was the captain’s quarters, the Garich Bœrr Parhynr (Viscountess of Parhynh’s Mano
r), and the second, Jint’s own Garich Dreur Haïder (Count of Hyde’s Manor).

  For Lafier, who was a member of the Imperial Family, she had a large amount of space reserved for her immediate family in the imperial capital of Lacmhacarh, in the form of the Royal Palace of Clybh.

  In the Countdom of Hyde’s case, however, there was no manor in either the capital or the territory-nation itself. The highly cramped starpilot quarters arranged for him here on this assault ship was Jint’s one and only place to dwell.

  When he snapped to, he noticed all the crew on the bridge was staring right at him. Was it just his imagination, or were those eyes expecting something out of him?

  There were, of course, only three pairs of eyes on him, because here “all the crew” meant three people.

  Jint turned to look at Vanguard Sobash first. As an Abh, he didn’t age outwardly, so while he still looked like he was in his twenties at most, he was actually already over fifty. As for why he was still only a vanguard starpilot at this age, it was because he’d long been taking part in commerce and trade. According to the grapevine, his wealth was considerable.

  Next, Jint glanced at Linewing Ecryua, the young woman with the soft-looking sky-blue hair. She was only a year or two older than Jint, but his Lander brain pegged her as being not a day over her mid-teens, judging by her appearance. Yet her demeanor was so serene and mild that he could sense she was older, too.

  Lastly, he looked at Mechanics Linewing Samson. As could be gleaned from the un-Abh name, he was not an Abh by birth. He hailed from a certain landworld, and nearly 40 years had passed since he’d worked his way up from NCC non-commissioned crew rank.

  Jint returned his gaze to Sobash, and smiled weakly. “So, uh, what’s the deal?”

  He heard a tremendous sigh. Samson’s sigh. “Senior Starpilot, may I take it upon myself to tell this laddie what his role is?”

  “Please do,” said Sobash, smiling gently. “As this ship’s Next-in-Command, I could order you to, but I’d rather not force such a perilous mission on anyone.”

  “Roger that.” Samson put an arm around Jint’s shoulders. “Now then, Quartermaster Starpilot...”

  “What is it?”

  “Today’s mock battle has dealt our Captain’s self-esteem a terrible wound. I imagine you understand that much.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re feeling worried for the Captain’s skills in battle?” Jint attempted to explain it all away for her, for her sake. “Hecto-Commander Cotcœrh is an absolute veteran, whereas the Captain’s only just received this ship...”

  “I know that, Lonh-Dreur,” Samson interrupted.

  “Please don’t call me by that title,” Jint objected. Before he could even get used to “Ïarlucec Dreur,” he’d suddenly risen in rank, and he had yet to shake how off-putting that was.

  “Okay, I’ll call you Quartermaster Starpilot Lynn, then. In any case, I can assure you we haven’t the slightest misgiving about fighting under the Captain’s command. On the other hand, it’s not as though we think we’re 100% safe under Deca-Commander Abliar’s wing, either. Our circumstances wouldn’t much change under any other Captain; all we know is that our Captain’s skills aren’t on the lower end of the spectrum. Or maybe, that’s just what we’d like to believe. You get what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  “I do,” nodded Jint.

  “Then you’ll understand why we’d like for the Captain to be feeling better about herself during battle, even if we can only raise her spirits so much. The better she feels, the higher percent chance we make it out of combat alive, I feel. I don’t see her as the type to be succumbing to overconfidence, so I doubt it’ll backfire on us.”

  “So you believe that if the Captain is under the weather, we’re all in danger?”

  “‘Danger’ is a strong word,” said Samson, shaking his head no. “I’m thinking of it as our survival rates going down a tiny percent, that’s all. Still, that’s a number we’re staking our lives on. Isn’t it natural for anybody to want to raise their chances of living to see another day, even if only a little?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s where you come in.”

  “Where I come in?” Jint feigned surprise. “What can I do?”

  “Are you really going to make me say it?”

  “You’re not going to ask me to lift her spirits, are you?” Despite himself, his apprehension seeped into his tone of voice.

  “It’d be fantastic if you could, yes.”

  “But I don’t have that kind of confidence myself!”

  “Well, we’re not expecting you to work any miracles. Just talk to her. Why don’t you listen to her mope? You know, lend an ear?”

  “Listen to her ‘mope’?” Jint winced at the bizarre image of Lafier being so whiny.

  “Hmm. Knowing the Captain, she might not be one to air idle complaints. At the end of the day, she is an Abliar,” Samson admitted. “But it’d still be a good idea to be there to talk to her. Especially when she’s feeling down.”

  “But why...” now, he’d almost let slip, “...me?”

  In reality, he was confident he was the only one onboard that could speak to her in a friendly, relaxed way. Yet he was also hesitant to make it too clear that his bond with Lafier extended beyond their superior-subordinate relationship.

  “You’re going to make me explain that, too?” The corners of Samson’s mouth curled subtly.

  “Tell me, young man, if you ever found the Captain in a foul mood, what would you do?”

  “I’d try to console her somehow,” said Jint.

  “And what would you do, Senior Starpilot?”

  “I’d come up with some urgent errand,” he replied immediately. Then, after a slight pause: “An errand far, far away from her.”

  “See, that’s what any rational person would do. But here you are, saying you’d try consoling her.”

  “Ah... uh...”

  To tell the truth, Jint just didn’t want to. When she was irritable, Lafier was not the most pleasant of conversationalists, not even to him. She’d just think of it as a failure of Jint’s to mind his own business.

  “You’re just imagining things,” said Jint, no longer dancing around what he actually believed. “I mean, the Captain can tend to herself, and if she caught wind that her subordinates were going out of their way to be nice to her, she’d get upset.”

  “Sure, but if you ask me, a wrath-crazed Abliar feels more natural than a dejected Abliar.”

  “That is true,” he concurred, but in his next breath he tried to make the idea sound like a doomed prospect. “Only, when it’s you standing in the firing line of her wrath, I don’t think what does or doesn’t feel natural is really your biggest concern.”

  “Good point...” Samson stopped to think.

  “At any rate, if the Captain ever feels as though she’s been treated with kid gloves this whole time, she’ll get a little temperamental,” Jint added. “I have no idea what’d happen if she got the impression we were ‘watching over her,’ or what have you.”

  “Hmm, well, you certainly know what the Captain’s like the best out of any of us. None of us have been on any adventures with her, or received any cats from her. And none of us are here because we were selected by her, either. Most importantly, we’d never be able to drop her titles when addressing her...”

  “You knew!?” he shouted, inadvertently. He’d planned to never act overtly familiar with Lafier in front of their fellow officers.

  It was Samson’s turn to be startled. “You never noticed? I’ve overheard you call her by her given name too many times to count. And the Captain didn’t seem to mind at all; it came across as natural as can be.”

  “I overheard you call her by her given name three times,” said Ecryua.

  Jint’s face turned red. He thought he’d been careful, but he supposed his attentiveness must have slackened at times.

  “Don’t fret, Linewing. We won’t be turning sour over the friendship you’ve fo
stered with the Captain. As long as you keep doing your job, we won’t give any trouble out of some kind of petty jealousy.”

  “I mean, that’s not something I was worrying would happen...”

  “Then just go to the Captain’s room already.”

  “All right...” Jint was almost convinced, but then: “Wait, please, hold on. I insist you’re getting the wrong idea here. First of all, I don’t have any ready-made pretext to initiate things. If I were to pay the captain’s quarters a visit now, she’d get suspicious. The Captain told us she’d be ‘resting,’ remember?”

  “You have all the pretext you need,” said Ecryua, pointing at the ship’s layout map.

  A set of glyphs was flashing over the captain’s quarters, as it was receiving the signal from the transmitter in the collar of Jint’s pet kitty.

  “Thanks a lot, Dyaho,” Jint intimated bitterly.

  Lafier stared absent-mindedly at the cat as it rolled around her desk. As she stroked its throat, its eyes narrowed with evident gratification.

  There’s nothing to be done; I lost and that’s that, Lafier told herself.

  If she had been able to defeat a practiced evaluator, that’d only spell a sorry state for the Star Forces.

  ...But it’s still discouraging.

  “Tell me, have you no troubles?” Lafier asked Dyaho.

  Naturally, Dyaho failed to reply. Although, she’d heard once that when a cat rubbed against the floor — or in this case, a desk — it was a sign it was feeling irritated. Poor Dyaho was probably lacking enough prey to hunt.

  “Hey, can I come in, Lafier?” came Jint’s voice through the com. “I hear Dyaho’s in there, causing you grief.”

  Lafier wordlessly input the command for the door to open into her wristgear. When she looked behind her, Jint was standing there with a stiff smile.

  “Sup.” Jint lifted an awkward hand in greeting. He couldn’t have made it any clearer that he hadn’t just come to take the cat.

  “It’s nothing to get worried about,” said Lafier.

  “Worried?” Jint feigned surprise. “About what?” He was being so transparent that she couldn’t even get angry. “Well, if you’re not worried, then good.”