“That won’t be necessary.” The gears in Neleth’s head were whirring. “Maybe we don’t need to dip all the way down to the bottom of the atmosphere. Perhaps we could collect the moisture in the air...”
“We don’t have the equipment for that onboard,” the officer replied.
“With a little bit of time, I could try making one with the materials we have on hand, but it’s doubtful we could wangle it before the battle breaks out,” said the engine officer.
“A bit of time being how much time, exactly?”
“Around a year.”
“Okay, okay, fine, we’ll make do with what we have,” said Neleth, resigning himself to the fact that pillaging was not an option.
Meanwhile, Nefeh bit his lip. “This must be one of the reasons why the Star Forces don’t typically pillage for resources.”
“It’s a crying shame,” said Neleth as he stared at the live feed of the blue orb ruefully. “To think we aren’t able to lay claim to what’s right before our eyes.”
“That should hardly be a new experience to you, Neleth,” chuckled Nefeh.
“You’re one to talk, Nefeh.”
“True. Since one never knows whether you’ll try regardless. Now then, let’s resume the strategy meeting — the proper strategy meeting.”
“Of course.” I won’t forget that slight, Nefeh, he stewed as he sat back down.
“I will now present my battle strategy. I’m open to hearing your opinions.”
Then he pulled up the deployment diagram he had made in advance. A Hologram of Aptic III appeared above the strategy room table. Orbiting the planet was the phosphorescent sphere that was the Aptic Portal, which was encased in a spherical shell composed of red points of light.
“These are mobile space-time mines. We’ll be taking some from battle-line ships to lay out in advance. Of course, the resupply mines stocked by the supply ships will be taken as well.”
Then orange points of light began concealing the spherical shell. “These are assault ships and defense ships. Even further out, we’ll have...”
Yellow points of light appeared in scattered spots. While the red and orange lights were so numerous and densely concentrated as to completely hide the portal, the yellow lights, by contrast, were individually discernable, and didn’t hide the layers of red and orange. “These are our patrol ships. This is the distribution planned out by the flagship.”
The points closest to the planet among the yellow lights flickered. Then, purple lights emerged above the yellow layer, even more sparsely scattered than the patrol ships. “These are the battle-line ships.”
“This is quite the solid deployment plan, for you,” said Neleth in astonishment. “It might even reach the level of average.”
“Thank you,” smiled Neleth. “Now I will explain the strategy’s sequence of events.”
Ninety percent of the lights cleared off the diagram. The mine layer was now completely concealed by the assault ships layer. Aptic Portal’s surface twinkled in the spaces between the four overlapping spherical shells. Then, the red lights got sucked into the portal.
“Right before the enemy passes through into 3-space, we will send the mines into planar space.”
Afterward, the outermost layer, the purple dots, broke their spherical formation and began moving toward the opposite side of the planet Aptic. However, they soon stopped in their tracks, to return to their previous positions.
“After they will have managed the flow of the mines, I originally considered having the battle-line ships retreat, since they would have already unloaded, but if we’re short on propellant, that’s a luxury we can’t afford. The battle-line ships will remain in place, so let’s have them play the role of propellant resupply ships.”
A thin red line extended from the orange and yellow like a thread toward Aptic Portal. “Next, it’s the patrol ships and assault ships’ cue. We’ll be having them attack the enemy while their vanguard’s peeking out of the portal. They are to prevent them from entering into a full-scale 3-space invasion. And that is my strategy. I believe it to be the most logical, with the least occurrence of friendly fire. We must hold out for at most 72 hours, until the main force arrives.”
Having finished, Neleth looked around at the officers’ faces. “Any objections?”
“I don’t think so,” said Nefeh. “A truly average strategy. It’ll probably go well enough.”
“It’s an amazing plan,” lauded the Engine Staff Officer. “So un-Biboth!”
Both twins glared at the engine officer.
It was Nefeh who let the staff officers go. He shifted his gaze to his brother and said: “We’ll work out the details. You do us a favor and go do Commander-in-Chief things.”
“Oh, would I be getting in the way?” Neleth scowled.
“Yep,” Nefeh nodded. “You’ve come up with a pretty prudent plan, so we need you to attend to your office work before you dash it all with some cockamamie idea.”
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you.” Neleth glanced at the adjutant waiting by the door. “But you have a point. How did I become a commander to begin with? It’s positively woeful,” he continued, stroking his command baton.
“You’re not suited to be a staff officer, Neleth.”
“Neither are you, Nefeh. Though we differ in that you’re just as unsuited to be a commander as you are to be a staff officer.” Neleth stood up before continuing. “You’re correct; I am fulfilling my duties as a commanding officer. Now, I’ll say it once, and I’ll say it again: Don’t mess up my plan.”
But Nefeh wasn’t listening. He was already focusing hard on the task of drawing up a rough timetable in order to be able to decide on all of the particulars alongside his subordinates.
Subsequently, Neleth left the strategy room with his adjutant, but not without feeling a strange sense of alienation.
The five ships of Assault Squadron 1058’s Assault Unit 1 were now connected by link-pipes; there were six in a radial pattern, with one in excess. The one originally meant for the Luzrogrh, which had fallen in the battle.
Lafier leapt from the Basrogrh’s air lock room through a link-pipe, flying across its interior thanks to a practiced, elegant motion only a race that lived among the stars could pull off. The wind whooshed past her ears, her bluish-black hair trailing behind.
When the section where the link-tubes were joined drew near enough, she changed her orientation in midair in a single movement, and canceled her speed by putting her hands to the distorted walls.
The tube-joint section was hexagonal in shape. There, she encountered the Captain of the Cidrogrh, Deca-Commander Béïcarh. “Hey there, Your Highness,” he greeted her light-heartedly.
Lafier saluted. “I am just a Deca-Commander. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from addressing me as ‘Fïac.’”
“Don’t sweat that stuff. It’s not often gentry like me get to speak on equal terms with Your Highness, you know.”
“Then do as you will.”
Unlike Jint whenever he was called a “Lonh-Dreur,” Lafier never felt uncomfortable hearing herself addressed as “Fïac.” After all, that was what she’d been called since birth. That being said, whenever she was called “Fïac” by colleagues, she got the sense they didn’t recognize her as having come into her own as a person.
“Hate to say it, but we didn’t really show you our best back there, huh?” said Béïcarh.
“You were merely unlucky,” she said, figuring that he was referring to that time during the attack on the patrol ship when they space-time fused with a mine and dropped out of their column. “And seeing as your ship hasn’t been destroyed, there ought to be no one who’d doubt your skills as a soldier.”
“Well, guess I can’t argue with that,” he replied, scratching his azure head of hair. “Though if I get ‘unlucky’ more than once, then my skills will be in doubt. Just gotta be extra careful next time.”
“I believe we’ll be late if we don’t make haste,” Lafier
said, urging him to come with. Then she jumped through the link-pipe connecting to the lead assault ship, the Gamrogrh.
“Whoa nelly,” said Béïcarh, looking moved, “I just got invited by a royal princess of the Empire to accompany her. That won’t happen again for as long as I live, I’m sure of it.”
They arrived at the air lock room of the Gamrogrh in no time, with Béïcarh lagging seconds behind.
Lafier wasn’t entirely thrilled being next to him, but she couldn’t help how it had played out, and so they walked down the Gamrogrh’s passageway side-by-side. The time had come for the Assault Unit 1 Captains’ Meeting.
Of course, in such a large-scale battle between fleets, there was no need for any in-depth review. They were an assault unit, and units were the lowest-level formations there were in the Star Forces. Moreover, since they’d be waging the upcoming battle in 3-space, there was nothing preventing them from maintaining constant contact with each other even as they engaged in combat.
Indeed, this “Captains’ Meeting,” such as it was, was largely a formality, a Star Forces convention of sorts. And the so-called “lead assault ship” was no larger than the others, differing only in that it carried the Captain-cum-Unit Commander Hecto-Commander, as well as a staff officer and an adjutant.
Given the ship’s ordinary size, there wasn’t the space for a dedicated meeting room. Instead, the captains convened in the Starpilot Mess Hall. Lafier entered through the mess hall door, only to find the other two already there. After a moment’s waiting, Atosryua entered with her military-issue one-winged circlet equipped, and her staff officer and adjutant in tow.
The captains stood up and saluted. Atosryua saluted back, and took a seat. She waited for her subordinates to be seated before speaking.
“There won’t be any resupply,” she said without preamble. “Not that we couldn’t see that coming, of course. Looks like we’ll have to learn to be happy fighting with the numbers we have.”
That meant the ship that would be coming to replace the one they lost in the previous engagement wouldn’t make it in time for the next one.
Holograms of Aptic III and the Aptic Portal floated above the mess table.
“I’ll be stationed here.” A luminous dot appeared on the side of the Aptic Portal opposite the planet. “The mission we’ve been given is straightforward. Strike down all enemy ships that come in our sights. That is all.”
“That’s straightforward all right,” spoke Béïcarh. “But for how long will we have to keep that up? It’s not like we can afford to bop enemy ships as they peek out of the portal forever.”
“Seventy-two hours at most,” answered Atosryua. “Or so the Glagamh Raicporér (Defensive Fleet Command Center) tells me. I can’t guarantee you anything, but all we can do for now is believe. And don’t ask me any more beyond that; I’m nothing more than an Assault Unit Commander.”
“I see,” he said, saying no more. His expression was less than pleased.
What’s the point of asking? thought Lafier. Even if higher-level command predicted wrong, there was little use griping about it after the fact.
“Any other questions?” asked Atosryua, her head slightly to one side. She and Lafier’s lines of sight met. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she thought she saw Atosryua’s eyes soften.
“Very well. Note that if we allow them to exit the portal, we lose. But we should focus all of our efforts on carrying out our respective assignments. There’s nothing to be gained by sparing any thought to the zones assigned to other units. And while that’s easier on us, it’s also worrying in its own way. Some among you will rise in the ranks and command large fleets, but when that happens, I want you to remember this feeling.”
“How about you Hecto-Commander,” Lafier found herself asking. “Do you wish to take command of a large fleet?”
“Who, me?” Atosryua’s lips curled into a grin. “I’ll pass on that, Deca-Commander. I have enough obligations as it is with my shabby little domain, so I’m hardly dying to command more and bigger ships on top of that. You could say the difference between nobles and Imperials is that I can be selfish in this regard. Oh, and another difference: for Imperials, their star-fiefs stand as diversions in their eyes, whereas for us nobles, they take over our lives.”
Were those words aimed specifically at me? Lafier wondered.
“Now then, if you would,” said Atosryua, signaling to her adjutant.
Carefully, the adjutant took a bottle from the decorative shelf installed on the wall. The sweet-and-sour fragrance of apple cider wafted their way. Pouring her own cup last, Atosryua lifted it up, and the Captains did likewise.
“I left half of the bottle’s contents unpoured,” she said, eyes on the bottle atop the table. “Let’s drink the other half after the battle. If we five don’t assemble here again, it won’t go empty. Let’s toast to the bottle that we’ll be unburdening.”
Lafier didn’t particularly like apple cider, but she drank her portion all at once.
“Now, I know you’re all busy in one way or another. This ends the ceremony. You’re free to go!”
Alone in the Basrogrh’s Starpilot Mess Hall, Samson was nursing a distilled liquor made from corn. He was all for that rustic flavor.
One of the mess hall’s walls was showing video of the outside. Countless ships on a starry backdrop. Actually, there was no way to tell whether or not a handful of those “stars” were actually faraway ships themselves. It was a magnificent vista, but he was already tired of it.
“Drinking, I see,” he heard Sobash say.
“Hello there, Senior Starpilot,” he replied, raising his head and his cup. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be getting another chance for a while, so here I am, knocking one back while I can.”
“It’s a bad habit,” said Sobash, who took a seat facing him. “Can I have some?”
“You just said it’s a bad habit...” said Samson, surprised.
“Yes, what of it?” he replied with a puzzled air. “I’m fond of bad habits.”
“Oh, I like you,” Samson laughed throatily, pouring the Senior Starpilot a cup.
“Thanks.” Sobash had himself a sip.
“Is it true that Abhs-by-birth don’t get drunk?”
“We can get tipsy,” said Sobash. “But no drunken stupors, no. It’s in our genes. Though if someone were to inject alcohol directly into one’s veins, that would be a different story... Come to think of it, they might die of acute toxicosis before they experienced drunkenness. In any case, we can’t get ‘blackout-drunk’ imbibing orally.”
“To genetic engineering!” Samson raised his cup once again. “But if you ask me, that’s a curse more than anything else. There must be times when you want to forget it all.”
“During times like that, we ought only to take sleeping pills and doze.”
“How health-conscious.”
“We Abhs are a race hale of mind and body.”
“Though it seems like half of humanity doesn’t really agree with you there.”
“We can’t be meeting everyone’s highest expectations all the time.”
“Abhs caring what others expect of them? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”
“Yes. In truth, I haven’t heard of such a thing, either,” Sobash admitted. “But I can’t declare that it’s never happened. Never mind that; you’re oddly argumentative today.”
“You haven’t seen me drunk before, Senior Starpilot.”
“Even though I have a feeling this is not a rare state for you?”
“Usually I’m just drinking. I’m not drunk.”
“I see,” said Sobash, in all seriousness. “So at the moment, you are drunk.”
“I’m up to my second bottle,” said Samson, picking up the bottle with a third of its contents remaining for Sobash to see.
“Do you always drink that much?”
“No, I treat myself like this once a year. Usually I stop at the ‘tipsy’ mark.”
“Is today
a special day for you?”
“Soon we’ll have to deal with enemy ships in ten times our numbers. I think it’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”
“That is true,” Sobash concurred. “If it weren’t so rare, that lifetime wouldn’t be terribly long.”
“You’ve got that right.”
Sobash polished off his cup in next to no time, and he pushed it forward for a refill without a hint of reservation. Samson poured him another glass, parting with the booze with some regret.
“When the battle’s over, I’ll get you whatever brand you like,” Sobash smiled, his expression finally reflecting his mood.
“Much obliged. And since I’ve heard you’ve got money to spare, I won’t hold back.”
“I think the rumors of my wealth are exaggerated. But you won’t need to hold back.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ll keep that bottle as a personal treasure. I’ll search for a bottle that’ll put the fortune you’ve amassed into decline, Senior Starpilot.”
“Will you now,” he stated with all the leeway in the world, downing the glass as soon as it was poured. “I too look forward to that.”
“I’ve never felt happier pouring somebody else my hard-earned booze,” said Samson cheerily, filling both of their cups anew. “Not to change the subject, but what do you think of our Captain, Senior Starpilot?”
“What do you mean?” Sobash raised an eyebrow.
“Oops, almost forgot Abhs don’t get drunk.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re drunk, or if it won’t be leaving this room, you won’t be getting any secrets leaking out of these lips.”
“Then please keep this a secret, too: I don’t feel entirely at ease with a 19-year-old Captain at the helm.”
“Is it her age you take issue with? I don’t think she’s too young to captain an assault ship. After all, what an Assault Ship Captain needs the most is great reflexes. If you ask me, I often think it might be best to leave complicated matters such as planar space navigation to the staff and recruit children as assault ship captains. Of course, bringing children to warzones isn’t exactly the height of sound ethics.”
The Ties that Bind Page 11