“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doubting her skills. It’s just... I’ve been working in the Star Forces for nearly twenty years now. And sometimes, I think how the Captain was just coming out of her artificial womb around when I entered the military.”
Sobash seemed dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, Linewing. I’m afraid I don’t understand your dilemma.”
“Ignore me. It’s just a drunk man’s drivel.” He was aware that he was slurring, but he couldn’t help it.
“I do have one concern. I doubt the Captain is the right person for the job.”
“Oh?” Samson’s line of sight lifted away from the table.
“To be frank, I’m rather disappointed. The Abliars are a clan of many a legend, yet the Captain I know is surprisingly calm and gentle.”
“Her? Calm and gentle?”
“Much more so than I was expecting. Maybe she herself feels out of place. She’s probably not suited toward a position where she has to take orders from above. She might shine in a role with more discretionary power, or working by herself.”
“‘Out of place,’ huh? Now that you mention it, that kid said something along those lines,” said Samson, recalling Jint. The young man was also baffled and bemused by his own status as a count. “If I can indulge in a little self-reflection, I might have to call what I’m feeling a sense of being ‘out of place,’ too. When I was an NCC, I was surrounded by landworlders of all ages and varieties. But now that I’m on the bridge, I’m surrounded by young Abhs. You’re older than I am, Senior Starpilot, but you look young as a punk — ahem, forgive my slip of the tongue. Anyway, when the only other landworlder on the bridge comes, not only is he young, but he’s a ‘Lonh-Dreur’ to boot. It’s got me outta sorts.”
Sobash looked on with a strange expression. It was then Samson realized he’d been speaking not in Baronh but in the language of his home. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. Just don’t expect me to have a reply for you.”
Samson laughed. “Right, right.” Not that he could pinpoint what was so funny.
Sobash’s voice resounded as though in a dream: “Linewing, if you’re going to fall asleep, I suggest you do so in your own quarters.”
“If I bring the cat to the bridge, Mr. Samson’s mood turns sour,” Jint told Ecryua, demurring in a roundabout way.
Ecryua was on duty on the bridge, but her mind was on Dyaho, as per usual. Jint didn’t particularly mind if Dyaho became Ecryua’s pet for all intents and purposes, but what he did mind was being at the end of Samson’s bellyaching.
“Why would that anger the Inspector Supervisor?” she asked as she rubbed the cat’s throat.
“Apparently cat fur gets into the precision instruments...”
“That’s a superstition,” said Ecryua, shooting that down in three words. “Human hair is just as bad. That’s why all of the machines here have countermeasures implemented.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but I think it’s a matter of esteem for Samson,” speculated Jint. “I think he feels the machines he’s responsible for are being treated more carelessly than necessary.”
“The supervisor’s esteem, and my pleasure,” she all but sang, “we all know which is more important.”
“Fine, I don’t mind, as long as you’re the one who’ll explain it to him — the reason why we’ve brought him to the bridge.”
“If he asks,” she answered tersely.
I’ll never get her to promise me more than that, Jint resigned himself.
“Gotta say, though, you really love cats.”
“I hate cats.”
“What!? Why?” Jint stared blankly.
“Back at my place, we have a lot of cats. But I’m the only human my parent raised. So I was bullied.”
“Bullied? By the cats?”
“Who else was there to bully me?”
“Then why so much affection for my cat?”
“Because it’s your cat,” she said, her head cocked slightly as she gazed at Jint interrogatively.
“Huh?”
“If I told you that, would that make you happy?”
“I guess,” Jint smiled wryly. This must be Ecryua’s sense of humor. At least, assuming that would be the safest course of action. “But I don’t get why you’d be so interested in me.”
“Because you’ll age,” she answered, much to his surprise.
“Say what now?”
“What’s it feel like to age?” Her eyes, which were typically devoid of emotion, now sparkled with innocent curiosity.
What a brutal question, thought Jint. He had a feeling he’d just been presented with an unforeseen facet of the Abhs. But then... On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. These entities known as the Abh can be startlingly insensitive from time to time.
“Couldn’t tell you. It’ll be a while yet before I’ve grown old.”
“I see.” If Ecryua was disappointed, he couldn’t tell through her expression. “Then I’ll ask the Inspector Supervisor.”
“I think you should think twice before asking him. Samson’s at that age between young and old,” said Jint, feeling duty-bound to keep her from making that mistake.
After spending around three hours in his personal microgravity-garten, Dusanh showed his face at the bridge, where the command personnel were working as busily as ever.
At the center of the bridge stood Chief of Staff Kenesh with her arms folded, watching over her subordinate staff officers.
“I’ve given it some thought,” he told her. He saw an unveiled wariness creep across her face. “It’s not about your checkered past with one of the Biboth brothers, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Excellent, that’s a relief. But then, what is it about?”
“Why don’t we try making Fleet 1 a little denser?”
“Fleet 1? You mean you want to concentrate the patrol ships closer together?”
“That’s right,” Dusanh nodded. The man had not spent his time in the microgravity-garten idly. He had been gazing at the fleet formation diagram, and pondering how many recon sub-fleets (which were patrol ship corps) could be extracted from each fleet. “I believe we can scrape together twelve more sub-fleets.”
“It would be thirteen sub-fleets at the most,” she corrected him instantly.
“Is there something I missed?” Dusanh shrugged. “That aside, I see you’ve already looked into it.”
“I wasn’t the one who looked into it. It was the officers under me.”
“Yes, of course. And I don’t doubt you’ve already weighed the pros and cons of this formation shake-up.”
“There are too many uncertain factors with regards to the enemy’s formations, tactics, et cetera, for us to weigh the pros and cons with any confidence. To put it simply, there’s no way to verify whether concentrating the patrol ships to the extreme is the right move.”
“Then if I were to order you to fortify Fleet 1, you would have no grounds to object.”
“None, sir.” She peered right into the Commander-in-Chief’s eyes. “But if you are going to fortify Fleet 1, I have one piece of advice.”
“Speak it.”
“You ought to substitute that fleet’s Commander-in-Chief.”
“Have you some qualms with Ms. Penezh?” Dusanh always referred to Commander-in-Chief of Fleet 1, Commodore Sporr, by her given name.
“Including all of the ships already under her command, she’d be at the head of twenty-five sub-fleets. That’s not including the supply sub-fleet. I have no reservations as to Commodore Sporr’s competence, but that number of ships is disproportionate to her rank. The formation should go to a grand commodore...”
“If you have no reservations as to her competence, then we should keep things as is. Besides, if we substitute that fleet’s command center for another, the work will only pile even higher for you and your subordinates.”
“I’m grateful you’re thinking of us, but the command center for Fleet 1 is
bordering on understaffed as is.”
“I’m sure it’ll work out. Twelve sub-fleets is not essentially different from twenty-five.”
“Your Highness,” she addressed him formally.
“What is it?” Dusanh raised his guard. It was never a good sign when his Chief of Staff turned unnaturally humble.
“Going by recent events with both Commodore Biboth and Commodore Sporr, does Your Highness, by any chance, harbor special sentiments towards crofaicec (founding-clan nobility)?” It was less a friendly query, and more a cross-examination.
“There are things you just don’t say,” said Dusanh, who was beginning to take offense. “Even if, hypothetically speaking, I put too much faith in the abilities of founding-clan nobles, would I then go on to appoint the head of the Sporr clan to such an important post, just out of some kind of affection for the highborn?”
Kenesh blinked. “I suppose that’s true.”
Throughout the history of the Empire, the Abliars and the Sporrs had never gotten along. It was practically a tradition. Some even believed they engraved a hatred for the rival clan into the genes of their forebears.
“Have I convinced you that my proclivities are not so degenerate after all? Having Ms. Penezh hold the reins is the most logical approach. That is the sole reason. And I’ll bet you that Ms. Penezh herself won’t be too pleased by her role.”
“Yes, sir,” Kenesh nodded reluctantly.
“Good, so you understand. Please summon Ms. Penezh.”
“Roger.”
The flagship of Fleet 1, the Lachcaü, had already entered the Darmap Star System. It was possible to send instant communications via electromagnetic waves. Technically the transmission wasn’t “instant,” as due to distance there was a 0.1 second lag, but it proved no impediment to a conversation.
They were left waiting for around 10 minutes before Sporr appeared as a hologram. Her usually braided, blazing blue hair was hanging down.
“Why hello, Ms. Penezh. Have you changed your hairstyle?” Dusanh was somewhat taken aback.
“No,” she answered indignantly. “I was just about to get some rest, Your Highness.”
“Allow me to apologize,” he said, though inwardly he was chuckling.
“There’s no need. A summons from Your Highness is a great joy, no matter the hour,” she replied, without even attempting to hide her annoyed expression. “So then, how may I be of service?”
Dusanh concisely relayed how he’d be fortifying Fleet 1, and the reasoning behind it.
“I see.” Sporr pondered to herself for a moment, a sight he thought uncharacteristic. “So there’s a possibility that my fleet engages with the patrol ship corps of the enemy head-on. And the enemy will still have the advantage.”
If the enemy employed the same tactic and concentrated their patrol ships together, it would likely surpass Fleet 1 in scale. And if that came to bear, Dusanh wanted Sporr’s fleet to weather the brunt of the attack.
“I cannot deny that possibility.”
“And I’d thought the duty of my adorable little warships was to trample the enemy while they were exhausted.”
“Whether that becomes your duty depends on how the enemy comes at us.”
“Opposing patrol ship corps smashing each other to bits seems a mite uncivilized. Depending on the strategy of Command, can we avoid such savagery?”
“We will try our hardest. But I am choosing a battle won through savagery over a battle lost fighting elegantly.”
“So you’re entrusting me with the most Abliar-suited task.” For a brief moment, her eyes wandered, but the next instant, she looked into Dusanh’s eyes with purpose. “Your Highness can be quite nasty. Adieu.” She saluted, and her hologram disappeared.
Yet another unresolvable problem to add to the list. He turned toward Kenesh, who stood close by.
“When Ms. Penezh called me ‘nasty,’” he said, looking up at the Chief of Staff’s face. “Should I interpret that as a compliment?”
“Don’t ask me,” she said, squaring up her shoulders. It seemed she was intent on showing a total lack of willingness to get wrapped up in this particular dilemma.
Meanwhile, over at the Commander’s Bridge of the flagship of Fleet 1, the patrol ship Lachcaü, Sporr was lightly biting the joints of her pinky with a frown.
“Whenever I speak to His Highness, I always get out of sorts.”
Cfadiss was there to listen to her whinging. You get out of sorts?
“Abliars are supposed to be overserious,” she grumbled. “But that man has no self-awareness. There’s no point trying to tease him!”
“Might it be because the Imperial Family wasn’t born solely to be the targets of Sporr ridicule?” Cfadiss suggested reservedly.
“My, Chief of Staff,” she said, surprised to her core. “It never even crossed my mind it could be otherwise.”
Chapter 7: Raicporhoth (Defensive Warfare)
“Six hours until enemy fleet infiltration ETA. All ships, lift off.”
The order from the Defensive Fleet Command Center could only signify that the decisive battle was fast approaching.
“Detach the the link-pipe,” Lafier ordered.
“Detaching the link-pipe,” said Samson, working his controls.
And so the link-pipes connecting the ships of Assault Unit 1 were tossed away.
“Igniting main engines.”
The assault ship Basrogrh began to stir.
“Lifting off.” Lafier moved her hand equipped with the control gauntlet slightly, and the ship advanced at a modest pace. They were not yet in position.
The portal had almost no gravitational pull, so even though they’d surrounded the Aptic Portal, they needed to maintain balance against Aptic III’s gravity and centrifugal force. Since they had to keep the engines revved in order to be at their assigned spot relative to the Aptic Portal, going too fast would be a waste of propellant.
For the time being, the Basrogrh locked into the same orbit as the Aptic Portal, and stopped accelerating.
“All hands released from their shifts,” said Lafier. “Each individual is to rest or eat in accordance with the shift diagram.”
The starpilots saluted and left. Staying on duty on the bridge was an obligation laid only on Flight Branch Starpilots. They were the ones who had to pilot the ships during an emergency, whereas starpilots of the other branches had no role and couldn’t help.
Lafier’s lonely shift would last for an hour and a half. After a three hours’ break, they would return to all hands on duty, in anticipation of combat.
Yet Jint remained alongside her.
“Captain, would you like a beverage?” he asked stiffly.
“Sure, I’ll take something to drink,” she nodded.
“If you want to be alone, just say the word. I don’t want to cramp your style.”
“Stay if you wish to stay. I’m not bothered either way.”
She was a tad heartened by the prospect, but she had successfully refrained from seeming so. Or so she intended.
Lafier didn’t need to specify her order; Jint knew to get her her peach juice with lemon on top. He got himself his cold coffee while he was at it.
“Could you pull up video of the outside?”
“Sure.” Lafier did so.
Star Forces ships hovered in all directions — in front, in back, up, down, and to each side. There were so many that it was difficult to make out the phosphorescent glow of the Aptic Portal lying in front.
“I could never have guessed I’d ever see such a spectacle with my own eyes, when I was a kid,” he said, deeply moved.
“I knew I would. I was obligated from birth to enter the Star Forces. I knew I’d have to set foot on a battlefield at some point. I didn’t think I’d have to do so as an assault ship captain, however. I wanted to enter the fray wearing the twin-winged circlet of a commodore.”
“You’ve got your whole future ahead of you. I’m sure that chance will come, in time.”
“You know,” realized Lafier, “I’ve never asked you what you wanted to do when you were younger.”
Jint could only shrug. “I was ten years old by the standard calendar when the Empire showed up. So, probably too young to have spared any thought to a clear plan for the future. All I know for sure is that I never even dreamed I’d be going to space.”
“Interesting. You had many options available to you, then.”
“Kind of, yeah. Though actually, that planet wasn’t really bursting with opportunity. Oh, I just remembered. I think I wanted to become a mine supervisor, since I heard tell of my mother having worked as one before she died. Not that I knew what that job entailed, mind you.”
“What kind of occupation is it?”
“Haven’t a clue, honestly, even now. But it’s not like I can be a mine supervisor anymore, so even if I did know, it’d do nobody any good.”
“What’s it like,” she asked, “not knowing what you’ll be when you grow up?”
“Anxiety-inducing, I guess,” said Jint. “You could get stuck with a boring job to pay the bills, or you could discover that your dream job is just as boring. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t given it that much thought when I was ten. I do remember feeling relieved when it was decided that I’d be an imperial noble. I hadn’t blazed that path myself, but it was a path to follow nonetheless.”
“Then I’m glad. No matter whether the path laid out for me led to worthwhile work or boring drudgery, at least I have no choice but to aim to be Empress.”
“I figured you might want to be a ‘Your Majesty.’”
“I don’t particularly want to be Empress. In fact, I’d rather ride on a mercantile ship. But I must at least try to aim for the Jade Throne. It’s the duty of all those born to the clan — the clan occupation. Besides, I can always indulge in trade after abdicating.”
“The clan occupation, huh... Sometimes, your people’s way of life sounds awfully simple.”
“You’re an Abh, too, Jint.” She wasn’t sure if he was praising or denigrating their way of life by calling it “simple,” so she stopped at pointing that out.
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