There was nobody here, and there was no lifeboat. Two plus two.
“So that’s what happened,” Jint muttered to himself. I do tend to rush in all heroic-like, only to end up with nothing to show for it. I knew it — I shouldn’t go doing stuff I’m not used to.
Eyes bitter, Jint looked down at his cracked pressure helmet.
Maybe I ought to take my chances donning this thing and taking a dip in space.
It was cracked, but it wasn’t in pieces. It’d leak, sure, but that was better than nothing.
Jint crossed his legs in midair. In the end, he figured he just couldn’t muster the courage to entrust his life to a broken pressure helmet.
Instead of jumping into space here and now, Jint counted his circumstances on one hand.
No lifeboat. No pressure helmet.
At least 5,000 saidagh separated him from the nearest lifeboat boarding aperture.
The ship would blow at any moment...
Jint sighed. He recalled a nursery tale his grandmother had told him when he was a kid. In it, a genie offered to grant three wishes. If a genie were to appear before Jint this second, Jint firmly decided he’d ask for an ordinary life.
For the time being, there was one thing he could do. He could establish contact through his wristgear.
Hold on, would I just be dragging them to die with me? Jint hesitated.
If he asked for rescue, then somebody would come trying to save him. But the ship was ready to explode. There was the distinct possibility he’d end up killing somebody who would otherwise have made it out alive.
His hesitation lasted a mere moment, however. I literally just learned I shouldn’t do what I’m not used to. And I’m not used to dying a martyr.
Has his pressure helmet been in full working order, he’d just need to speak into it and the wristgear would transmit his message, but now he was forced to remove a pressure glove to expose said wristgear.
Just as he put his right hand to that glove, the door suddenly started opening. Looking back on this moment with hindsight, it wouldn’t have been unreasonable of him to regard that door with fear, but in the moment, he didn’t register any such fear. All his heart could register was surprise.
His legs still crossed, Jint got tossed spinning through the air.
He could make out a person’s figure beyond the partition. The figure was seemingly clutching the rim of the door so as to brace against the wind.
The instant he passed under them, Jint felt a dull pain in his chest, but he didn’t mind a little discomfort. The real problem was how rapidly the surrounding air was thinning. It was turning unbearable.
Then, something was fitted onto his head with a reassuring CLICK. That instant, the air phial installed within this pressure helmet released fresh air. As always accompanied a sudden rise in air pressure, shrill noise attacked his ears.
After a number of deep breaths, Jint finally comprehended what had taken place. It was Lafier. She’d grabbed him with her legs, released her grip on the rim of the door, embraced his upper body as the wind blew their entangled bodies forward, and forcibly jammed the pressure helmet on.
“Are you okay, Jint?” Lafier’s voice reverberated from within her own pressure helmet.
“I was okay up until you came along,” he said, still dizzy from that tumult. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“You blockhead. Would you rather I didn’t come for you?”
“Don’t be silly. Thank you, Lafier. I’d be dead without you.”
“Hurry; there’s no time!”
Jint and Lafier began to fly down the microgravity corridor, side by side. Although, while Lafier was used to hurtling through microgravity space at a faster pace than walking, his floating was slightly awkward, forcing him to borrow her hand at times.
“Fate really seems to want to pair you with the vacuum of space,” she joked after the boarding aperture to the lifeboat came into view.
“Well, I need to tell Fate to cut it out. I don’t feel that way about space. Landworlders like me are rather sure the vacuum does a body harm. Probably just an old wives’ tale, though.”
“Before, you said something to the effect of, ‘if I died, who would be there to mourn me?’” Lafier suddenly changed the subject.
“Wha? Ah, right.” Jint harkened back to the conversation they had before the dinner banquet with Atosryua.
“I’d mourn you.” Her earnest, jet-black eyes stared at him through the visor. “Is that not enough?”
“So, was the water temperature to your liking?” Nefeh quipped, upon Neleth’s return to the Commander’s Bridge.
“More or less. Didn’t care for how the water would slosh out with every fusillade, though,” he replied coolheadedly. “In any case, has anything changed out there?”
“Oh, not much. Well, apart from the enemy beginning to withdraw. The main forces draw near, it would seem.”
“What did you say!? Why didn’t you tell me such huge news sooner!?”
“Ever since we were kids, you’ve always hated interruptions to bath time.”
“Interruptions without due cause, sure. But not for a report that important! I beg you, exercise at least that much better judgement.”
“I’ll try,” Nefeh shrugged. “But even if I had reported it to you sooner, what was there to do?”
“I’m the one who makes that call. Me, the Commander-in-Chief. And don’t think I’ll let you tread on my duty, brother or not.”
“‘Brother or not’? If anything, I think you treat me more harshly than you treat anybody.”
“Whatever, that doesn’t matter!” Neleth pulled the command baton out of his waistsash. “We’re transitioning to a pursuit battle as of this instant!”
“Ahh, I thought you’d say that,” said Nefeh, holding his head. “This is why I didn’t want to inform you.”
“What?”
“Our fleet is a wreck. If we give chase, we’d only be snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.”
Neleth was about to reply, but then he scanned the officers’ faces, which virtually screamed, We’re catching another glimpse of that Biboth madness. “Okay, Nefeh, you win this round.”
“There’s no round between us to win. In any case, we ought to rebuild, and hope the main forces clinch a victory for the Empire.”
Neleth drooped his shoulders. “Is that really all we can do?”
“What’re you saying? You must realize what a task this will be. Though of course, it’ll be us staff officers who do all of the work. Oh, speaking of which, Neleth...”
“What is it?”
“We won’t stop you if you want to go take another bath.”
Jint had been consoling himself that there was no way a lifeboat could be as bad as a Clasburian casket-rocket. And he was right — because it was quite a bit less comfortable.
The solid fuel burned for only the shortest of whiles, and thus the lifeboat was ejected from the dying assault ship, reaching a G-force level of 20 in no time at all. Jint braced against the acceleration whiplash, cradling his knees on the basilar part of the vessel’s accommodation space. The space’s base was covered by an elastic material that took on his body weight. At max velocity, Jint was steeped in the material down to his lower back. He could almost swear he was hearing all of his bones creaking.
It was too dark to see, but he knew Lafier was in front of him, curled up to endure the massive gravitational forces, same as him. Once the acceleration was over, the material slowly reverted to its original flatness, Jint’s body rising back up in the process.
In the pitch darkness, he flailed around before managing to center himself.
“Are you alive, Jint?”
By the time the words left her mouth, the base and the ceiling of the “accommodation space” (a cylinder measuring only around 500 dagh in height and 100 in diameter) were both gone. Its supposed maximum occupancy was five, but Jint had no idea how that many could really fit in quarters this cramped, especially upon launc
h, when even just the pair of them was more than pushing it.
“Still breathing, yeah.” He swung his limbs, sure he’d gotten some bones broken, but no. He was fine. Then the space’s lights turned on, leaving them to bask in their soft glow.
“Wow, it’s suddenly gotten more livable than the casket-rocket,” Jint said, heaving a sigh. There hadn’t been any illumination in the rocket that fate had forced them to ride three years prior.
“But it’ll only be livable for 24 hours.”
“I’m sure Sobash’ll come save us before a day passes.”
“Of course he will!”
“What’re you getting angry about?”
“I am not ‘angry.’”
Now that her brain could sense she’d cleared any immediate danger, it seemed she had some wrath to vent regarding the loss of her ship, and no other outlet to do so. Needless to say, she had been in better moods. Jint grinned.
“What’s so funny?” she said, furrowing her brow.
“Nothing, it’s just kind of relieving to see you fume like that. Wonder why?”
Lafier opened her mouth to snap back, when a tone like a bird’s chirping sounded, getting louder by the moment. The smallcraft come to rescue them was coming closer.
When the two crossed over, it was twelve minutes following the destruction of the Basrogrh.
Chapter 9: Raïchacarh Üécr Sauder Apticer (Battle at the Aptic Portal-Sea)
“Have they finally done us the favor of giving up?” sighed Dusanh, staring at the planar space map.
The enemy encircling the Aptic Portal was showing movement. By all appearances, they were seriously aiming to retake Aptic, and if they seized the portal, the Star Forces could but retreat. Even if Dusanh ordered a more offensive strategy, they would be at a daunting disadvantage, since they’d have to face an almost equal number of enemy ships holding the portal. But all of that was avoided thanks to Commodore Biboth hanging on to the last. Now, the enemy would have to bring the final battle to the Aptic Portal-Sea.
That being said, it was not as though the Star Forces possessed an overwhelming advantage, either. In all likelihood, the way that the battle to defend Lacmhacarh of three years prior ended would once again come to pass — a functional draw due to heavy losses on both sides. However, a “draw” would be a strategic loss for the Empire.
I’d really rather prevent that, thought Dusanh.
In his eyes, coming to a draw a second time would be unsightly to the utmost degree. After all, since its founding, the supreme directive of the Star Forces had been to annihilate all enemy fleets.
The Empire was attempting to push into the military cordon of the Three Nations Alliance from three directions: Grand Commodore Cotponic’s Byrec Gona (Fleet 4) from the left, Grand Commodore Lecemh’s Byrec Mata (Fleet 2) from the right, and Dusanh’s own Byrec Bina (Fleet 3) from the center. A compact and robust formation, ensuring that even if the enemy didn’t move toward them, it’d take less than an hour for the battle to begin.
Naturally, the fleets and ships of the Three Nations Alliance were not content to sit idly by.
“Oh, so that’s how you’re playing this...” A smile played across Dusanh’s lips as he witnessed the formation the enemy was currently assembling.
“What is it, Your Highness?” asked Kenesh.
“They’re challenging us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No,” said Kenesh. “I think they’re just aiming for a frontal breakthrough.”
The enemy forces were clearly packing tighter together, without extending either flank.
“I see. A central breakthrough formation. If we let them past without incident, the damage would be minimal, that is true. We could even have the ships evacuate in the order they’re overtaken, avoid fighting altogether, and moreover, Aptic would become part and parcel of the Empire. Even Miskehrr would probably remain in our control.”
“Are those your orders?” said Kenesh, raising her eyebrows with a frown.
“Heavens no. I am an Abliar, you know. Having dispatched an armada of this size, how could I take pride in settling for one or two remote star systems? The enemy has left to us the decision of whether to settle things once and for all.”
“What if you’ve misread them?” asked the Chief of Staff, voice brimming with skepticism.
“Even if I am misreading them to an extent, they have given us the choice, that much is certain.” Dusanh’s eyes fixed onto Kenesh’s casually ravishing visage. “We will fight. Understood?”
“If I were to object, would I be dismissed on the spot?”
“Of course not. You are an irreplaceable Chief of Staff. How could I dismiss you? I would simply fail to take note of your opinion, that’s all.”
“I imagined as much,” nodded Kenesh. “So I don’t intend to dissent. It’s just as you’ve stated — we’ve come all this way in order to wipe out the enemy fleets.”
“Very good. Now, Fleet 3 will maintain this formation. 2 and 4 will assume a close-together order, and attack the enemy from either the side or the rear. Fleet 1 will fly in from the front. The task force corps will stand by at first, to be thrust into battle depending on how the enemy responds. It’s a rough plan, but given the enemy has not yet completed their preparations, it’s all we can project for now. Please look into whether this preliminary plan will work.”
“Roger that,” Kenesh saluted, and about-faced.
“Oh, before you go, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” he said, stopping her.
“What might that be?” She span back around, expression taut with tension.
“Which one was it?” said Dusanh, serious as ever. “Which one of them do you have history with? Mr. Nefeh, or Mr. Neleth?”
“Commander-in-Chief,” Cfadiss reported, addressing Sporr, “Fleet 1 has finished deploying.”
“Well if that wasn’t a job well done.” Reclining in the baldachin-canopied Commander’s Seat in a disheveled manner, the report that entered her ears did nothing to jolt her out of that palpable disinterest. It was clearer than crystal she was not into this particular battle.
“Ugh, how inelegant... how unrefined,” she let slip. Her Phantom Fleet 1 had spread out in front of Fleet 3, the main force, and now they and the enemy were headed toward each other. In nary ten minutes, they would engage.
At this short distance, the enemy’s formation was all but evident. It was roughly oblong in shape, with its major axis facing this way. Along the outer circumference flew the patrol ships, protecting the other types of ships dotting the center. And it was Fleet 1’s mission to cut through that shell and lay bare the soft flesh within.
“This may come as a surprise, but I love picking on the weak.” She moved only the crimson pupils in her slit eyes to regard her Chief of Staff. “Running over feeble little assault ships and battle-line ships is the beauty of a recon sub-fleet. Tell me you agree, Chief of Staff?”
“Well... I believe that to be a matter of preference,” replied Cfadiss noncommittally.
“My word, Chief of Staff,” said Sporr, innocent as a lass of four, “is there anything in the galaxy more important than my personal preferences?”
The Commander-in-Chief is joking. Or so Cfadiss endeavored to believe.
“I say, a brute force brawl managing 25 recon sub-fleets. I might even have been able to swallow this if we far outnumbered them, but they’re the ones with the numbers advantage.”
“But Commander-in-Chief,” said Cfadiss, taking a shot at a rebuttal, “what would you say would be a viable alternative strategy in this situation?”
“If it were up to me, I’d avoid fighting altogether,” said Sporr. “I’d have the fleet part left and right to make them a getaway path. Then we’d focus on holding Aptic, while the enemy’s off building a strategic base by a nearby portal.”
“So you would make it a more protracted battle?”
“You bet I would. It’d be a great deal more elegant than a bunch of patrol ships blowing each other u
p.” She rested her chin in her hand, and looked up at her Chief of Staff inquisitively.
Again with the personal preferences, thought Cfadiss, but he kept that opinion to himself. “But wouldn’t that preclude any opportunity for a trample-blitz?” he asked, using the word for when patrol ships overrun smaller, weaker vessels.
“I’m not saying a protracted battle is ideal. I’m just saying it’d be better than this.”
“I see.” He now understood Sporr’s thoughts on the matter; in the end, it was just one opinion among many.
“Now then, I can hardly spend all of my time here complaining like this,” she said, concealing a small yawn using the back of one hand before rising from the Commander’s Seat. “Chief of Staff, tell all sub-fleets under my command to cut loose the supply squadrons and advance using only the recon squadrons. All vessels are to prepare for 3-space battle. As for the space-time bubbles, I’m setting the standard for this engagement at half-squadron.”
“Yes, ma’am. If I may... half-squadron space-time bubbles?”
“That’s right. Nothing good will come if we’re overly hasty.”
“Roger.” It was true that as long as they were the underdogs, it would scarcely behoove them to have Fleet 1 stick out on its own. All that would come of it was a needless waste of good patrol ships.
“Next — the primary mission of the Creudadh, the Bircac, the Cengamh, the Gosirorh, the Fertunéc, the Saidauc, and the Tlaristoc is to halt the advance of enemy ships.”
Cfadiss frowned. Each of the seven sub-fleets the Commander-in-Chief had listed off (without even glancing at the formation diagram) were positioned in the fleet’s rear.
“And the other sub-fleets?”
“I was getting to that.” Sporr’s eyebrows bristled crossly for a second. “The remaining sub-fleets are to penetrate the enemy lines, avoiding any engagements if possible. If the enemy comes asking them for a fight, they shouldn’t readily take them up on it. If unavoidable space-time fusion takes place, the ships in the bubble are to fight their way away and shift to the rear with all force. We’re going to pierce through the enemy’s line of patrol ship units and trample deep into their central formations.”
The Ties that Bind Page 16