The Return to Strange Skies (JNC Edition)

by Hiroyuki Morioka

  “Yes, sir,” Cahyoor saluted.

  From the flagship Cairhdigh ’s space-time bubble , several communications vessels emerged, relaying orders to each class of Headquarters . At the same time, the enemy’s own small-mass space-time bubbles , also likely communications vessels, began to fly into a whirlwind of action.

  “Enemy space-time bubbles splitting off!” shouted the casariac ragrhotr (surveying staff officer), rousing Tlife’s attention. Countless small space-time bubbles issued from the bubbles lurking at the center area of the high-density sector, rushing toward Tlife’s fleet.

  “There is a 0.99996 in 1—” Cahyoor began.

  “Enough probabilities!” Tlife cried.

  “They’re enemy mines, sir,” he said calmly, as though he hadn’t noticed he’d been shouted down.

  “I KNOW that!” he snapped, but his expression immediately changed to a smile. “So, it’s begun.”

  “Indeed.”

  So the curtain rose on the first full-blown battle in this great war — the Clash at the Sfagnoff Gate .

  “Commence the hocsatïocss mésghotr (defensive mine battle)!” ordered Tlife.

  A volley of mines fired from the patrol ship Cairhdigh , which was the cue for the battle-line ships under its command to commence the mine battle . There was a large gap between the range of mines fired from the high-density sector and those fired at that sector. The enemy mines fired from the sector would reach the byrec tlaimr (Tlife fleet), but they couldn’t shoot the enemy from their current position. As such, this attack was aimed at the enemy mines themselves.

  Both groups of mines drew nearer and nearer at dizzying speeds.

  “Contact made with space-time bubbles . Azimuth of 305. Distance: 65. Area of contact expanding,” reported the surveying staff officers .

  The red blips that represented enemy mines and the blue blips that represented allied mines mingled in an interweaving maelstrom.

  Following the orders input into the computing crystals , their mines attempted to fuse with the space-time of their enemy counterparts, while the enemy mines attempted to flee their embrace. For the enemy, there was no point if their mines crashed against mines that would perish before reaching their fleets anyway.

  And yet, the enemy mines , chased off and intercepted, were cornered into reluctant space-time fusion . When the space-time bubbles fused, they annihilated, venting large quantities of space-time particles in the process. Localized high-density sectors were born, and subsequently faded away. Flat space undulated, and space-time particles diffused in surging ripples, which often shook other space-time bubbles .

  The unscathed mines that barreled through that barrage hurtled ever closed to Tlife’s fleet. Naturally, they had been broadly reduced in number, but there were still enough not to be taken lightly.

  It was the laitec (escort ship) unit’s job to meet the mines at the pass. Escort ships were equipped with numerous mobile small-caliber cannons; one symh corps of six ships formed a single space-time bubble , and each of those bubbles stood against the wave of mines .

  The escort corps’ space-time bubbles advanced, striving to fuse with the mines ’. Now those mines refrained from skirting away, themselves aiming to fuse. The purpose of the initial volley was in fact to destroy the escort vessel unit. The instant the mines fused with their space-time, they were greeted by innumerable lasers and streams of antiprotons. Some mines managed to take escort vessels down with them, but most merely ended up pointlessly increasing the mass of the escort corps’ space-time bubbles .

  Within the seething expanse of flat space , the distance between foes steadily closed.

  “Distance from enemy: 142. Enemy vanguard now within our range of fire,” said the surveying officer .

  “Copy. Change the mines ’ target to the enemy vanguard,” Tlife commanded.

  The new volley of mines didn’t spare their enemy counterparts a single glance, instead thrusting toward the enemy fleet at all speed. Their obstacles removed, the group of enemy mines flocked around the escort vessel unit in great herds. Ultimately, reports of vanquished escort ships turned incessant, and the mines began approaching the battle-line warships .

  “Distance from enemy: 100.”

  “The time has come,” said Tlife, eyes on Cahyoor. “Sic the Ftuné on them.”

  The reconnaissance half-fleet Ftuné ’s commander was a roïfraudéc (associate commodore) by the name of Spaurh Aronn-Saicpat Nimh Laitpanr Painaigh (SPORR AHROHN-SEKPAHT PENEHZH, Great Duchess of Laitpanh). The House of Sporr was a large family that boasted a level of social prestige next to the imperial family of Abliar’s in rank, containing over five hundred individuals of noble rank . The Nimïéc Laitpanr (Great Duchess’s Estate of Laitpanh) was almost synonymous with the noble Sporr family, held aloft by its succession of heirs. But that wasn’t all. The Nimhynh Laitpanr (Great Duchy of Laitpanh) included three inhabited planets, and was therefore recognized far and wide as the territory-nation with the greatest wealth in the Empire .

  In other words, she was the head of the most affluent, most storied house among all nobles — which caused the Ftuné ’s almcasariac (senior staff officer), Hecto-commander Cfadiss, to always wonder why she didn’t just retire from the Star Forces and enjoy the high life.

  That she’d joined the Star Forces to begin with, that was a given, as the duty of a noble . The officer just couldn’t understand why she stuck around after fulfilling said duty. He tried thinking of it as her responsibility , or her mission in life , but observing her behavior, the words her hobby always sprang unbidden as a wrench in the works of his rationalization.

  The reason Cfadiss had transferred over to the Ftuné ’s headquarters was because his predecessor had to take impromptu cagsomhoth (maternity leave) due to a sudden case of falling in love. In addition, nobody on the inside was deemed sufficiently qualified for promotion. Less than a month had passed since then, yet Cfadiss still wasn’t used to the atmosphere in this headquarters .

  And the reason for that is her , thought Cfadiss, gazing at the Raichaicibach (Commander’s Seat). It sported a lavish, elaborately embroidered baldachin, which was supported by four pillars of marble white, each with exquisite and minutely detailed engravings. As hard as it was to believe, according to rumor, the embroidery was done by hand. This decoration alone would be tough to acquire through three whole years of an associate commodore’s salary. Of course, starpilots with star fiefs went without pay.

  Cfadiss shifted his gaze to the space behind the Commander’s Seat . The imperial coat of arms (the eight-headed dragon known as the gaftnochec ), the glac ïadbyrer (half-fleet banner), and the symbol of the House of Sporr, the gatharsec (golden crow), were arranged in a triangle shape on the wall. The golden crow was at the bottom of the triangle, but it was a size bigger than the other banners, as though to underscore that it was the most important.

  Once again, Cfadiss’s eyes came to the Commander’s Seat . How hopelessly out of place , he thought with intensity.

  The twin-winged circlet of the imperially certified starpilot ill-suited the assiduously braided, scarlet-blue hair more fit for a palace banquet. Unbecoming, too, was a military uniform on her while she was so lazily reclining; In that pose, she could very well have been lying sprawled on some luxurious chaise. It was certainly true that starpilots of imperial appointment enjoyed various privileges. Decorating one’s Commander’s Seat using personal funds was one of them. But decorating it to this extent could only be called self-indulgent.

  Soon after taking the post, he admonished her to “Act a little more like a proper commander , please. It will boost morale,” only to be shot down with a “No thanks.”

  I’ll just count my blessings that there isn’t some handsome boy servant offering her some chilled apple cider on a silver platter ... Cfadiss shuddered at the thought.

  No... don’t tell me she expects that role of ME, Hecto-commander Cfadiss Üémh Üéspir Séspir, a clapaimh (staff officer insignia)-decorated
cizéc(knight second-class)!?

  Cfadis banished the absurd notion from his mind. Yet in the end, he simply couldn’t come to grips with his commander...

  “Lonh ,” he said. Might as well break the ice; he had nothing better to do at the moment anyway.

  “What is it?” Her red pupils flitted inside their almond-shaped slits. The Sporr family feature, the cilœmh pïana spaurr (crimson eyes of Sporr). Her eyes were the deep red of a giant star in its final stages.

  “Are you acquainted with Lonh-Lœber Sfagnaumr (the Honored Marquess of Sfagnoff)?”

  “Sure. Simfé (noble society) is a small world.”

  “What are they like?”

  “He’s a louse,” she said, summing him up in so many words. “I can’t bear the thought of letting my ships get hurt to save somebody like him.”

  “Huh!?” Cfadiss was so dumbfounded he forgot to chide her.

  “But don’t worry. I won’t be mixing business with private affairs.”

  Cfadiss stared at the baldachin, and gave careful consideration to the mentality that led to the words “my ships.” No mixing business with private affairs? Really? His misgivings filled him right to the eyeballs, where they shined.

  “That look is insubordination against a superior officer,” she said, responding irritably to his deprecatory mien.

  “Please accept my apologies,” he said, though he remained unconvinced.

  At that moment, their orders came.

  “An inter-bubble communication from Headquarters .” The communications staff officer turned around from the console .

  “Read it aloud,” said Sporr.

  “Yes, ma’am. ‘Overrun them.’ End of communication.”

  “My, my. This is my first time working with Commodore Tlife; I commend him for his fine, concise orders. Now, noctamh batta (complete mobile-state) for space-time bubbles 1 through 6. Assemble a single column for each squadron and move to the front of the fleet.”

  The Ftuné was made up of the commander’s squadron , in addition to six saubh usaimr (reconnaissance squadrons) and one supply squadron . A squadron ’s name contained a number given it by the Star Forces . As such, its official name contained a long number like “607.” That was less than convenient, so Headquarters allotted reconnaissance squadrons the numbers “1” through “6,” with the supply squadron as number “7.”

  Even the Abh placed importance on functionality from time to time.

  The space-time bubbles that had been formed three ships to a bubble (with those ships in turn keyed to a battle-line warship) split off into individual units. In doing so, their speed was multiplied by roughly 1.73, and so the lines of space-time bubbles overtook the battle-line warship, followed soon by the escort vessel unit.

  “Commander’s squadron , stationary-state . Transmit agac asparhotr (signal of assembly). Assume Massed Battle Formation 3.” If the prospect of bearing the full brunt of the enemy’s onslaught had her perturbed, she certainly didn’t show it. Her commands came with aplomb.

  The three patrol ships of the headquarters squadron had formed a triangle, and needless to say, at its head sailed the flagship Hairbyrch . Behind that triangle, five lines were forming.

  “Number 4 is being slow,” Cfadiss pointed out. Even though the other squadrons were beginning to move laterally in front of the escort vessel unit, Squadron 4 was still puttering near a battle-line warship.

  “I’ve never liked a laggard,” Sporr tut-tutted. “But it’s fine. They’ll follow us eventually. Let’s strike using the other five squadrons .”

  “But—” Cfadiss had been about to scold her when he thought better of it. It was, after all, a not illogical conclusion. Fussing too much over concentrating troops and waiting for Number 4 would be handing the enemy time. Moreover, with the lack of defense for the escort vessel unit, it would expose it to enemy fire. It was true that at the moment, they ought to value speed over other factors.

  That being said, Cfadiss couldn’t be sure his commander hadn’t made that call based solely on simple sentiment. “The five squadrons have formed ranks, without Number 4,” Cfadiss reported.

  “Tell the captains the following: complete mobile-state . Course: 310. Continuously transmit the agac (signal): ‘Follow me.’”

  “Yes.” Cfadiss relayed her orders to the communications staff officer . With that, the reconnaissance half-fleet Ftuné was on the move again. In that direction lay the enemy’s vanguard, stretching wide on both sides. The enemy began focusing its mine fire on Ftuné .

  Cfadiss switched his circlet to external input mode and attuned to the Hairbyrch ’s detectors. Immediately, he frowned.

  The mines were attempting to worm their way through at a rate of around one round every five seconds. The patrol ship Hairbyrch ’s mobile cannons destroyed the mines with all their power and all their fury. Yet, if even just one round connected, they wouldn’t emerge unharmed, no matter how thick the ship’s armor was.

  Just like the majority of soldiers in the Star Forces , Cfadiss had no real combat experience. This was his first-ever taste of mortal fear. Cold sweat ran down his eyebrows from the underside of his circlet .

  He looked at his commander. The nerve of this lady! She’s HUMMING! Does she even understand our situation? We’re in the middle of a relentless exchange of mine fire!

  “Lonh !” Unable to bear it any longer, Cfadiss had a proposal for his superior. “Should we not conduct a defensive mine battle ?”

  “Where was your former post?” asked Sporr as she fiddled with her command staff .

  What does that have to do with anything? he huffed inwardly, but he thought he might as well answer her. “I was the senior staff officer of Saubh Bhotutr Cigagona (Strike Squadron 184).”

  “Is that so. Then you may not be aware. You see, patrol ships don’t carry a single round of mines that would be used for defense. What few mines a patrol ship carries are all for destroying enemy vessels. Now don’t forget.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. What would become of us if a patrol ship crumbled to this level of fire? We are the Ftuné !”

  “Augh...” At a loss for words, Cfadiss finally noticed that Sporr’s circlet had been set to exterior space sensory mode.

  Dammit, putting on a brave face for us . Cfadiss had wanted to momentarily switch back to personal space sensory mode, but he decided he could hardly do so now.

  “An inter-bubble communication from Squadron 1 patrol ship Ceubyrch ,” reported the communications staff officer . “‘Serious damage sustained. EM cannons, front-facing mobile-cannons inoperable. Evacuating toward rear.’”

  Sporr didn’t so much as twitch, not even at this news. She didn’t even stop humming; She simply gave a light little nod.

  The enemy vanguard had begun to diverge to either side, opening the way for the Ftuné . That was a wise choice on their part. After all, the vanguard was probably the escort vessel unit, which was hardly a match for a patrol ship.

  Cfadiss felt a bit mischievous. He wanted to test just how far the Honorable Associate Commodore ’s composure ran. “The enemy vanguard is now conducting evasive maneuvers. Do we pursue them?”

  “Are you stupid?” said Spoor sharply. “Or are you just playing stupid?”

  “My apologies.” Cfadiss was surprised by the heat of opprobrium in his superior’s words.

  “You haven’t answered me yet. Which is it?” she pressed, giving him no quarter.

  “I, uhh... I was playing stupid.”

  “And why did you do something like that?”

  “That’s, uhh...” He couldn’t tell her that he was trying to trip her up, so he spluttered awkwardly.

  “You were trying to gauge how dumb your superior is,” she declared.

  “No, I would never...”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m so sorry!” he said at last. “It’s just as you surmised, Lonh .”

  “Then I’ll look the other way, but only just this once,” she s
aid. She was surprisingly magnanimous. “See that it doesn’t happen again. If you pull that again, I WILL pick on you.”

  “I’ll make a mental note.”

  “Stay this course. Our only target is the battle-line ships . Leave small fries like escort vessels for the folks in the back.”

  Finally, the Ftuné easily passed through the gaps in the enemy vanguard. Squadron 4 was tailing along like proper at the end of the queue. From the Ftuné ’s front left, a succession of space-time bubble flocks came rushing toward it.

  “Judging by mass, they must be assault ship space-time bubbles !”

  “Take a mental note of this, senior staff officer : it’s times like these that a patrol ship ’s mines are deployed.” Sporr raised her command staff overhead. “Left side, commence mine battle !”

  Each ship in the Ftuné loosed their mines , and those herds of mines aimed for the flock of enemy assault ships. The red blips pinpointing the locations of enemy space-time bubbles perished one after the other in flashes.

  “They’re coming from the right. Three patrol ship space-time bubbles !” Command staff on her cheek, Sporr gave it but a moment’s thought. “Don’t let them gear against Number 4. Our course is just right.” As though to make up for their blunder earlier, Squadron 4 responded swiftly. Column migrated to column, forestalling the enemy ships.

  For a while afterward, there were no enemy ships that could contend with the Ftuné . Yet the intensity of fire increased, and the Hairbyrch space-time bubbles filled with debris and charged particles. A point-blank shot intercepted by a mobile cannon exploded, and fragments exposed to antimatter mist heated up and drifted.

  So this is blitzing. Cfadiss quaked.

  “I’m bored,” said Sporr out of nowhere. “Aren’t you bored, senior staff officer ?”

  “Huh?” Cfadiss couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “I said, this bores me,” she repeated. “Every day, it’s always the same old boring desk work, and now that I’m finally in battle, they won’t even let me get into it. Why did I ever become imperially certified ? I bet captains have lots more fun.”