Just Sobash’s luck, then, that that lovable jokester would retire from the Star Forces. From what he’d heard, Samson hadn’t yet withdrawn to his home planet, but all the same, they’d probably never meet face-to-face ever again. A thought that made Sobash feel a touch lonesome. He contemplated writing the man a lengthy letter.
Granted, even if Samson had remained in the Star Forces, greeting him on this ship as its Inspector Supervisor wasn’t in the cards anyway. His rank hadn’t been high enough. His rate of promotion had been slow since his days as an NCC, and despite the fact it was wartime, all he’d managed to reach was rearguard starpilot. Although he could have still invited him as Roïbynecairh (Deputy Inspector Supervisor).
Sobash seemed about to grin. Just imagine the look on his face trying to work under Grinshia.
“Call Military Command Headquarters. I want to speak with the Commandant of Saubh Dtirér Casna (Trample-Blitz Squadron 1).”
“‘Trample-blitz squadron’?” Ecryua cocked her head.
“It’s a new type of squadron. Though at the moment, the command center is all there is to it. We’ll be part of Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 the moment it’s officially formed,” explained Sobash.
“‘Trample-blitz squadron,’ huh...” said the Vice Commander and Gunner, Idliac. “Now that’s talking tough, with a name like that.”
“We just have to hope it lives up to the name.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will. This ‘raid ship’ is a fine vessel. I’ve always thought patrol ships would be easier to handle if they’d just take out the mines,” said Grinshia.
“Well, if that’s what our tech master thinks, then it must be true.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Trample-blitz squadron” was a novel word for Sobash, too. He resolved to grasp the gist of the formations and personnel that were planned for Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 while they waited to hear back from the Commandant.
Each trample-blitz squadron was made up of twelve raid ships. Two of the twelve Ship Commanders were called the Almsarérh (Senior Ship Commanders), and they were of Hecto-Commander rank. If anything ever happened to a commanding officer, they would of course be replaced, and depending on the situation, a platoon of about four ships was to be entrusted. However, unlike assault squadrons composed of assault units, symh dtirér (trample-blitz units) had not been long-established, leaving room for formational flexibility.
“Ship Commander,” said the Communications Officer, Rearguard Starpilot Ïatechec. “The line is connected. The message lag is 2.7 seconds.”
Sobash stood up and saluted. “The Flicaubh has just finished its familiarization voyage and returned to base. I’ve just received orders from the Glagamh Byrer Claiïar (Training Fleet Command Center) to act under Your Excellency’s command for the time being. Your orders, Commandant Atosryua?”
“Thank you for your hard work, Ship Commander Sobash,” smiled Kilo-Commander Atosryua, after returning the salute. “I remember you.”
“Yes, Kilo-Commander, ma’am,” said Sobash, letting his saluting hand drop back down and nodding. “I haven’t yet had the honor of meeting you directly, but I was a senior starpilot on the Basrogrh, a ship that was in the assault unit that you commanded.”
“I know. I read the career log.”
“I see. What a coincidence, that we should cross paths again.”
“A coincidence? Do you honestly believe that?” she said, her tone a little teasing.
“Yes, ma’am. What else could it be?” said Sobash, tilting his head in puzzlement.
“I see you’re not very up on this sort of thing. I don’t blame you — judging by your career log, you’re all about trading. Oh well, never mind that. We’ll talk about that when we’re assembled. There’s no hurry on that front. The Training Fleet has already booked your ship to be lodged at Locrh Difaca Danbaurhmatmata (Special Construction Site 7022). Could I get your navigation plan?”
“Please wait a moment.”
After double-checking the location and relative speed of the designated base, Sobash set the acceleration to five daimon G-levels, calculated the route himself, and sent over the results through the Communications Officer.
They could see Atosryua’s eyes train left and right on-screen as she read the message.
“I see you’re taking things quite slowly, Vice Hecto-Commander.”
“I believe it would be best to proceed with caution while at the capital. The ship does, however, have resources to spare. We can expedite docking if required.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Atosryua. “Once things have settled down aboard ship, come with all of your crew over to the restaurant named ‘The Stylet.’ Let’s have ourselves a modest little meet-and-greet before Trample-Blitz Squadron 1’s glamsaïhoth (crest bestowal ceremony). I was waiting for you guys.”
“Then perhaps we should...” start accelerating, Sobash almost said.
“It’s fine,” said Atosryua, waving off the suggestion. “I just know you’ll all be driven like horses in time, so I’d like for you to take it easy for now. You can wring out, what, around thirty hours at most? Besides, for a restaurant as big-name as The Stylet, it’ll be tough to reserve a room. Or are you the type that can’t get a good night’s sleep unless you’re smack dab in the gleaming fields of battle?”
“Decidedly not,” Sobash smiled. “I’m not exactly yearning for the warzone quite yet, either. There are many things of beauty to be found outside the light show of combat. A crystal goblet filled with apple cider, for instance. Now then, until we meet again.”
The line dropped.
Sobash set himself back down into the Commander’s Seat and ruminated on that brief conversation. It appeared that in the Empire, some affairs were not the concern of ‘natural traders’ like him. And by the looks of things, Commandant Atosryua would explain it all. Her demeanor told him loud and clear that even if he were to say he didn’t want to hear it, she’d regale him all the same.
“All right, any bridge personnel who are supposed to be off-duty, feel free to rest. I will take a break as well. Deca-Commander Idlia, I leave the rest to you.”
When they all stood up and saluted, Sobash nodded in return, before withdrawing to his quarters. Then, he began to write a letter to Samson, whose whereabouts he knew not.
Samson was in Lacmhacarh. To be precise, he was in the ladabh (commercial complex) known as Baidec. It was the largest of the countless commercial complexes in the imperial capital, with innumerable ships and recreational facilities.
There was a bit of a housing shortage, but there were plenty of inns and hotels for people without homes in Lacmhcarh. Samson was currently staying in one of them, Baidec Hall. The breakfast served there was a classy, dressed-up dish of Abh cuisine. The aroma was fine, but the flavor was unfortunately bland. And he felt like sprinkling heavy amounts of salt would come across as an insult to the chef, so Samson usually ate out. Thankfully, Baidec offered cuisines from various different landworlds. A recent favorite of his was an establishment named Grimshtadt, whose fare evidently came from a landworld named Becraunh. That planet’s name rang a bell, if faintly, and while he had no idea where the restaurant’s name originated, the dishes on offer there were pretty tasty in any case. Of course, they couldn’t hold a candle to Midgrat cuisine. But, much to his chagrin, there wasn’t a single Midgrat restaurant or eatery in the whole of Lacmhacarh, let alone in Baidec.
He could whip something up himself, but Samson was currently a busy man. He had no time to be cooking for himself. And so, once again, he found himself passing through the doors of Grimshtadt in the morning.
“Good morning, Mr. Samson, sir,” said a waiter with a familiar face. “Can we get you your usual?”
“I wouldn’t mind the usual, but I’m actually waiting for some lady guests today. I’ll have the food after they arrive.”
The waiter smiled. A smile that was a bit too unabashed to be a business smile.
“Are these la
dy guests of the beautiful variety, sir?”
“All ladies are beautiful, if you ask me.”
“Yes, sir. Shall I bring drinks until such time that your companions arrive?”
“Hmm, sure. What was that tea called again? Maxillon tea? Bring me some of that. I’ve gotten weirdly into the stuff.”
“Right away, sir.” The waiter took his order, but not without a slight tinge of criticism about his eyes. “A few words, if I may: I don’t believe there is anything ‘weird’ about taking a liking to Maxillon tea.”
“You’re totally right,” said Samson.
After a spell, his Maxillon tea came to the table. It was served hot, the considerably offbeat aroma wafting up. Samson poured some honey and wine, and slowly sipped.
His wristgear buzzed. Someone was calling.
“Oh, look who’s giving me a ring.” It was Paveryua, his erstwhile subordinate from his time on the Basrogrh.
Samson had spent many long years in the military, and had enough old friends to show for it. But he was especially close with the old Basrogrh gang. While they hadn’t been with him during his first proper battle, they were blood brothers, their bond forged through escaping the maw of death as a unit.
“It’s been too long. Why don’t you be honest with yourself and greet me as such?”
“Well, if that isn’t the Paveryua I’ve dearly missed. Not a day has gone by that hasn’t felt colorless and dull from not having laid eyes on your visage. My bosom constricted by plaintive longing, my tear ducts parched. So parched I can’t shed a tear even during this moment of deep, deep emotion... that enough for ya?”
“Eh, I’ll allow it,” said Paveryua, feeling generous.
“So, what’s the story?” Samson noticed Paveryua wasn’t wearing a military uniform. “You had civvy clothes on you, too, huh?”
“’Course I do. Especially seeing as I won’t be wearing the uniform from now on.”
“So you retired?”
“It was time for you to retire, too, Inspector Supervisor. Shouldn’t come as a shock if it was time for me, too.”
“It’s not a shock, but...”
“I want to work with you again. Please hire me.”
“Buddy, you should’ve retired after consulting me, not before. Are you that sure I won’t turn you down?”
“If you do, I’ll look for work elsewhere. It’s a seller’s market.”
“Can’t think of a place with better benefits than the Star Forces, though.”
“But thinking about it from a mortal peril perspective, the Star Forces are a uniquely rough work environment. And whether I live to see another day’s on the top of my career concerns.”
“Then why’d you join to begin with?”
“I didn’t think there’d actually be a war.”
“Ah, well, guess we’re no different on that count.”
“Right? Anyway, are you going to hire me or not?”
“A job interview’s all I can promise.”
“Oh, c’mon, after all this time? If you still don’t know me, what are you going to be gleaning from a ten-minute interview?”
“You don’t understand. I’m also a hiree,” he said, in a non-joking tone of voice. “If you don’t follow the formalized system, you can’t meet face-to-face with Lonh-Fapyter (His Lord Excellency).”
“Lonh-Fapyter, as in the clerk kid, right? He wasn’t my direct superior, but we were comrades fighting on the same tiny ship. It’s not like I don’t know him at all.”
“No calling him a ‘kid.’ While us hirelings reserve the right to make fun of the boss, it wouldn’t be a great look to hire somebody who makes fun of him from the outset.”
“I’m not making fun of him. We chatted a few times, and I know he’s a fine young man. For one, he’s got some common sense for a noble. He does kind of lack the mystique of a lord of a territory-nation, if you know what I mean.”
I mean, yeah, thought Samson. He was now a servant vassal of the House of Hyde. The previous count, Jint’s father, must have had vassals of his own, but no one knew where they were or what they were doing. All they knew was that they were no longer the vassals of Hyde. For all intents and purposes, Samson was the virtual first vassal.
The House of Hyde would require many vassals in the coming times. Most urgently of all, they needed personnel for the reconstruction of the antimatter fuel factories. Samson was at the imperial capital in order to recruit more vassals for the countdom. But he was having trouble, for, just as Paveryua said, it was a seller’s market, and precious few wished to be servants in an as-yet developing territory-nation like the Countdom of Hyde. As such, Samson actually appreciated Paveryua’s request. The man’s specialty lay in reactor furnaces, which was to say, in the consumption of antimatter fuel as opposed to its retrieval, but that expertise was also sought after by the House of Hyde.
Samson had already decided to hire his former subordinates; when it came to personnel affairs, Jint had vested him with full authority, not only because he trusted him, but also due to logistical realities. After all, contacting people outside the star system required messages to be carried by ship through planar space, so it was impossible to seek the Lord’s approval on every single matter.
“In any case, we should take lunch together. I aim to take my time interviewing you.”
“Lunch today?”
“If you can make it. Are you in Baidec?”
“I should be able to make it, yeah. If you want, I can even make it to breakfast if I fly out the door. Is the House of Hyde treating?”
“Sure is.”
“Sweet. Mind if I pick out the place? I know a good one. Though it is a tad pricey.”
“Can’t have that. Your taste is not to be trusted.”
“Based on what?”
“How can I place my trust in the taste buds of a man who scarfed down Star Forces food with such relish?”
“Dude, it wasn’t that bad. Especially when you’re hungry. And I agree that it’s not the best food ever.”
“See, there you go. You appraised it as ‘not that bad.’ Those are not the words of a man with a functioning palate.”
“You’re horrible. Don’t you ever feel like broadening your horizons?”
“Guess you’re right,” said Samson. “Just once, trying my chances with expensive and unappetizing eats ought to build character.”
“Then it’s a date. I’ll message you back after making the reservation. That okay?”
“If you could do that for me, it’d be a huge help, since I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, but by the same token, I’m only free from 12 to 13 o’clock. I leave it to you.”
“Okay, got it. It’s a shame we can’t set aside more time, though.”
Samson felt much the same. “Sorry, bud. There’s always next time.”
“Right. So, seeing as you don’t have much time, I’ll ask now: what made you want to be a servant vassal? Did the kid, err, I mean Lonh-Dreur ask you?”
“No, I asked him.”
“How come?”
“Well, you know how I’m gonna go back home and start a farm, right?”
“Yeah. That’s why you have me wondering. I thought you’d be flinging around livestock dung as fertilizer on your home planet right around now.”
“I figured I’d learn a lesson or two from raising up a new territory-nation that I could apply to running a farm.”
“Really? And here I assumed you were just doing it for the money again.”
“The money? That’s not an issue. If I can make myself a fair bit, then you won’t see me complaining.”
“You won’t see me complaining, either.”
“Mr. Samson, sir,” whispered the waiter from nearby. “Your companions have arrived.”
“Ah, thanks.” Samson faced the wristgear. “See you later, Paveryua.”
“Sure thing.” The line dropped.
Samson then stood up to greet the three women.
“Mr. Samson? Of t
he House of Hyde?” asked the one in the middle.
“Yes, I am Gabotiac (Main Retainer) Samsonn Baurgh Tiruser Tirusec. Sehrnye Ltd., I presume?”
“Yes; I’m Faigdacpéc Sérnaïc,” said the middle woman, nodding, though not without a faint tinge of disappointment in her eyes.
“I hear you’ve a letter of introduction from Fïac Lartnér.”
Chapter 2: The Vorlash Countdom
The meeting room was within the flower gardens, where it was the Earth-origin plants that were in glorious bloom. They were leagues easier to cultivate then Martinh-origin flowers, and all the more beautiful for it.
Seated upright in a luxurious chair (and amidst the choking floral fragrance) waited a man with light indigo hair. He was the Bélycec Bhosorr Bauchïmiacr (Chancellor’s Office Financial Affairs Bureau Investigator), Ïestaich.
“Good morning, Lonh-Dreur,” he said, getting up and saluting after the fashion of the imperial court upon seeing the two of them. “Fïac Bœrr,” he added reverently.
As might be gleaned from his ominous title, he was in tax collection — an alien concept among those born and raised as gentry within the Empire. For the vast majority of imperial citizens from landworlds, taxes were a nightmare of the past, one they jettisoned alongside their landworld citizenship. In fact, the major share of both gentry and imperial citizens lived out their lives never becoming aware that the Empire had any system of taxation to speak of.
It was a different story, however, for nobles in possession of star-fiefs, for they were the only people in all the Empire to enjoy the dubious privilege of paying taxes. Grandees, or nobles with inhabited planets to their name, were guaranteed the right to monopolize their respective territory-nations’ trade, as well as the right to produce antimatter fuel around their systems’ suns and extract mineral resources from any uninhabited planets. In return, they had to offer up a portion of their production output to the Empire. In the case of the Countdom of Hyde, the landworld administration had no mining bases, plantations, or other settlements outside of the planet of Martinh.
Dinner With Family Page 3