Granted, compared to an assault ship, this ship felt lacking. Piloting an assault ship was akin to moving in a set of steel armor. Each maneuver was accompanied by a weighty reaction. This ship, on the other hand, was a gauze jumpsuit. One could drive it without feeling much of any push-back. And most saliently of all, there was none of the tension that came with having the lives of twenty people in her hands.
No tension didn’t mean no fun, of course. She was enjoying this cruise, frolicking through space as though she were a tot once more. She set Delktu as her destination and pushed to maximum thrust. Immediately, her body became buried in her seat, and the air was pushed out of her lungs. She suspended the main engines, but her relative speed compared to the planet was still quite high. If she left it as is, she’d end up plummeting right into its atmosphere at an angle perpendicular to the surface.
She moved her left hand, the control gauntlet hand, and thus revved the attitude control engines, shifting course, and sweeping over Delktu. The atmosphere up here was so thin as to be nonexistent, but still it rebuffed the vessel, which changed course significantly. The joy engendered by the alterations in acceleration coursed through her body, and she was left gasping. In that moment, her body and soul knew that Abhs were born to soar through the heavens.
To the Abh, who had broken past their erstwhile status as mere bio-droids and constructed a mega-empire, spurring on ships was still a part of life, and she hadn’t gotten a chance for a joy ride in quite a while. Having a good time making such rash maneuvers blew away the dregs of stagnation that had piled up in her heart.
Again she veered, commencing rapid deceleration. Might as well throw in a tailspin while she was at it, too. At the time she deemed appropriate, she stopped the engines and hitched onto Delktu’s satellite orbit. She relaxed her whole body as she perceived the landworld above her with her frocragh. The landworld Jint was on.
I wonder whether walking on a landworld’s surface is a part of Jint’s life.
She’d touched down onto a landworld only twice in her life, but she just didn’t think she’d ever like it. The air smelled. Not unbearably, but once her head started worrying about it, it wouldn’t stop. Probably because of the lack of proper purification equipment in the atmosphere’s system of circulation. How do you live on such an unregulated world without worrying? It seemed to her that Jint only ever felt anxious when he was betwixt the stars, no matter whether he was on a ship or in an orbital building. If it was floating through space, it appeared he thought it unreliable. Jint wouldn’t ever care to accompany her, even on a little stroll like this. Actually, he couldn’t if he wanted to. Genetic Landers couldn’t withstand such high acceleration. The fit and healthy would endure with their lives intact, but they couldn’t be expected to remain conscious, and they’d have to spend some time in a regeneration vat afterward.
We really are a different race, she thought, casting her eyes down.
It was a pleasant exhaustion that enveloped her after pushing a ship to her absolute limits. The vessel zoomed from Delktu’s day half to its night half. The shrill light of the sun of Vorlash that she’d felt underfoot fell away, along with the reflected light she’d felt overhead. Yet as always, the whispering of the distant stars filled her frocragh. It was a quiet, quiet world out there.
If I were able to weave through the stars like this at infinite acceleration, just how good would that feel? If she could continue accelerating indefinitely, space would continually shrink as she eventually approached the speed of light. She’d be able to zip through the insides of countless stars.
Alas, that dream was not to be. At near-light speed, the stress applied by the hydrogen atoms floating through the vast gaps between celestial bodies would stop being negligible, and the ship would burn blazing hot. Besides, the wee vessel’s energy would expend itself far before it ever reached the speeds necessary to experience relativistic contraction.
Why do I feel so drawn to the stars? she wondered. It was a common Abh desire to soar through 3-space at near-light speed. This enticement was referred to as “starlust.” Typically, Abhs who grew weary of living were prone to it. Some even went ahead with it, and few among them ever returned from their starlust jaunt.
Lafier was happy. Or at least, she figured she was.
“Oh,” she realized, muttering. “I’m stressed.”
A light and easy tune played in the steering room. It was her wristgear announcing the time had come. She snapped to, raised altitude, and aimed for the spaceport. An intrastellar ship was just departing from said spaceport. She reduced thrust and flew side-by-side with it.
She called Jint using her wristgear.
“’Sup, Lafier,” said Jint, his voice a little strange.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Yeah, a bit. Actually, more than a bit. My head’s pounding.”
“That’s unusual. Are you sick?”
“I’m something like being sick, I guess. It’s a hangover. It’s not something you Abhs-by-birth will ever have to worry about, but I assure you, there are all sorts who are well-acquainted with hangovers.”
“We may not get hangovers, but we do at least know about them,” she replied, miffed. At the same time, she was confused: “Why don’t you take some medicine for it? Surely it’s not something you have no choice but to let pass? I’ve heard the sensation is quite off-putting.”
“Oh, totally. It feels terrible.”
“Then why?”
“They’re banned here. Sober-uppers.”
“Really? What an odd law.”
“They’re under the impression that if they don’t ban them, people will just gulp them down without restraint. Plus, they think that people ought to suffer the consequences for what they do to their bodies. Though it’s a different story when lives are on the line.”
“Might you be aboard a ship at the moment?” she asked, as she perceived a ferry shuttle sailing a mere ten saidagh away with her frocragh. According to a prior message, Jint was supposed to be in transit.
“Yep, I am.”
“That law is a law of the landworld, is it not?”
“Yeah. The landworld administration passed it.”
“Then I don’t think you need to pay it any mind anymore. The laws of a landworld administration don’t extend to ship interiors. Or do they?”
“They don’t, but I used to be a Delktunian, too. So I end up in a weird headspace where I feel like punishing myself.”
“I see. Are you suffering a great deal?”
“You have no idea.”
“In that case, while my stroll was set to last a little while longer, I’ll return to the Manor a bit earlier than I’d scheduled.”
“Your stroll? Are you flying right now?”
“Yep. Right next to the ship you’re on.”
“Oh, there you are. At least, I can see something shiny.”
“That’s me, most likely. Don’t take any medicine until we meet.”
“You’re a cruel one sometimes, you know that?”
“Didn’t you say you were punishing yourself?”
“Showing you how I’m in such a sorry state doesn’t count.”
“Don’t say that. You know, you’re so—”
“Wait, something’s up...” Jint’s voice took a serious tinge. “It’s an emergency communication.”
Lafier, too, felt something alarming. Her frocragh was picking up the phosphorescent orb that was the Vorlash Portal, from which a small ship had appeared. It was a conveyance ship, the model widely used by the Star Forces. One was supposed to be loaded aboard the Baucbiruch, but it was difficult to distinguish between individual conveyance ships using just her frocragh, given that they were mass-produced.
“Lafier,” said Jint, his voice normal — he’d taken the medicine.
“Is there some kind of problem?”
“Looks like it. The Baucbiruch came under attack.”
“Oh...” Lafier screwed her eyes shut and steeped her wh
ole self into the murmurs of the stars. Suddenly, she felt as though the languid flow of time was glimmering.
Chapter 5: Glamsaïhoth (Crest Bestowal Ceremony)
After the inspection, servicing, and repairs that followed their familiarization voyages, the twelve raid ships formed a single column, flying in the vicinity of the star of Abliar. At the head of the pack was the Raichaicec doriac (Commandant’s ship), the Lymcaubh. Just because the Commandant was aboard the Lymcaubh did not make it the flagship. The reason behind this confusing appellation was that Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 had yet to be officially established.
The Flicaubh, Sobash’s ship, was second in line, flying behind the Lymcaubh. Eventually, a patrol ship approached the line of raid ships. It was the Glagac Glagalacr (Star Forces Flagship) and the Rüéreurh (Imperial Empress’s Ship), the Gaftnochec.
The Gafnochec was of great ceremonial significance, but that was not all. If the imperial capital ever threatened to become a warzone, then the Empress would board it and lead the watchguard fleet to battle. The ship was no mere ornament; it was the ship slated to fight when the hour was most dire for the Empire. As such, it was customary for the designation to fall on the most state-of-the-art patrol ship of the times. The Gaftnochec was currently a Caü-class ship. And Empress Lamagh was, at present, aboard ship.
“Preparations are complete, I trust,” came Atosryua’s voice, reverberating through the bridge. “Soon we’ll be honored with a crest banner. If anybody here doesn’t take pride in their being here to bear witness, then keep it to yourself until after the ceremony’s over. I’m trembling with excitement, and if someone were to ruin the mood for me, I vow to make mincemeat of their tongue for the cats to snack on.”
Whenever a new squadron or sub-fleet was formed, the Empress herself bestowed the crest banner. Such was the Star Forces tradition... during peacetime. During a period of war, innumerable squadrons had to be formed, and not always at the capital. The Empress could hardly afford to fly around the galaxy personally granting a crest banner to each one. Usually, rüé tusaic (imperial envoy) would do it in her stead, even for sub-fleets, let alone for squadrons. That the crest bestowal ceremony was being conducted as though it were peacetime was a sign of the hopes they were placing in Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 as a pillar of the Empire. None could blame Atosryua, who’d been chosen as the first commandant of this momentous squadron, for feeling honored.
The Lymcaubh veered to face the Gaftnochec.
“All ships, with great respect ought you to entrust control to the Gaftnochec. First, the Lymcaubh must prepare for external control, and conduct an information link with the Empress’s Ship.”
“This is the Gaftnochec. Information link online.”
“This is the Lymcaubh. With reverence towards Her Majesty the Empress do we relinquish the right of control.”
“This is the Gaftnochec. The Lymcaubh is now under this ship’s control.”
It went without saying that giving up control functions (such as piloting and weapons control) to another meant waiving the ship’s independence. Doing so was, to the Abh, the deepest show of respect there was.
Following Atosryua’s commands, each of the ships took it in turn to entrust control to the Gaftnochec. Soon, it was the Flicaubh’s turn.
“Information link with the Gaftnochec complete,” reported the Communications Officer.
Sobash input the saigh sarérr (ship commander’s key-code), switching the ship to external control mode. An ominous warning sound notified them that important functions such as steering, weapons control, and communications were no longer accepting input from within the ship. Now the Flicaubh moved as the Empress’s Ship directed, irrespective of the will of the crew.
Deca-Commander Idlia jokingly raised up his hands in surrender, but it was out of place. Before long, all ships had shifted to the Empress’s Ship’s control. The single column then broke into cylindrical formation, after which the raid ships were made to fire up their reverse thrusters and kill their speed relative to the Gaftnochec, which also decelerated. Shortly before entering the cylinder of ships, it ejected a cargo pod from the back. When the patrol ship did enter the cylinder, the difference in relative speed between it and the ships making up the cylinder was near zero. Slowly, the twelve raid ships passed the imperial flagship by.
“Communication from the Gaftnochec flowing into the ship’s memory net!” shouted the Communications Officer, Rearguard Yatesh, excitedly.
No need to get so worked up, thought Sobash. Though he was probably just trying to liven the mood, seeing as there was nothing for them to do.
“It’s the processing system instructions. The crypto-mode is ‘saiceruc’ (Eurasian jay).”
“Saiceruc” was used throughout the Star Forces. It was the level of confidentiality only those of ship commander rank or above were allowed to decipher. Sobash inserted the password and decoded the message.
FROM: GLAHARÉRH BYRER CLAÏÏAR (TRAINING FLEET COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF)
FOR: SHIP COMMANDER OF THE RAID SHIP FLICAUBH
STARTING WITH RECEIPT OF THIS ORDER, YOUR SHIP OFFICIALLY BELONGS TO TRAMPLE-BLITZ SQUADRON 1.
THE PROCESSING SYSTEM YOU RECEIVED IN TANDEM WITH THIS DIRECTIVE IS FOR THE CONSTRUCTION AND DECRYPTION OF THE CRYPTO-MODE MEANT FOR TRAMPLE-BLITZ SQUADRON 1, NAMED CAMRINIC (HAMAZERI PLANT).
ACT AS A MEMBER OF THE STAR FORCES IS EXPECTED TO.
The Communications Officer continued, “The processing system has been automatically planted into the compucrystal network.”
This ceremony had taken place quietly, through the compucrystal networks of all of the raid ships.
“A communication from the Gaftnochec for all crewmembers,” reported Rearguard Yatesh. “The video will be shown through the main screen and open screens, and the audio will be transmitted through the onboard speakers.”
Sobash got to his feet. “All bridge personnel, stand up. All other crewmembers should listen in awe to the extent their current duties allow them to.”
Empress Lamagh appeared on the main screen. She was seated on the Jade Throne, the counterpart of the one in the Audience Chamber. The Rüé Gahorh (Empress’s Bridge) was around the same level of importance as the Audience Chamber at the Imperial Palace: so the emperors of imperial history had come to think, through the ages.
Lamagh spoke: “The Training Fleet Commander-in-Chief tells Us they’ve received the automated replies from the compucrystal nets of all of the raid ships, informing Us that your orders have been received. With this, Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 now exists on paper. As to whether it exists in reality, that rests on the blood, sweat, and tears you shed into shaping it. We do not know whether creating this new type of ship, this ‘raid ship,’ was a wise idea. We simply hope you will prove to us that it was. If only We could...” She cast her eyes down, a listless finger touching the circlet that was molded in the likeness of the eight-headed gaftnochec. “If only We could, We would have liked to verify the true worth of the raid ships alongside you. Instead, We shall envy you, and wait for good tidings.”
They heard Atosryua speak on behalf of the squadron’s crews: “It is truly uplifting to be the object of Your Majesty’s envy. We shall strive hard so that, when news of our squadron’s deeds makes it to Your Majesty’s ears, the fires of Your jealousy shall singe the Jade Throne.”
“Then go. Go, before We grow tired of the sheer comfortableness of the Jade Throne,” said Lamagh, a bitter smile on her lips.
“Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 shall proceed forth, in humble compliance with Your imperial command.”
Lamagh gave a slight nod, and as soon as the feed cut out, the right of control returned to the ship. At that moment, the Gaftnochec had almost entirely overtaken the cylinder formation made up of raid ships. The imperial flagship then accelerated at a dash, almost as though the Empress wanted to shake away any lingering feelings of attachment.
The raid ships maintained their current courses and speed, with the Lymcaubh as the sole
exception. It slowly picked up speed in order to retrieve the cargo pod that the Empress’s Ship had ejected.
“I obtained the crest banner,” came Atosryua’s message, its design appearing on the main screen. The emblem of Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 was the numeral “1” on a caubh (venomous serpent). “From here on out, we’ll be training to hone our group battle maneuvers. All ships head for the Ileesh Portal.”
Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 reverted to the single-column formation, with the Lymcaubh once again at the fore. Together, they made for one of the eight portals that revolved in close proximity to the imperial capital of Lacmhacarh.
“I want to hold a meeting before we enter planar space,” said Atosryua. “We won’t need to gather together. Each ship commander is to open the confidential line in their quarters. Let’s set the meeting to start at 1800 capital time.”
Sobash had an orbital building of his own in the capital. If one were to search for a room in that mansion house of equal size to the captain’s quarters of a Caubh-class ship, it would have to be the toy garage next to the children’s room. Yet Sobash had come to like this little room. It was cramped, but functional, and it was bigger than the captain’s quarters of a supply ship. Best of all, it was nice and new.
The mansion at the capital was built expressly for raising children. The days he spent with his two kids were more precious memories than the voyages of the most profitable merchant vessels in the history of commerce in the Empire, but now they were full-grown adults. Were he to return, he’d find only the maintenance automatons whirring more quietly than a bed of flowers.
Sobash sat down in his black leather chair and glanced at his wristgear’s time display. Shortly before eighteen o’clock, he opened the confidential line.
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