“However will I thank you?”
Durin glanced at the giant clock hanging on the ceiling and said “Uh-oh, has it really gotten this late already? Shouldn’t you already be boarding? Which ship you taking?”
“The imperial üicreurh (WEEKREURR, warship).”
“Wha?”
“New students of the military academy have the right to hitch a ride on an imperial war-vessel. At first, I wrestled over the decision, but then I thought I might as well check out what it’s like aboard a warship, since I’m gonna be a starpilot and all. So, I chose to exercise my right.”
“Hold up, does that mean a warship’s gonna dock at this spaceport?”
“Beats me, man. Someone’s scheduled to come pick me up at 18 o’clock. And I’m here with the proper attire.” Jinto pointed as his long robe. “Easier to spot this way, they said. Kind of a facile idea for a race capable of prolonged interstellar navigation, huh?”
“Wait, so an Abh soldier’s gonna be coming?”
“Yeah; not sure if they’ll be Abh, though. A Star Forces bausnall (BOHSNAHL, soldier) will be here soon, in any case.”
“Ah. In that case, I oughta retreat now.”
“Huh? How come?” said Jinto with some alarm. “Don’t you wanna drink in the sight of me getting hauled off by ‘em?”
“I’ll pass.” Durin rose from his chair. “The sheer patheticness’d make me spill tears of pity for sure.”
“That’s rich, coming outta Delktu’s most ruthless scoundrel,” Jinto replied as he, too, rose to his feet.
“Stop flattering me, you’re making me blush!” Durin extended his hand.
Jinto took it in both hands.
“What’s your formal name again?” asked Durin.
“Linn ssynec-Rocr Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder Ghintec (LEEN SYOON ROHK YARLOOK DRYOOR HAEEDEHR JEENT, Noble Prince of the Countdom of Hyde Jinto Lin, descended of Rock). I think.”
Durin goggled at him. “Whaddya mean, ‘I think’? It’s your name!”
“I’m not used to it. It feels like somebody else’s name.”
“All right then. From now on you’re ‘Lin COUGH Jinto.’ And you’d better remember my name. ‘Ku Durin.’ Thing of glory, isn’t it? It’s definitely loads easier to remember than ‘Lin Whosawhat Jinto.’”
“Dude. Like I could ever forget you. And you can drop the ‘Whosawhat.’ Just don’t forget the name ‘Lin Jinto.’”
“You can count on me, Linn ssynec-Rocr Ïarlucec Dreur Haïder Ghintec.” Durin’s face curled up in a grin, as though boastful of his powerful memory.
Jinto returned the smile and let go of Durin’s hand.
“See ya. Break a leg out there.”
“You, too, man. Make sure you grow your company big enough so that I don’t have to worry about searching for work no matter when I return.”
“I told you, bro, you can count on me.” Durin spun on his heels.
Jinto watched him disappear down the elevator-tube, but he never looked back.
When he made to sit back down, the middle-aged woman from before came back into view. But she wasn’t looking his way. Those blunt eyes were trained in the opposite direction.
Jinto’s own eyes pivoted in that direction, as though drawn by a hook.
Someone slender with a skintight black jumpsuit and scarlet üébh (WEV, belt) caught his eye. They made a beeline towards him, drawing even more attention than when Jinto first appeared.
Black and red — the sairhinec (SERREEN, military uniform) of the Imperial Star Forces.
Chapter 2: The Bénaic Lodaïrh (BENEH LOHDAEERR, Apprentice Starpilot)
The definition of “Abh” was laid down clearly and concisely in Rüé-Razaimec (ROOEH RAHZEM, Imperial Law). That is to say, it was a general umbrella term for fasanzœrh (FAHSANZEHRR, the highest family or “imperials”), nobles, and gentry.
According to that definition, Jinto was, as the legitimate progeny of a count’s household, indisputably Abh.
However, the word “Abh” meant something else as well: It was also the name of their ethnicity. This double-meaning was not overly problematic by dint of the fact that Abhs-by-law were also typically genetic Abhs.
In other words, Jinto was the unfortunate exception. This gap was not something that could easily be covered up. After all, the difference between Abhs and Landers wasn’t on the level of divergent races or ethnicities, not truly. It was on the level of different species.
While clearly distinct from Homo Sapiens, it was almost certain that Abhs were descendants of Earth humans. The evolutionary split that produced this “mutant race” cannot have been spurred by a mere mutation, it was said, but rather can only have been brought about with an explicit plan in mind.
To back that claim, one needed only point to how even now, the Abh continued to dally with their genes. It was said that the genetic manipulation of newborn children was especially indispensable to them. If there was any deviation among 27,000 designated DNA sequences within a child’s nucleic acid molecules, it had to be corrected.
It was also said that this was in order to prevent congenital diseases and maintain the uniformity of their race, but there was a more perceptive way of looking at the matter.
Rather, their thinking was based on a concept not unlike poetry with predetermined numbers of lines and rhyming patterns — when certain constraints are placed upon an art form, it can reach a higher level of sophistication.
Yes, the awareness of their children’s genes as the subject matter of a work of art — this was the resonating verse of Abh culture. It wasn’t mandatory — it was out of a simple sense of aesthetics that they touched up their children’s genes.
Nor did they practice this genetic art with poor taste. They shared their sense of beauty with most terrestrial worlds, and no one ever pointlessly ran away with their own hideous predilections — or at least, they seldom ever did.
As such, the Abh comprised a collection of lookers so lovely that it was downright irritating.
The soldier of indeterminate gender coming Jinto’s way seemed the epitome of Abh genetic artistry.
Their long bluish-black locks flowed behind them, and they wore a plain military-issue circlet. Their face was oval-shaped, and a light cocoa in hue. The pupils of the striking eyes aimed straight at him were like black agates. Their eyebrows, though thin, traced sharp and elegant lines, and their small nose was beautiful in its delicateness. Their full lips were tightly pursed.
The scarlet belt was the sign of a starpilot.
As for their age... It was said to be a nigh impossible task to judge the age of an Abh by their appearance. That was because they aged in a peculiar way. Up until around age 15, they aged just like their ancestors, but during the 25 or so years following that point, they only outwardly put on about 10 years. After that, they didn’t show any signs of aging for the rest of their lives. Abh call the period of growth until age 15 “zarhoth” and the subsequent period before one’s appearance stops changing “féroth.”
The Abh were unaging, but contrary to what many Landers believed, they were not immortal. Over time, nerve cell regeneration fatally muddled one’s personality and memories. For that reason, it was said they had to make do with the same neuro-biology as their ancestors. Even Abhs couldn’t survive the fraying of their brain cells.
In their pride, Abhs programmed their genes to freeze up the functioning of the area of their brains that governed breathing before their intellect faded away. Abhs also died of old age: they just did so between the ages of 200 and 250.
In other words, an Abh that appeared to be in their mid-20s could in fact be 40 or even 200 years old.
However, in this starpilot’s case, there was no need to worry about getting their age too far off the mark. They were either somewhere around the end of their zeroth growth period, or the beginning of their féroth maturation period. They were most likely around Jinto’s age.
They’d have to get closer before Jinto could be sure of their
gender. His gut told him they were a she, but he couldn’t be certain. It was quite common among Abh males to possess faces and figures that could pass as a beautiful young maiden’s, even past age 200. Indeed, at this age, one couldn’t tell whether they were a handsome man or a lovely lady.
But here they came, even as Jinto wracked his mind; here they came, parting the crowds with the larger-than-life presence they exuded. The way they walked was dashing and refined. Their head stayed almost completely still. She, or perhaps he, strode forward as though skating.
Jinto looked at the rank insignia on the chest of their black Abh military uniform. Though he only had a surface knowledge of rank insignias, there were some things he knew.
It was an inverse isosceles triangle with curved sides. Within its silver bordering roared the eight-headed dragon of myth, which stood as the agh (AHZH, crest/coat of arms) of the Rüé-ghéc (ROOEHZHEH, Imperial Household) and imperial niglac (NEEGLA, national coat of arms) — a silver Gaftnochec (GAHFTNOHSH). The base color of the lowest-ranked insignia was scarlet. It indicated one was a starpilot. There were no other lines or stars emblazoned on their attire.
That meant they were an apprentice starpilot.
They were wearing a starpilot’s uniform, but they weren’t formally a pilot for the time being. They were learning the ropes. That was the position that fresh graduates of a cénruc lodaïrh (KENROO LOHDAEERR, flight academy) took on for half a year, during which they did hands-on training aboard a warship or at a lonidec (LOHNEED, base).
Jinto was also able to glean that this apprentice starpilot was, in fact, a girl from how the insignia was modestly bulging out.
Seeing as he knew she’d come to pick him up, he ought to have walked toward her, but something about her had him overawed; he stood paralyzed.
In that time, the apprentice reached him and planted her heels right in front of him. “Are you Linn ssynec-Rocr Dreur Haïder Roch-lonh (LOHNYUH, the Honorable)?”
Jinto flinched at the unfaltering recitation of his long and laborious name. It took all his effort just to nod.
Her right hand flashed. Jinto sensed danger, so he reflexively took a step back. However, the apprentice had only moved her right hand to place her index and middle fingers to her circlet, the Abh salute of respect.
“I have come to greet you from the résic (RESEE, patrol ship) Goslauth. You will follow me.” Her tone of voice was definitely a girl’s, but her tense demeanor wouldn’t have been out of place in a young man. Her voice was limpid, like plucking a harpstring wound tight enough to snap.
After finishing her salute, she turned her back and once again took brisk strides, as though she didn’t much care whether Jinto followed her or not.
Anger seethed in Jinto’s chest. It wasn’t that he’d expected a lot. The dictionary definition of “aïbss” (AEEP, Lander [i.e., surface-dweller]) wasn’t discriminatory per se, but from what he’d gathered reading his textbooks, Landers were the targets of the Abh’s unspoken disdain. That’s why he was able to brace himself a little. Of course, he was used to being treated differently from the rest. But everyone is born equal, and so he had no desire to live his life groveling before people who held him in contempt.
He was sure the the duty of escorting the heir of some upstart Lander noble wouldn’t be to the apprentice starpilot girl’s liking. No, it wasn’t just her; nobody aboard the patrol ship cared for the idea, so they pushed it on the lowest-ranked apprentice.
Jinto convinced himself that was the case. This had to be redressed: first impressions are crucial to interpersonal relations. Of this, Jinto was very sure; it was what he’d learned from his experiences on Delktu. It all started with the courtesy of introducing oneself.
“Wait, hold up!” called Jinto.
“What?” She turned back to face him.
“You know my name, right?”
“Are you not Linn ssynec-Rocr Dreur Haïder Roch-lonh?” Doubt tinged the jet-black pupils that were staring back at him. It didn’t seem as though she’d been mocking or looking down on him after all.
“Yeah, I am Linn Whosawhat Ghintec, but I don’t know your name. I dunno what it’s like for Abhs, but that’s not something I can be comfortable just letting slide.”
Astonished, she opened her large eyes even wider.
Was it rude to ask an Abh their name? Jinto felt a smidge uneasy. He may have studied Abh culture, but what he knew, he was taught by former imperial citizens at school. His knowledge could be incomplete.
However, her reaction far exceeded his expectations.
Elation broke on the apprentice’s mouth, and she puffed her chest. Her blue-black hair swept in the air, and the cothec cisaiger (KOHTH KEESEGEHR, functionality crystals) at the ends of her cisaigec (KEESEG, circlet-embedded access-cables) swayed like so many eccentric earrings.
“You will call me ‘Lafier’!”
She’s just saying her name — so why did it sound like a declaration? wondered Jinto. It was positively triumphal in tone.
“In exchange,” continued Lafier, “I would like to simply call you ‘Jinto.’ Agreed?” The instant he saw Lafier’s inquisitive eyes, the grudge he’d harbored in his heart melted away like so much snow tossed into boiling water. Her captivating eyebrows lifted in unmistakable apprehension, frightened and unsure what she’d do if rejected.
“Of, of course!” Jinto nodded enthusiastically. “I’d be grateful if you’d do that for me.”
“Well, greetings then, Jinto,” said Lafier. “Let’s go.”
“Right.” And so, now amenable, he followed Lafier.
“Jinto,” said Lafier. “There’s something that I would like to ask you.”
“What?”
“Earlier, when I saluted you, you stepped back. What was that?”
Jinto couldn’t exactly tell her that he thought she’d hit him, so he made something up on the spot. “That’s just how we greet people on my home planet. Old habits.”
“Ohh...” Lafier didn’t appear to doubt what he said at all. “Your home planet’s greeting customs are really strange. I had gotten the impression that you were guarding against some kind of attack.”
“You’re bound to think something you’re not used to seeing is odd, no matter the culture,” Jinto explained soberly.
“I see,” she said, nodding. “I grew up surrounded by other Abhs, so I don’t know much about foreign cultures.”
“Makes sense you wouldn’t.”
“That being said, you are also an Abh, Jinto. I think you ought to familiarize yourself with the ways of the Carsarh Gereulacr (KARSARR GUHRYOOLAHK, Kin of the Stars).”
Jinto groaned on the inside. That’s what the Abh dubbed themselves from time to time. The “Kin of the Stars.” It seemed they were rather fond of this poetic moniker.
But is regarding balls of vapor bereft of any feat apart from nuclear fusion as your relatives really all that much to be proud of? pondered Jinto. Never mind that, has anyone ever tried asking the stars themselves what they think about all of this?
However, the only words that passed through his lips were: “Easier said than done. Shaking off an upbringing that’s already ingrained is extremely hard.”
“That may well be.”
“It’s gonna be tough from here on out,” he said. He made sure to add a sigh to invite sympathy. That sigh belied his actual mood. He felt brilliant. His first encounter with an Abh had gone far better than he’d feared. After all, he’d managed to establish a first-name-basis relationship. Not only that, but he’d done so with a girl about his age. Any guy in his shoes who wouldn’t feel exhilarated needed to get checked for a sickness of the soul.
They stopped in front of the doors to Elevator-tube 26, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Lafier fiddled with her compuwatch, and the doors opened.
Though the elevators headed towards the planet’s surface were each furnished with enough seating to accommodate around 100 passengers, this elevator didn’t contain any seating at all. Its interior
was cramped, with only enough room for about 10 people.
“Say...” Jinto had chosen a safe topic of conversation. “That patrol ship... uh, what’s its name again?”
“The Goslauth.”
“Right, yeah, what byrec (BYOOR, fleet) does the Goslauth belong to?”
“It belongs to the Byrec Claïar (BYOOR KLEH’EEAR, Training Fleet).”
“So there must be a lot of apprentice starpilots like you on board, huh?”
“You lack common sense,” said Lafier reproachfully.
“Of course, it took all my effort just to learn the language. Plus, I’m almost all boned up on military stuff.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” Lafier frowned slightly. “Forgive me.” Jinto was left mystified as to whether that had been meant as an earnest apology.
The elevator-tube ascended two floors and came to a halt. Jinto got off after Lafier.
“There are claiïagac (KLEH’EEAHGA, training ships) within the Training Fleet, that much is true,” Lafier explained as they walked. “However, those are boarded by cénh (KENYUH, trainee pupils). Apprentice starpilots like me don’t go on those. The Training Fleet is trusted with a second mission. It hosts new, leading-edge warships that haven’t yet been formally assigned while they’re running familiarization runs. The Goslauth just got commissioned three months ago, and the Sarérh (SARERR, Captain) and everyone else aboard are practicing how to handle it.”
“Huh?” He was suddenly nervous.
“There’s nothing to fret over,” Lafier said, unsmilingly. “It’s a figure of speech. Excepting myself, there’s no one but experienced saucec (SOHK, crewmembers), and the first round of fine-tuning has been done. It won’t fall apart with you in it.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t worried or anything,” Jinto lied once again.
There were no civilian passengers that he could see on this floor. There were only officers in uniform. The wall beside the elevator-tube was curved, giving the impression that this was a rounded circular hallway.
After going around the elevator-tube, they came upon a hallway that led outside it, guarded by a pair of sach (SAHSH, non-commissioned crew, or “NCCs”).
Princess of the Empire (JNC Edition) Page 5
