A War Most Modest (JNC Edition)

by Hiroyuki Morioka

  She opened the air lock room’s pressure door and unreeled the cord, which was originally set up to extricate people caught adrift from the vacuum of space. That’s why the cord’s tip could be guided to an extent. Pulled in by the artificial gravity, the cord’s end came close to outright touching the hatch.

  Lafier brought her lips to her compuwatch. “Jinto, it’s in place.”

  “We’re ready to go, too,” he replied. His voice communicated his nervousness in spades.

  “Keep away from the space underneath the hatch. I’m feeding the cord down.”

  “Got it.”

  “You two had best tell me as soon as you’ve established a firm grip, while there’s still air to speak through. I’ll start pulling you up that instant.”

  “If you’d be so kind.”

  “The connecting vessel has come into line over the Lonh-lym Raica’s Retirement Zone,” reported Mwineesh.

  “So, they’re not backing down.” The Baron clenched his fists. He had taken refueling off the table by destroying the fuel storage asteroids. If that wasn’t enough to cow the royal princess, then the only option left to him was the direct one:

  Detaining Her Highness by gunpoint.

  And, failing that, he would be forced — but willing — to dispatch her.

  That was the last thing he wanted, of course, but now that the situation had spiraled so far out of his control, his hands were tied. The Baron couldn’t acknowledge his own errors at this late date. He would safeguard his pride, even if it meant making an enemy of the entire Empire.

  “We’re leaving this place,” he declared. “All of you, take up arms and follow me.”

  He knew she’d come to settle things, a prospect he welcomed with open arms.

  A cnécrr coüiciac (cleaner-bot) was clinging to the ceiling like a giant beetle. If it was acting as directed, its all-purpose robo-digits were clutching the emergency release lever to the hatch’s side.

  “Ready?” asked the former baron.

  “Ready.”

  “Right then,” Sruf yelled at the automaton. “Crank it!”

  Though they couldn’t make out its digits’ movements, still the hatch disappeared that very instant, laying bare the belly of the ship.

  Their ears began ringing keenly as white mist enveloped them. The rapid depressurization had commenced.

  The grappling cord passed through the hatch like a small rocket, ramming smack into the pond at full speed.

  Jinto jumped feet-first into the pond. Sruf followed suit (and surprisingly nimbly for an old man). Feverishly, Jinto cinched the cord’s ring over his left shoulder and under his right armpit. Then he verified whether Sruf was prepared.

  Meanwhile, the water at their feet was already bubbling up into a low-temperature boil from the depressurization.

  “LAFIIIER!” Jinto screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping it’d carry through the dissipating air. “GO! PULL US UP!”

  Not seconds later, he felt it jerk up against his armpit. The tips of his feet cleared the water.

  The cord dragged them toward her at a maddeningly sluggish clip, but upon seeing how the rushing air was causing the cord to sway enough to kiss the rim of the hatch, he could hardly complain. Spending time in airless space did a body no good, but neither did slamming into the ceiling.

  The ceiling zoomed closer and closer, and for a moment it seemed as though he’d hit the hatch’s rim, but it was thanks to the cord’s slow pace that he managed to twist his body and move into position in time.

  The dead of dadh, normal space, fast approached! Nothing save for a thin layer of air separated Jinto from the plane of the stars now. A layer of air that was attenuating by the second. It was akin to making out with a vacuum cleaner. He could feel his lungs deflating with a frightful distinctness.

  Yet his naked space trek lasted nary a split-second, and before he could even digest this rarest of escapades, he found himself already sucked into the air lock room. That was not to say that his date with vacuums was over. The air lock room’s interior was itself extremely close to a vacuum, and what scant air there was raced away to reach an even steadier state of stability.

  QUICK, CLOSE IT! Jinto mouthed, but no medium was there to transmit sound.

  Dangling from the air lock room’s ceiling, he gazed upon the wide-open pressure door beneath him with abject fear. An eternity elapsed before it closed shut — an eternity of under a second. Life-giving air poured in from four separate vents, their jets clashing and forming a modest pocket of turbulence.

  Jinto gulped it down avidly, even as his ears were all but crying in pain from the extreme pressure shift. Nevertheless, as his violent heart palpitations simmered down, the realization that they’d truly pulled it off dawned alongside a profound sense of relief.

  He released his cord bindings and clattered to the floor. While the air remained thin, he could breathe without trouble. He lent Sruf a hand and eased him down from the cord.

  It was over now. Jinto slumped down and leaned against the wall. He scowled and endured the stinging in his ears.

  Sruf likewise slumped to the floor and heaved. He had indeed been hardy enough to withstand the trip, and was now feeling gracious enough not to voice the biting feedback he had every right to.

  At last, the blue light flipped on to signal that the pressure had returned to standard levels.

  The door to the steering room opened. Jinto looked up. He’d have loved to celebrate their reunion with an emotional one-liner to remember, but his mind blanked apart from noting that this was the first time he’d ever seen her in her long robe.

  “Hey, Lafier.” Jinto glanced at the silver bird spreading its wings across a field of deep crimson, and then on the ornamental sash-belt the color of malachite. “That looks great on you.”

  He briefly pictured the princess glomping him — but that was a pipe dream.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, firmly planted in place.

  “See for yourself.” A tad disappointed, Jinto lifted his hands to her.

  “Good. It would be inconvenient if my precious cargo got himself injured.”

  Jinto whispered into the former baron’s ear: “Now you see just how madly in love with me Her Highness is.”

  The Baron of Febdash was walking toward the boarding space. He’d added seven servants he deemed trustworthy to original band of four, for a total of eleven encircling him. Among them was Cfaspia, her right hand wrapped in a bandage.

  The Baron suddenly halted. It had become a mite harder to breathe, and it couldn’t have just been a result of his nerves.

  “What’s the matter, my lord?” asked Belsa.

  “Can’t you see? The air, it’s gotten thinner.”

  “Now that you mention it...”

  “And I know exactly why, those little rots.” The Baron called the homemakers’ office through his compuwatch. “Can you hear me, traitors?”

  “Yes, my lord,” came the reply, while shouting voices dueled in the background.

  He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it wasn’t difficult to guess. One among their number had to be the servant who had betrayed his trust.

  “Greda, is this? You have some gall, calling me your ‘lord’ after stabbing me in the back!”

  “...My apologies.”

  “It matters not. I assume the Retirement Zone has become depressurized?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Have you a plan?”

  “Yes, my lo — Your Lordship. We have sealed all of the atmospheric circulators.”

  “Is that it? What of the garbage disposal?”

  “Ah!” Greda let out a small gasp. “I’m afraid that didn’t occur to me.”

  “Of course it didn’t. If you’re going to stay stationed at the homemakers’ office, then exercise caution. The air is steadily leaking.”

  “Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

  “I can’t imagine it’ll be a lark should the air run out, now will it? So
get a move on!”

  “But the garbage disposal ducts can’t be sealed remotely. There’s nothing we can do from here...”

  “You dolt! Seal them manually. Wait, no, take out the outside workers and repressurize the Retirement Zone. Or did you think filthy rebels deserve better? Have you a proper brain in that skull of yours, or is it just storage space?”

  “We were in disarray...”

  “Like I care, you moron!” screamed the Baron a second time, before dropping the call. He was livid. Rebellion was the clearest of misdeeds — or at the very least, rebellion against him was.

  The princess and her party had broken the air-sealing of the Baron’s estate without thinking of the consequences, and his inept servants knew not how to deal with the mess that made. Unless he asserted control of the building, they would keep hurtling toward certain disaster. This was the Baron’s castle, whether his maidstaff recognized that or not.

  “Those fools may yet bungle their mission,” he told the crowd of servants. “Let’s make haste, and put on pressurized clothes before the atmosphere becomes inhospitable.” Said clothing was stashed for emergency use in the landing lot.

  Besides, there was also the matter of that decrepit dotard, who had likely fled the coop alongside that Lander. If he gained access to a terminal, the situation would grow even more dire.

  Alas, but that he had gone senile.

  Then, the Baron realized with astonishment: the connecting vessel was also equipped with a terminal. After all, if the vessel’s computing crystals were connected the estate’s crystal network via an information link, it amounted to the same.

  “Go to the landing lot, and should you see Her Highness there, restrain her immediately. Don’t think of shrinking from the task, either; she may be of high rank, but in my domain, WE are the law,” the Baron instructed Belsa.

  “And what will you do, my lord?” replied Belsa, visibly worried.

  “I shall be stepping outside for a moment. I may have a full-fledged fight on my hands.”

  Meanwhile, in the homemakers’ office, another quarrel had emerged.

  On one side were Seelnay and Arsa, who had returned from the 2nd Service Pantry. On the other side were three other servants, Cnyusa, Semune, and Lulune, who’d come after listening to the speaker announcement.

  They traded heated arguments in a back-and-forth over whether they should pledge their loyalty to their lord or to their Empire. In fact, their ideological spat had gotten nigh indistinguishable from a simple mud-flinging match, the telephonic transceiver blaring incessantly to be connected all the while.

  However, the servants who were proactive enough to rush toward the Baron’s side didn’t make up a large portion of the total. Instead, the majority remained more or less idle at their stations or in their personal rooms, craving nothing other than information as a desert wanderer might water.

  Greda was the sole person carrying out her designated duties. The homemakers’ office wasn’t the only place in the estate where work duties were abandoned, either. Greda was a whirl of activity, picking up everyone’s slack. To exacerbate things, half of the office’s functionalities had been stripped from them. Those were the reasons the gravest change in the estate, the steady depressurization, evaded her notice.

  And yet, why hadn’t the thought crystals alerted her? Arsa’s refusal to allow the Baron to tamper with the crystals must have accidentally deactivated some other vital functions as well. The woman did have a tendency to overdo things in her perfectionism.

  Still, there was no time to investigate the cause.

  “Listen up, everyone,” said Greda, rising from her seat.

  “What do you want, Greda? We’re busy!” said Seelnay, not even turning to face her.

  “I’m busier than you are!” she roared.

  The five of them blinked blankly and focused their attention on her.

  Greda was considered a mild-mannered hand in this microcosm of theirs. More accurately, she was mocked behind her back as a timid sort who never expressed her own feelings or opinions. To the rest, Greda was a convenient office worker-bot on whom they could foist their more tedious tasks.

  Yet this time, Greda had raised her eyes to meet theirs, raised her voice to be heard. It was no surprise that the other servants would be so surprised.

  “Would you make that blasted phone stop beeping?”

  “Ah, right.” Arsa did as she was ordered. A hush promptly fell upon the office.

  As she continued to glower at her colleagues, Greda started her mansion-wide announcement.

  “This is the Homemakers’ Office speaking. The whole building is currently undergoing depressurization. Do not use the garbage chutes for the time being. If you see any kind of open slot, please seal it shut. Use dibec (sealing glue) if you can.”

  Seelnay’s eyes turned wide. “Depressurization!?”

  “Yes. Fïac Lartnér has opened the Retirement Zone hatch. Not only that, but she must have forgotten to close it, too, so now the air is exiting through the garbage disposal chutes.”

  “But I don’t feel the air thinning at all.”

  “Only because this room is well-sealed.”

  “See? SEE!?” said Lulune. “Her Highness doesn’t give a toss about us. What more proof do you need? We need to reaffirm our loyalty to him...”

  Greda banged the console with her palm. “Silence! We need to do some work outside. Seelnay, you’re certified for space labor operations, correct?”

  “I had to get licensed for my work here. But what do I do?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? We need to shut that hatch in the Retirement Zone.”

  “Yes, of course,” Seelnay nodded. “But I won’t be able to do it alone.”

  “Whoever’s left will go with you. You’ll have helpers.”

  “Excuse me, I’m waitstaff!” Semune protested. “I don’t have a space laborer’s license, and I don’t want to be working under someone like Seelnay anyway! Why don’t you go gather some professional technicians? Besides, what authority do you have to order me around, Greda...”

  “Be quiet!” Now it was her fist that pounded the console. “There’s no time to do any such thing, nor any to sit here listening to your bellyaching! Get on with it this instant! You’re not used to it, but that just means you need to get started NOW!”

  “Greda’s absolutely right,” said Seelnay. “Come with me if you want to live!”

  Reluctantly, the servants did as commanded. But Semune had to get another word in. “What about you, Greda? Not coming?”

  “I’m the Almgoneudec (Homemakers’ Office Chief Officer),” said Greda, throwing out her chest. “I’m needed here.”

  Semune seemed about to respond, but ultimately, she closed her mouth and left to follow Seelnay.

  Arsa was the only one left. Wordlessly, she asserted that since her post was here, she had a right to stick around.

  “You too, Arsa,” said Greda. “I have a handle on things here.”

  “Oh, okay. If you say so...” She had apparently remembered that Greda was her superior, and meekly nodded.

  Now alone, Greda resumed her toils. The position of Homemakers’ Office Chief Officer was worthy of esteem, and its duties were important, but she was not paid much respect in this Baron’s domain.

  Here, the most influential positions were the waitstaff who worked close to their lord, dïamhasairh (bedroom attendants), and daüchasairh (clothing attendants). The ladies in those roles were chosen purely for their looks, and they fulfilled another role in his bedchambers as well.

  The sole reason the Baron vested Greda with her role was to make sure she didn’t appear before him quite as often. And so, she was belittled at every turn, even as she performed the indispensable work of managing the mansion — looked down on by little girls who had just arrived from their respective terrestrial worlds, and who didn’t even know the Baronh language.

  Greda was stuck here in the Febdash Barony because she was bereft of friends and
family in her sandy home settlement. Whatever dreams she’d been cradling when she became an imperial citizen, she’d long forgotten. She didn’t even really know why she bothered getting out of bed in the morning.

  Now, however, she had laid hands on a new toy. She’d never even dreamed she could be cut out for such a thing, but here she was handing down orders! And it felt great. Fun, even. Handing down orders was important, too, after all.

  She couldn’t rely on the Baron, much less the princess and her fellow outsider.

  Could the Febdash Barony even persist, now that all of the stockpiled antimatter fuel had been disposed of?

  Greda had no interest whatsoever in the squabbles of highborns. She cared not which side emerged victorious, nor which was righteous and just, for no matter the end result, maintaining the building’s life functions was the truly crucial battle. And there was no one apart from her who could shoulder that momentous task.

  Greda picked up the phone so as to command the servants that had left their posts.

  “By the way, Baron Emeritus, whose side are you on?” Lafier rolled up her long robe’s sleeves and extended a hand toward her phaser’s grip.

  She had supposed that Sruf and the Baron opposed each other, but had never confirmed that hypothesis. If he was on the Baron’s side, then he would need to be dealt with in a suitable fashion.

  “His Eminence is our ally!” vouched Jinto.

  The former baron of Febdash gingerly rose up off the floor. “Fïac Lartnér, it seems as though my good-for-nothing son’s been a thorn in your side. Not to bother Your Highness even more, but I would be grateful if you, in your magnanimity, allow me to help discipline him.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” said Lafier. Her grip on her gun stayed tight. “I shall be killing him.”

  Sruf raised a white eyebrow. “Might that be a little excessive, Your Highness?”

  “Your son sabotaged my mission!” Lafier pulled it out and brandished it, not even noticing the expressions of worry on the other two Abh nobles’ faces. “The Baron blew away all of the fuel storage asteroids! Every one of them! We’ll be stuck here forever, Jinto. There’s nowhere to go!”