One hour later, the command squadron with Commodore Biboth at the helm of its flagship, the Scacaü, entered planar space through the Saudec Demeterr (Demeterh Portal).
“Quartermaster Linewing Starpilot Lynn.”
Jint had been relaxing in his personal quarters when Ecryua’s transmission came from the bridge.
“What’s up?”
Her little hologram (one tenth of Ecryua’s true size) replied: “How’s the cat?”
Jint’s eyes fell on the bunk, where Dyaho lay snoring. He had stretched out to such a length that he seemed like some kind of furry snake. “Well, by all appearances, he’s seen worse days. Is that all you wanted to ask?”
“No. There’s a message for you from outside.”
“Really?” That was unusual. “Who from?”
“It’s from the Unit Commander. I’ll put you through.”
“From the Hecto-Commander!? Hold on a second!”
Jint had no time to shake his panic before Ecryua’s image vanished, to be replaced by a life-size Atosryua appearing at the center of his room. Flustered, Jint fixed his uniform and saluted.
“Morning, Quartermaster Linewing Starpilot. Would you care to turn on the video output on your end as well?”
That was when Jint realized she wasn’t receiving video of him. “Good morning, Hecto-Commander. I’ll do so right away, ma’am.” After one final presentability check, he turned on his side’s live feed.
“Please don’t get so stiff. This transmission is over personal affairs.”
“Is that so?” Even now that he was told, point-blank, to drop the formality, he could ill afford to. It was more than just their difference in rank; it was everything that had happened three years prior.
“What is the purpose of your call, if I may ask?”
“I’m inviting you and Deca-Commander Abliar to a meal at The Three Crags. I’ve made a reservation. Have you heard of it? It’s the restaurant with the nicest cuisine in Dacruc. Of course, it leaves something to be desired as a venue for Her Highness the Viscountess and Your Excellency the Count, but this is a warzone, so I trust you’ll understand. Plus, I’ve already tried it. The decor is a tad stark for it to be called a top-notch establishment, but the flavor isn’t as lackluster as I’d expected. A little sweet for my tastes, to be sure, but nothing I couldn’t bear. I hope you like your food a smidge sweet. So then...”
“Please, wait a moment,” Jint cut in. “You’re inviting us?”
“That’s right,” she nodded. “I’d love it if you and Deca-Commander Abliar could come.”
Three days had passed since they’d confronted the recon-in-force patrol ship. In the end, they’d let two enemy vessels escape, and Assault Unit 1 lost one vessel. Worse still, it was thought that the Three Nations Alliance’s full-fledged counterattack was fast approaching. Yet here she was...
“You’re inviting us?” Jint repeated. “But why?”
“I’m inviting you and Deca-Commander Abliar. You can’t guess why?”
“Is this... is this about the incident with His Excellency the former Baron?”
“It is indeed,” Atosryua nodded happily. “Tomorrow would have been his birthday, at least by my perception of relative time.” When dealing with the galactic scale, the way individuals experienced the passing of time certainly varied.
“While I can’t invite Clowar himself, I’d like to celebrate in some small way with people who knew him.”
Which means if he could somehow make it to this birthday celebration, she wouldn’t have extended me any such invitation. Or is this how she gets her revenge? fretted Jint. “I, uhh, I don’t know if we could be said to have, well, known him...” he stammered.
“I know what you’re trying to get across, but I think it’s a sad inevitability. You two and I are the only ones in this star system who know him at all. Or are you telling me to celebrate by myself?”
“That isn’t what I’m saying, no...” What need is there to celebrate a dead man’s birthday to begin with? But Jint didn’t give voice to that sentiment.
“Okay. I also have a favor to ask.”
“Huh?”
“I’d like you to relay news of my invitation to Deca-Commander Abli — to Her Excellency the Viscountess of Parhynh. I know it’d be best if she heard it from me directly, but this is a personal affair. In the end, I...”
“I understand,” Jint nodded. Lafier would turn down the invitation for sure, which would give Jint a pretext to do the same.
“I’ll be the one to tell her...”
“Please do. And even if Her Highness the Viscountess turns me down, you’ll still attend, won’t you?” said Atosryua, stealing a march on him. “It’d be embarrassing to have to cancel that reservation.”
Jint blinked. “...Ah.” He never imagined he’d be dining with the Baroness of Febdash, just the two of them.
“Yes, yes of course,” agreed Jint, begrudgingly. Inwardly, he tut-tutted his own diffidence. Would his bad habit of catering instantly to the opposite party ever subside? He was sure it’d get him killed one of these days.
That, or it had already gotten him killed, and he simply had yet to manifest the symptoms.
“Be sure to make it as clear as possible to her that this is a personal invitation,” Atosryua smiled. “I’m counting on you.”
It was only after the transmission ended that it dawned on him: He himself had never actually conversed with Clowar.
To Jint’s surprise, Lafier accepted the invitation without hesitation.
“But we’re talking about that baron’s birthday here!” Jint reminded her, thinking she might have gotten the wrong idea, somehow.
“You mean the former baron,” said Lafier.
“Ah, right.” Whenever Jint heard the words “former baron,” it was always the old man, Clowar’s father, who sprang to mind. “But why are you thinking of celebrating the birthday of a man you killed with your own hands?”
Lafier gave him some brief side-eye, the usual where is your common sense look.
“Is it to atone, or something?”
Lafier’s expression turned sterner still.
“What, then?”
“Celebrating the birthday of the deceased bears a special meaning.”
“So it’s to mourn them?”
“Not quite.” Lafier paused to choose her words. “If you had no one to remember or miss you after passing away, would it not be painful? Would it not be sad?”
“I suppose it would,” said Jint. Hearing the words “sad” and “painful” issuing from Lafier’s lips was certainly novel.
“That’s why we make sure to join groups celebrating the birthdays of the dead as frequently as possible while we’re still alive. Doing so gives us the feeling that even after we’re gone, someone will be there to remember us.”
“I wonder if that holds for me.” Jint clasped his hands behind his head. Ten years ago, he had been told he was now an Abh noble. Three years ago, he had actually started living among the Abh. Yet despite that, he still had a world to learn about this race. “Well, I guess in my case, I haven’t got anybody who will mourn my passing very long after I die, so I’m not too inclined to join in.”
Before Jint knew it, Lafier was gazing his way with a strange look in her eyes. Jint returned the stare, only his was more quizzical. But Lafier had no words of reply.
The next day, the two of them headed for the mobile canteen (via smallcraft, given how they couldn’t take the entire Basrogrh and park it at Dacruc).
The Three Crags was a restaurant of high grade, as befitting Atosryua’s recommendation. Most impressively, it employed human servers, even for opening the doors.
Like brother, like sister, huh.
Jint hadn’t forgotten Former Baron Clowar’s proclivities. The establishment’s interior shone under the sunlight, and a grass lawn blanketed the floor. Meanwhile, attendants who exhibited courtesy rivalling palace chamberlains greeted them and led them to their room.
> “Your Highness the Viscountess of Parhynh, Your Excellency the Count of Hyde!” shouted a staff member upon opening the doors to the reservation room.
Since the Hecto-Commander had emphasized this was a personal invitation, the two hadn’t donned their military uniforms. Lafier opted instead for a green jumpsuit and a light pink long robe, while her head was adorned with the circlet of a royal princess. Jint’s jumpsuit was a deeper green, his long robe white, and his circlet not that of a linewing starpilot, but rather a count’s more ornate model. Jint couldn’t help but feel tense; he seldom ever dressed this way.
A hexagonal window was cut into the room’s ceiling, through which poured the light reflected by Aptic III. Atosryua had already arrived, and when she spotted her invitees, she stood to give them a court-style bow. She too was decked in formal raiment, the dress of a baroness.
“I thank you for your invitation, Lonh-Lymr,” said Lafier, stopping to return the bow.
“Our gratitude,” said Jint, bowing after their example.
“I thank you on behalf of my dearly departed brother, for whom you’ve come here today, Fïac, Lonh,” she said graciously, voice devoid of the commander’s cadence with which she gave orders. Only after Lafier and Jint sat themselves down at the table did Atosryua follow suit.
“I implore you, make yourselves at home,” she said. “And you can forget about Star Forces ranks here, because in exchange, I’ll be forgetting about imperial court hierarchy. I hope you don’t mind if I’ve already ordered.”
They nodded.
Atosryua must have made some sort of signal that Jint failed to catch, because three waitstaff entered at that moment to lay the utensils. Then, apple cider was poured into the cup carved out of amethyst.
“To my brother,” said Atosryua, lifting it high.
Her invitees lifted their cups wordlessly.
“His remains are being taken towards the galaxy’s core via inertial navigation,” she confided after taking a sip. “Even if we had collected his body, we’d just send it out into space again anyway. Only, his will asks that his corpse be sent away from the galaxy toward the wider cosmos. Not that he’ll care much at all, seeing as he’s dead.”
“I’m very sorry about that,” said Lafier.
Lafier, the stoic’s stoic, appeared uneasy to Jint.
“No worries, Your Highness. My brother chose this path. Besides, his coffin is his ship, the Lady of Febdash. You can hardly find a more expensive coffin anywhere else,” she said. Then, she frowned. “I never liked that ship’s name. I thought it had to have been named after me, but I was sorely mistaken.”
“Who was it named after?” asked Jint, not out of true curiosity, but to demonstrate he was listening.
Atosryua shrugged. “I don’t know. A lover of his I’ve never met, maybe? It’s not as though he loved flying the ship itself so much he’d call it his love. Or maybe, he got it into his head that an Abh should enjoy flying through space above all else, enough to christen his ship with the name of a lover. How piteous he was. It’s bizarre, but it seems he felt being an Abh burdened him with some kind of psychological load.”
“I see.” A modicum of empathy for the departed baron rose inside him.
Atosryua gave him a sidelong glance. “Now that I dwell on it, it’s a peculiar combination. It’s almost like...” But she held her tongue.
“Don’t worry about me,” grinned Jint. He’d realized she thought he and Clowar’s circumstances similar. “It’s almost like each of us represents a different evolutionary link between Lander and Abh”
Lafier was a descendant of the most storied and pedigreed clan among all Abh clans. Atosryua, on the other hand, was, biologically speaking, a first-generation Abh. And Jint had been born a Lander, despite his current societal status as an Abh. If and when he sired children, they would be made genetically Abh.
“You have that wrong, Jint,” said Lafier. “We are no more ‘evolved’ than you are. We’ve simply diverged, branched off, to become the Kin of the Stars.”
“That’s right,” Atosryua concurred. “Evolution can’t be induced by manmade means, because normal humans can’t create anything ‘above’ humanity. We can’t create gods.”
“We were endowed with a single extraneous sense, and a longer lifespan than our ancestors. But that’s all,” said Lafier.
That’s not really a ‘that’s all’ to me, but okay, mused Jint resignedly, but he said nothing.
Their first course was served.
Lafier tasted a bite, and looked confused. “This...”
“Is it not to your liking, Your Highness?”
“No, that’s not it. But it’s...”
Jinto, too, brought his chopsticks to his mouth. Abhs preferred their food bland, and only recently had he gained the ability to distinguish between subtler flavors. The food before them was leaflike in shape, but seemed to be shellfish served cold. For all he could pick up, it didn’t taste bad.
“What’s the matter?” Jint asked the royal princess.
“It’s the same dish I was served by the Baron at Febdash.”
“Oh, is that what has you so concerned?” said Atosryua. “I tried to recreate what my brother set out for Your Highness when he hosted you. It was all recorded, you see. Is this troubling you?”
“No, it’s no trouble. I was just slightly taken aback,” she replied, chopsticks clamping on the appetizer. “Actually, I excused myself midway through your brother’s dinner of hospitality.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Atosryua, taking a gulp from her cup. “But that’s all the more reason I insist you stay till the end. It won’t be exactly the same down to every particular, but at the very least, it’s the same bill of fare. I was curious to see what kinds of courses he saw fit to feed Your Highness and Your Excellence.”
“I wasn’t there for it,” blurted Jint despite himself. “I was repasting with His Excellency the Former Baron — that is to say, your father, Hecto-Commander.”
“I didn’t know that, either.” At first, Atosryua looked surprised, but soon a sarcastic smile graced her lips. “So you were the only one my brother invited to dine with him, Fïac. I wouldn’t put it past him, not at all.”
“Baroness,” stated Lafier, “what is the point of all this? Do you bear a grudge against me?”
“Fïac,” replied Atosryua, her register suddenly turning much more formal, “short though the history of my barony may well be, we nonetheless have our pride. If I were to have invited you as a guest in order to air my grievances, then how would my descendants speak of their ancestor?”
“You’re right,” said Lafier, abashed. “Forgive me. It was foolish of me to ask.”
“I’ve good memories of time spent with my brother, too,” said Atosryua, reverting to the informal speaking style from before. “Mostly from when we were young children, mind you. We grew estranged after reaching adulthood, and rarely met each other from that point on.”
With that, the next course arrived. It was sea turtle broth.
“He liked the stuff,” said Atosryua, sipping from her bowl.
“You say that, but from what I saw, he didn’t seem very driven to partake of any,” said Lafier.
“Really?” Atosryua cocked her head. “He must’ve been nervous. His appetite always vanished when he got nervous. That’s how I could always tell when he was hiding something. He’d barely touch his food.”
“I see.”
“Uhh...” Jint figured he ought to join the conversation, too. “What else did he like?”
“Let’s see...” She knitted her brow. “His favorite food when he was a kid was cooked pears with molasses. I was always impressed he could put away so much food that was that sweet. Though I’m sure his tastes changed after growing up. Actually, the food here is a bit on the sweet side; I think he may have liked it.”
Picturing Former Baron Clowar cheerfully having his fill of sweet fruit confections made his stomach churn.
“But the f
irst thing that comes to mind when asked what he liked is dogs.”
Jint started. “What?”
“That is, as pets. You have a complicated background, yet you’ve yet to free yourself of your cultural bias,” she said, staring Jint in the eyes as she disabused him. “He liked dogs, but he kept a cat. I bet only because he believed cats were the preferable animal companion for Abhs. Have you ever had a cat, Lonh-Dreur?”
“I have one now. He’s Her Highness’s nephew.”
“Will you ever let me live that down?” Her tone was calm, gentle, and tinged from end to end with bloodlust.
Jint ducked his head.
“Oh dear...” said Atosryua, gauging their diverse expressions. “An inside joke, I take it. No matter.”
From there on out, it was Atosryua’s solo performance; she recounted her memories of her late brother at length. Lafier was relieved at this turn of events, and listened intently.
She must’ve taken her talkativeness from her father, Jint reflected. And he could sense how what she was doing was just another way to grieve.
When the meal was finished, they engaged in lighthearted conversation for a while, each holding a cup of relatively weak spirits in one hand. That said, the “conversation” was mostly one-sided, with Atosryua fulfilling the role of speaker. That phase of their get-together, too, drew to a close in about two hours’ time, and afterward, Jint and Lafier left the mobile canteen Dacruc.
“Even you were having a hard time of it back there,” said Jint, inside the small ship’s cockpit.
“I’m not great at mourning the dead,” she admitted.
“Well, the only words I ever traded with the Baron were salutations through a screen. That can’t even be called ‘speaking to him,’ if you ask me.”
“It’s not as though I spoke with him on a friendly basis, either.” She had taken off her long robe, but hadn’t changed out of her green jumpsuit in favor of her military uniform before manning the controls. “It’s a duty, remembering the dead. An obligation.”
“A duty, huh... if people only remember me because they’re duty-bound, then it’d be easier on everybody if they just forget me.”
The Ties that Bind Page 9
