“You’re surprisingly plebeian,” said Lafier, amazed. “If you were that hungry, you didn’t need to be so hasty. The flowers won’t wither that quickly.”
“That’s not it. Those flowers are at their most beautiful the moment they bloom, and it doesn’t take long after they start blooming for them to be in full bloom. Also, I’m not hungry. I’m just sad I couldn’t fulfill my duty.”
“What duty?”
“I really don’t think you’d understand,” he deflected, not feeling like explaining.
“You don’t know that.”
Jint saw her earnest eyes, and became racked by a different guilt altogether. It appeared as though Lafier was taking his wise-cracking seriously. He almost wanted to tell her that he was just putting a little twist on the nugget of discipline they’d drilled into him when he was a kid to always eat the entirety of the food he was given by calling it a full-blown “duty.”
“Never mind that. Let’s just go see the flowers. They really might bloom any moment now,” he dodged again, summoning and mounting a personal transporter. Then he tendered a hand to Lafier. “C’mon.”
“Okay.” Lafier wasn’t entirely satisfied, but she too stepped aboard. The transporter then began to shuttle them forward.
The ship they were currently on was called the patrol ship Baucbiruch. The ship had actually already been retired from service, its armaments mostly removed. Therefore, it was more accurately a rébisadh solaicena (lightly armored cargo passenger ship) named the Baucbiruch Mura (Former Baucbiruch), though in casual speech it was referred to by the name it bore when it was a patrol ship.
The only weapons left were the twin mobile laser cannon turrets. The main engine systems and space-time bubble generators were still installed, but they were just awaiting their inevitable removal. And that would occur once the Baucbiruch reached the Countdom of Hyde. When that happened, the Baucbiruch would lose its function as an interstellar ship and become the Garich Dreur Haïder (Manor of the Count of Hyde). Needless to say, the ship’s take-off deck would become the manor’s spaceport. Larger vessels would not be able to enter the port, but for the time being that wasn’t likely to be a concern. The giant-sized zocrh hocsatr (space-time mobile mine deck) and zocrh sair (engine deck), meanwhile, would be reassigned as office work sections for the purpose of reigning over the territory-nation, residential areas for the servant vassals, and more. The samh (reactor furnaces) and antimatter fuel tanks which wrung out vast quantities of energy would also be uninstalled, with solar cells expanded to cover for the manor’s electricity needs.
Nevertheless, the current Baucbiruch retained vestiges of a combat ship. At the very least, there could be no doubt whatsoever it was a ship equipped to navigate multiple star systems. That was because at this very moment, it was sailing through planar space.
A modest garden, itself an installation left over from the vessel’s patrol ship days, had been set up on the outskirts of the residential area. But the garden’s environment had been changed, adjusted to that of Jint’s home planet of Martinh.
The transporter passed through a double door, and stopped at the center of the garden. All the plants growing there were native to Martinh. They were the offspring of the flowering plants that had been exported from the territory-nation after the planet had been incorporated into the Empire and before it had been captured by the Three Nations Alliance. Unlike the plant species (now all over the human-populated galaxy) that originated from Earth, very few of Martinh’s plant species were the type that sprouted flowers. There were only a handful of exceptions to that rule. And those exceptions were planted on the edge of the garden opposite the entrance.
The flowers were named “bryanflowers,” after their discoverer. And since they were already in full bloom, Jint couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
“They’re rather lackluster,” said Lafier behind him.
“Thanks for your candid words,” said Jint.
Earth-origin flowers had been selectively bred over and over again over lengthy months and years to please the eye. If bryanflowers, said to be the most exquisite of Martinh’s few flower species, were to be displayed alongside Earth-origin flowers, they’d fall under the “shabby” category.
“But my planet’s flowers are at their prettiest the moment they bloom,” said Jint. “And that goes for bryanflowers, too. People appreciate Earth-origin flowers when they’re still, but on my planet, they view flowers as they’re in motion. You saw how big the buds were.” Jint gripped a flower vine. “That was stuffed with this. When the buds open, this vine will peek through. Almost like it’s exploding.”
“That sounds a little unsafe.”
“There’s nothing dangerous about it. It’s so beautiful...”
“That’s why I was on the lookout. Because that’s what you told me.”
“Sorry,” said Jint, shooting her a sheepish look.
There were two reasons he felt so awkward. The first went without saying — the fact that what Jint had told her had weighed on Lafier’s mind, but he’d been so dense. When he’d gone into how beautiful bryanflowers were while they were blooming, she seemed less than fascinated.
The second reason was that they were having a casual back-and-forth about something as trivial as the timing of flowers blooming. The galaxy was at war: this very second, another multitude of lives was getting snuffed out somewhere in planar space. Naturally, it wasn’t as though Jint had started this war, and the Empire guaranteed him the right to step out of the fight at any time — at the cost of his noble rank, and with it, the right to dwell among the stars. Besides, now that he was riding on interstellar ships as an imperial noble without participating in the fight, he was feeling guilty over that, too.
He had trouble wrapping his mind around Lafier at the moment. Jint saw himself as unfit to be a soldier, any way he sliced it. Lafier, on the other hand, truly seemed a born soldier. If even a lousy soldier like Jint was feeling somewhat ill at ease, how was Lafier so composed this far from the field of battle?
“What’s the matter, Jint?” she asked, visibly dubious. “Are you in some kind of mood to stare at my face?”
“Can you blame me?”
“You idiot.”
At that moment, Jint’s wristgear beeped. It was a communication from Ïestaich, a fellow passenger of Jint’s dispatched by the Chancellor’s Office. “Lonh-Dreur. It’s time. I’m rather surprised you’re not in the conference room.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be there right away,” said Jint.
Yestesh was the reason behind Jint’s current sleep deprivation. That was not to say he was a bad person. He was just being diligent about his work.
“There’s a meeting. Wanna come?” he asked Lafier.
“Of course I do. I’m here as a representative of the Royal House of Clybh as well.”
Taking into account the fact that he was a young man in his twenties, Jint was certainly well-to-do. Of course, the only assets of the House of Hyde were the Countdom of Hyde itself, and while it was occupied by the enemy he received no income as a grandee. That being said, as might be expected from his wealth of experience getting caught up in the fires of war, the Empire had established a system of compensation for nobles whose star-fiefs had been taken over. As such, Jint was able to receive an annuity from imperial coffers, a figure more than ten times the pay of a beginning starpilot.
Taking into account the fact that he was a grandee, however, he was next to broke. A star-fief can produce enormous profits, but maintaining and running one also takes eye-watering amounts of money. Amounts of money Jint didn’t have.
Not having had occasion to use any of it, the lion’s share of Jint’s funds were in his savings. And all of it would get blown immediately operating the Baucbiruch for a single day. Yet lack of funding was not that much of an issue. Most newly appointed grandees faced the same troubles, after all. Financing a new territory-nation was an extremely solid investment, so normally, there was no shortage of lenders — in fact, len
ders would come like a swarm of locusts, whether or not their services were asked for. Except now, it was wartime. The Abh had two sides to them — the mercantile race, and the war-making race. And this was the season for the latter side to stand out. Outside of the very eccentric, people were more concerned about the tides of war than increasing their fortunes.
But that wasn’t all, for unlike other fiefs, the Countdom of Hyde was by no means a secure investment. Depending on the fruit of battle, the countdom might even have to be abandoned again. And if that happened, each lender’s investment might ultimately go to waste. Due to those factors and more, Hyde would have trouble getting financing, despite having just returned to Empire control.
It was probably fortunate, then, that Jint had inherited his noble rank under the guardianship of the King of Clybh, Dubeus (otherwise known as Lafier’s father). The Royal House of Clybh was awash in monetary resources. Naturally, it wasn’t interest-free — it looked as though no matter the circumstances, if they were to neglect potential profits, it would wound their pride as a mercantile race — but still, they were lending him capital at an extraordinarily low interest rate, considering the state of affairs.
Needless to say, it was not a custom of the Royal House of Clybh to send the Royal Princess just because they’d agreed on a loan. In addition, in Jint’s view, Lafier lacked a sense for money, which was unbefitting of a member of a mercantile race’s Imperial Household, and made her not so useful as a representative of the interests of the Royal House, either. If they’d really wanted someone to accompany him for the stated reason, they’d have chosen a servant vassal who was knowledgeable about accounting. There was no way the Royal House of Clybh lacked a single expert on economics.
In short, Lafier’s title as the Royal House of Clybh’s representative was secondary to her real role. In reality, she was merely helping her family’s enterprise as a side goal (however ineffectively) while on what was primarily a personal trip. Her actual title might be something along the lines of “Jint’s travel companion” (which, Jint mused, might just be the dullest and most trifling duty in all Lafier’s years). Then again, he figured that with a lifespan that wearisomely long, a less intense period like this wouldn’t be so bad.
“Won’t you be bored at the meeting, though?”
“We Abliars are accustomed to boredom.”
“Oh yeah, guess so.” The souls of the Abliars were clad in the blazing armor of imperial wrath, or so rumor had it. Yet they made sure to do right by dealing with the tedious functions that attended the Imperial Household as well. “Maybe that’s a boon you gained from your training from an early age. I shudder to think how much effort was spent beating a spirit of patience into you, given your clan’s innate disposition.”
“What are you trying to say?” Lafier’s eyebrows were at that dangerous angle.
“I’m saying it must be hard to become Emperor.”
“I don’t think that’s what you were getting at.”
“I’m sure you’re just imagining things.”
“If we weren’t just about to conduct public business, I’d have you try to prop up your body weight with your right pinky toe.”
Jint could think of a handful of clever comebacks, but he knew enough to seal those remarks deep into the recesses of his heart. “Guess public business is good for something, then,” he said, in lieu of other options.
As they headed for the conference room, Jint wondered how Sobash and Ecryua were doing.
“Ileesh Portal in E-minus ten seconds. Eight, seven, six...” said the Navigator, the countdown filling the otherwise empty bridge.
Sobach Üémh Dor Ïuth had thought the countdown always amounted to the same no matter who did the counting, but now he’d changed his mind. That woman’s voice was made for countdowns. There was no emotion to it whatsoever.
“...three, two, one, passing through.”
Cheers all throughout the ship, and the bridge was no exception. After a brief span of open elation, the bridge personnel came to Ship Commander Sobash to voice their congratulations. But those remarks were short, and Sobash himself kept his reply to a short nod. There was still work to do.
Ecryua alone was detached, aloof. The sopaïc (raid ship) Flicaubh had now completed its familiarization voyage, returning to the imperial capital of Lacmhacarh. This meant that the Flicaubh was now full-fledged. And although his title wouldn’t change, Sobash too felt as though he’d be regarded as a “full-fledged” commander, now that the Flicaubh was officially the first ship under his beck and call.
Raid ships were an all-new type of vessel within the Star Forces. Though assault ships had been deemed overly fragile, eliminating them entirely and replacing each with a patrol ship wasn’t a cost-effective strategy. That was why this new class of ship was conceived — essentially taking patrol ships and leaving their mine deployment capabilities on the cutting room floor. More accurately, they were closer to gairh oba (heavyweight assault ships), but their principal weapons were EM cannons, just like patrol ships.
The great debate on whether to dub them heavyweight assault ships or résic saura (lightweight patrol ships) embroiled not only Warship Management Headquarters, but even many top-level leaders of the Star Forces. The Caubh-class was the first class ever designed for raid ships, and the Flicaubh was one of the first twelve Caubh-class vessels to be placed in commission.
Holding the reins of a new class of ship fresh off the blueprints was a daunting task, but distinguished in equal measure. As such, Sobash had no complaints regarding his current post. This duty was beyond an honor.
Sobash had only just risen to the rank of Vice Hecto-Commander, a promotion that would normally be unthinkably fast, given that he’d only been a vanguard starpilot a few days prior. Of course, if he’d devoted half of his life to the Star Forces, it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d reached the rank of commodore by this age.
This kind of imperial edict was often enacted in past wars, and served as proof that the Empire was going all out. That didn’t mean that the Empire hadn’t taken the war seriously up until that point. It was simply a matter of personnel composition. There weren’t enough ships or lower-ranked starpilots, but they couldn’t then just populate ships solely with higher-ranked starpilots. Then again, it wasn’t just due to the unique circumstances of the war that he’d obtained the rank of Vice Hecto-Commander. The Star Forces couldn’t be so short of personnel as to select any old soldier as a ship commander of a bleeding-edge vessel.
Sobash cleared his head of the misgivings he’d chewed over countless times since receiving the notice of personnel change. To Sobash, who regarded himself as a merchant through and through, his rank as a soldier and his military status were transient things. That said, he was still enjoying his work.
Immediately after passing through the portal, a huge bulk of information came flowing into the Flicaubh. Orders from above were mixed in with the general information and the personal messages meant for individual crewmembers.
The orders were not confidential. Running his eyes over its contents, he saw they were the simple instructions that followed a familiarization voyage as a matter of course. He felt relieved. The familiarization voyage was fun, but the toil involved was exhausting. He was in no mood to be receiving any more intricate commands.
He ordered his Vice Commander-cum-Gunner to shift course. In assault ships, steering the ship was said to be a ship commander’s role while in 3-space, but in larger vessels like battle-line ships or patrol ships, that was the Senior Starpilot’s job. The all-new class of vessels, raid ships, adopted the same allocation of labor as in large-sized ships.
After the attitude control system howled for a brief spell, the Flicaubh’s course became fixed. Sobash then ordered the main engines stopped, and broadcasted the following to all hands:
“This is your Ship Commander speaking. The ship will now be entering inertial navigation. You are relieved from your shifts. As per the shift schedule, I permit the off-du
ty to take their breaks.” Then he once again scanned the bridge. “I’ll be needing all of you to keep working.”
His eyes met the Navigator’s. The Navigator being the same as on the Basrogrh — Ecryua. She’d been a rearguard starpilot there, but with her battle experience taken into account, she’d now been made a vanguard starpilot. And it was no coincidence she was his subordinate. The Star Forces gave ship captains the right to choose their subordinates. Naturally, those chosen enjoyed the power to turn them down, and the circumstances occasionally got in the way of the chooser and the chosen even if they had a burning desire to be on the same ship. In their case, Sobash wanted her along, and though he had no idea whether she was thrilled by his request, she at the very least didn’t refuse it.
Sobash turned his gaze to the Inspector Supervisor’s Seat. He had nothing against the woman in that seat, but he had wanted Samson there instead. The Inspector Supervisor of the Flicaubh was instead Loüass Scœmr (Mechanics Deca-Commander) Grinchiac. Just like Samson, she hailed from a landworld. And since she’d worked her way from an NCC up to a Deca-Commander, there could be no doubt she was skilled and knowledgeable. Unfortunately, she just wasn’t as fun to be around. For one, she never touched alcohol — perhaps due to religious reasons? In fact, if other crew members took to a drink or two, her face would scrunch. If that were all, Sobash wouldn’t have minded — after all, he himself was not all that fond of drink — but she responded the same way to light-hearted jokes, too.
During his trading days, Sobash rented supply ships and journeyed to the far corners of the Empire. He’d had to employ crews, of course, and so he’d had two criteria for selecting subordinates. One was hiring heterosexual males, not because he was particularly prejudiced against women or gay men, but because even giant ships had limited space in their living quarters, with relatively small crews. He’d just figured dealing with any romance that might spark in such a cramped environment sounded like a pain, and there were other diversions besides. The other criterion was for the employee in question to have some sort of bad habit. And while Grinshia’s strict and rigid lifestyle could be called a bad habit in itself, it wasn’t the kind of bad habit Sobash preferred. Samson, on the other hand, had been a treasure trove of the bad habits Sobash loved. His idle chatter would liven any room, and he’d even occasionally abandon his senses of his own volition.
Dinner With Family Page 2
