“There may come a time when having ever known an age of peace will be a huge privilege.”
“I’ve never really known one,” said Ecryua, taking the two aback. The way she saw it, the war had basically started by the time she’d reached adulthood. As of now, she had spent most of her life outside of wartime, but the day would come where she felt like the greater half of her life was caught up in unquiet strife. That was, if she lived to see that day.
“Well, Vanguard Ecryua,” said Atosryua, her smile not abating, “peace is a tedious affair. At the end of the day, we Abhs are a strange and incorrigible race given to war, and who yearn for the blood and plasma of the battlefield. Looking back, I feel like before the war, half of me was asleep. And now, I feel like my whole body’s not only awake, but fuller than ever. But you know, the tedium of peacetime can be fun in its own way. As long as neither of you falls in battle, you won’t be dying of age by the time the war ends who knows how many decades or even dozens of decades from now. Once it’s over, come hang out at my place. I’ll teach you how to have fun during peacetime.”
“Okay,” said Ecryua, looking down and blushing.
“The future’s going to be littered with children who have never known peace,” said Atosryua as she scanned the venue. “If we survive, I’ll hold a truly lavish banquet. I don’t mind if I borrow enough to leave my descendants in debt for ten thousand years — it’s going to be a fete to remember. And I’ll be teaching the kids who have only ever known war how to indulge in the joys of boredom.”
“That sounds like cause to get up in the morning,” said Sobash.
“It is. And it’ll be doubly important, given that if the Empire takes hold of victory, humanity will likely never wage war again.”
“What about the Hania Federation?” Ecryua reminded her.
“The chances they stay independent and neutral until the end of the war are almost zero,” Atosryua declared. “Either the Three Nations Alliance goes back to being the Four Nations Alliance, or they capitulate without fighting. Even if, hypothetically speaking, they do remain neutral, they could never hope to compete with the Empire after it’s annexed the territories of the Three Nations. One way or the other, the Age of Boredom will come. And while I won’t say it’ll last until the end of the universe, we might just have to weather a hundred million years making some non-war-related fun for ourselves.”
Chapter 4: Batotdacoth Delctur (Revisiting Delktu)
To sum up the Vorlash Manor in a word, it was a labyrinth.
Immediately after leaving the spaceport, the corridors seemed comparatively wide (though quite narrow for the main passages of a manor of this size), and soon enough, they were only barely spacious enough for a single personal transporter. There were periodic cavities along the walls, however — probably so that transporters could pass each other by.
That being said, there were no pedestrians walking the halls, let alone transporters. The place was as deserted as a ghost town.
A myriad of other corridors branched off from the corridor that the transporter (upon which Jint and the rest were riding) was whizzing down. Unbelievably, those passages were even narrower. Some of them were debatably not even really passages at all; it made much more sense to assume they were just gaps the manor’s designers forgot to close up.
The path the transporter took wasn’t straight, either. It often turned, and sometimes, not at right angles. Some of the bends in the road were at difficult-to-describe angles. That was to say nothing of all the slopes they’d be forced to go up and down, all the bridges suspended far above what seemed to be other passages, and all the open spaces they’d encounter. Those “open spaces” could not be called plazas or squares, since one got the distinct impression they existed for no other reason than because the architects were too lazy to fill them. One such space, however, was lined with the wreckage of whatever it was that had been placed there, so somebody somewhere must have thought the empty spaces an exercise in absurdity.
By all appearances, if that wreckage wasn’t once part of some barber’s chair or operating table, it could only have been a torture rack.
At this point, Jint felt giddy, like they might travel through a hole in the wall and end up passing through somebody’s personal garden. Sure enough, they really did travel along a lane in a flower bed. There weren’t any holes in the wall, but there were places where the ceiling got so low they had to duck.
As he soaked in his surroundings with curiosity, Jint noticed the signage in the official language of the UH, Ricparl, that had been left here and there.
“Question,” Jint asked Dereuzz. “Was this place used by the enemy?”
“Yes,” he nodded, still facing forward. “It seems it was seized and used as a barracks.”
“So did they remodel the place to look like this?”
“Having never visited the Manor before the war, I’m afraid I can’t tell you for sure,” she replied politely. “I think it was probably like this from the beginning, though. If by ‘like this,’ you mean this disorderly. The clan prefers layouts they can get lost in. Maybe they suffer from agoraphobia.”
“I once visited the capitol manor of the House of Elcash,” said Lafier. “While I was very young and don’t remember much, I do seem to recall it being maze-like.”
“There you go. A layout like this could never have been dreamt of by the likes of the Three Nations Alliance,” said Dereuzz with pride.
Upon hearing the tone she’d taken, his read on her age grew slightly shakier. “This place would be a paradise for cats,” he commented. Glad I didn’t bring Dyaho with us. Usually, as long as Jint wasn’t taking him to the bathtub, Dyaho would stay docile in his arms, but if he ever caught sight of this labyrinth, the temptation would be too great. It’d definitely be a tall order to find him again, the transmitter in his collar notwithstanding.
It wasn’t as though Jint refrained from bringing a cat in anticipation of the Manor’s inner layout. He’d just thought it might take away from the majesty and dignity. At the moment, Dyaho was in his carrier alongside some furniture. Arrangements had been made for Dyaho to get taken to the living room; he’d probably already been whisked away from the Baucbiruch as they spoke.
After advancing a while, the ceiling turned transparent. Countless stars dotted the ebony of space above. Jint thought he’d gotten used to them not twinkling, but they did come across as lacking. This must be the Manor’s top floor, the area farthest from the artificial gravity generator surface.
“Please use this room,” said Dereuzz, stopping the transporter in one of the top floor’s chambers.
The ceiling was around a thousand dagh high, and the room was sixteen square üésdagh. At the center stood a small but well-manicured garden, and next to it, a pond in the shape of a gourd. Judging by the white vapor, it was water for bathing. On the opposite side of the bath-pond was a strewn carpet, a set of couches, and a table. That area could be thought of as the lounge. In addition, there were individual pieces of furniture placed here and there, as well as two extravagant beds (complete with canopies) set a considerable distance apart.
“Pretty open room,” said Jint, casting a sideways glance to see what Lafier thought.
The Royal Princess was expressionless, seeming neither particularly fond of it nor particularly displeased.
Jint gave the room another scan. It occurred to him that it didn’t fit with the rest of the Manor. If the Emyoor Clan were actually a bunch of agoraphobes, wouldn’t this room be their nightmare? Jint wasn’t an agoraphobe, and even he was having a bit of trouble coping.
“I thought that in this state, it would be easier to tell where everything is,” said Dereuzz. “Most guests seem to prefer it this way.” She worked her wristgear, and walls rose up from the floor. Once the walls had stopped rising (at around the 500 dagh mark), a maze very much to the Emyoor Clan’s liking had been created. “Now then, allow me to take my leave,” she said, fixing her eyes on them.
“Thank you very much,” Jint bowed.
“What’re you doing?” she whispered, pulling on a sleeve of his long robe. “Step off already.”
Jint realized he was still atop the transporter, and stepped off.
“Your luggage will be here shortly,” said Dereuzz. “Do you have any other questions in the meantime?”
“No questions, thanks for asking,” said Jint. It seemed their wristgears had already taken in all the information that was necessary for living in the Manor, including the various call numbers to request services, the name registry of the main staff, and the guide map to the enormous labyrinth that the Emyoor Clan members, who evidently shared a penchant for causing headaches, had seen fit to erect. Naturally, the floor plan of this room could also be pulled up using their wristgears, along with info on how to raise and lower the partitions.
“Goodbye,” said Dereuzz, setting off on the transporter.
Thanks to the partitions, the area where the couches and the table were situated looked more like a proper lounge area. Surrounded on three sides by the walls, it looked out directly onto the garden. The bath-pond on the other side was also surrounded by walls, making it a bathhouse with privacy.
“How drab,” said Lafier.
“I’ll fix it.” Jint hooked up his wristgear into the compucrystal net, replacing the dull hue of the walls with some nice background video projections of a bird flying between picturesque clouds. He also sent some relaxing music to play at barely audible volume. “Like that?”
“Sure, it’s fine. It’ll do.”
“I thank you for your words of praise. Now then, I shall be setting back to work.”
“To do what?”
“A trifling matter, compared to carrying out your orders, Fïac Lartnér.”
Jint checked to see whether his wristgear could establish contact with the landworld below. Luckily, the Manor’s compucrystal net was one with Delktu’s own. That was a sign that the people of Delktu and the liege had been on friendly terms. In many territory-nations, due to mistrust between the liege and the landworld administration, the Fapytécth (Liege’s Manor) and the landworld operated using separate compucrystal networks.
The time had come for what Jint was really after. He searched for his closest friend from back when he’d lived in Delktu pretending to be just another immigrant. Que Durin.
Unfortunately, it looked like Delktu was practically swarming with people named Que Durin; 30,000 popped up in the listings.
“What do you feel like drinking?” asked Lafier.
“Ah, a cold coffee,” he replied half-heartedly.
Every landworld citizen in Vorlash had a “birth number.” As long as one had a person’s number down, they could be contacted no matter where they were. Unfortunately, Jint didn’t know his friend’s birth number. As such, he was forced to plug in as much of Durin’s information as he could remember. Age, birthplace, place of residence by the time Jint left Delktu... At last, he’d narrowed it down to one Que Durin. Just in case, he requested a photo.
That was him all right. The boy Jint had gotten to know through the minchiu team.
Meanwhile, a mobile table had reached him with the drink Lafier had ordered.
Jint took a sip. “Just to let you know, I’m gonna be speaking in a language that’s not Baronh,” he warned her.
“Okay,” she nodded.
The rest was easy. He rang him up for an audio-only call, and Durin picked up immediately.
“Is this Que Durin?” Jint asked nervously.
“Well, if that’s not a voice that stirs some memories,” said Durin. “Or I guess, it’s not so much your voice as it is your accent. I know a handful of offworlders, but you’re the only bumpkin I know who can make our language sound so unsophisticated. It’s like you encased your tongue in mud. Half-dry mud. It’s been a while, Lynn Jint.”
“Right back at you, Que Durin. And it’s been a while since I’ve spoken Delktunian, too.” Jint was relieved to learn his friend still remembered him.
“Come on, man, your Delktunian hasn’t changed since we last saw each other. It still sounds like you’re chewing hay dipped in mud, just like old times.” They’d last seen each other on the day Jint left Delktu. “So then, Your Excellency the Noble Prince of the Countdom of Hyde, have you decided to ditch the aristocracy?”
“Not yet. I’m actually a count now.”
“Congratulations... or maybe not. Did something happen to your dad?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s no big whoop,” he said, keen to keep the conversation elsewhere. “How’s business doing on your end?”
“Don’t have a business yet. And to think, you got promoted to a count while my uncle still never misses a beat pushing me around.”
“That’s a shame. I mean, about your business, not about your uncle.” Jint licked his lips. Now was the time. “So hey, I have a job proposition for you.”
“A job proposition?” he asked, with a slight air of innocence.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Jint smiled wryly.
“’Course I do. I just couldn’t believe you’d be hiring me.”
“Is it that crazy?”
“You bet it is. What are the servant vassals of a pathetic excuse for a noble like you to do? Unless you make me a cabinet minister or something. Then I might consider it!”
“I can make you a cabinet minister, if that’s what you want.” Jint hadn’t originally planned to create such a high-flown position, but depending on Durin’s attitude, he didn’t mind founding the position just to pester him.
“Wait, hold on,” said Durin, genuinely disconcerted. “If you do that, won’t the vassals that are already working there go in a tizzy? Or is that level of self-indulgence just a fart in the wind to a big fancy noble? Maybe you’d be okay with that, but I’ll pass. There’s more mental fatigue in it for me than glory; I already know my head would explode from work I haven’t the first idea about.”
“You already know? From experience?”
“I told you, I’m working under my uncle. He treasures his relatives, but he has a funny way of showing it. It’s nice that he gives us jobs, but he never tells us stuff we should know in advance, and then he gets cross if we don’t deliver.”
“There’s nothing to worry about—”
“Oh, I know. I don’t want to be a cabinet minister, but I’ll gladly take the job of harem master. I dunno how many concubines you’ve got now, but feel free to leave them all to me. You may get a bunch of newborn princes and princesses that look kinda like me, but I can assure you that’ll be one giant coincidence, so don’t think about it too hard.”
“You’re still blessed with a vivid imagination, I see.”
“No dice?”
“I haven’t got any concubines to begin with.”
“Not a single one? For real?” said Durin, shocked. “Then what the hell did you become an imperial noble for!?”
“Not sure, but not to surround myself with a bevy of harem girls.”
“Your values leave me scandalized and appalled.”
“I can live with that. While we’re on the subject, precious few imperial nobles have harems. In fact, as far as I know, there was only ever one, but he’s dead now. And he’s been succeeded by a woman.”
“Then I’ll have to turn down your offer. I’ve no ears to lend a noble who hasn’t even got a harem.”
“C’mon, don’t say that.” But he left it at that, since he knew Durin was just joking. After a moment’s thought, Jint added: “Before long, I’ll be creating a harem that’ll knock your socks off.”
Despite himself, Jint checked Lafier’s expression. The Royal Princess was drinking her peach juice, and stared at him blankly before flashing a meaningful smile and activating her wristgear.
“Well, might as well hear you out,” said Durin. “But only face-to-face. We’re talking the rest of my life here.”
“That was my intention from the start. I’m in the Vorlash Manor right now. Coul
d you possibly make it up here? We’d be covering your flight, obviously.”
“Can’t. My mom’s last will says I’m not allowed on spaceships.”
“Wait, your mother passed away?” Jint had made her acquaintance. He’d occasionally visit Durin’s place after minchiu practice, and every time he did, he’d avail himself of her home cooking.
“Nah, she’s doing good.”
“Dude, don’t spook me like that.”
“Why so spooked? My mom’s fit as a fiddle. My family line’s always been super healthy, on both my mother’s and my father’s sides. That’s exactly why I’ve got to follow her last will and testament.”
“Uhh, sorry, I don’t really get what you’re trying to tell me...”
“What don’t you get? Following the will of somebody who’s still alive? I don’t think that warrants explaining. Who wants to rigorously follow the last wills of dead people?”
“You know what, never mind that,” said Jint, realizing he’d been about to tread into unproductive waters. “Let’s meet up. I don’t mind if we leave out work talk, either.”
“I’m totally down. Just don’t make me have to go up there.”
“All right, you got it. I’ll head down there.”
“How about we meet at the halfway point? You know, the spaceport?”
“No need to worry on my behalf. It doesn’t make much difference whether I stop at the spaceport or go straight to your house.”
“That right? I hate to impose, so I owe ya one. Come dressed in Delktunian clothes, though. The old bat next door’s got a weak heart. I’ve told her again and again to just get it replaced already, but she really hates hospitals. Startling her with your wardrobe is a recipe for disaster.”
“A rotter like you, worrying about that?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve gone and forgotten the basic Delktunian rules of life? I don’t know how the Abh do it, but down here, whenever there’s a funeral, the whole neighborhood’s gotta pitch in. And let me tell you, I’m busy at the best of times. I refuse to get dragged into community service, you hear me?”
Dinner With Family Page 7
