The second of the Twin Thorns was also developing smoothly. The mass of ships, with Byrec Loceutena Borperr (Twin Thorns Fleet 11) as the forerunner, was approaching the Central Disc. The main opponent in this zone was the UH.
If and when this operation was seen to completion, the territory of the UH would be reduced by more than half, and it would be completely cut off from the Greater Alkont Republic. Overall, the principal objective of Operation Twin Thorns was to divide the powers that made up the Three Nations Alliance.
The flagship of the core unit, Byrec Lobina Borperr (Twin Thorns Fleet 13), was a patrol ship named the Chaicaü. It was in anchorage near the star of Ercohn. About two saidagh farther out in orbit from the Chaicaü revolved the strike sub-fleet Gudersec, where the battle-line ship Caïsaumh was located.
Battle-line ships carried a number of mobile space-time mines aboard and fired them in combat. That was essentially their sole function. They were mine depot ships, so to speak. Though equipped with a large assortment of defensive firearms, they were, at their core, no different from supply ships.
The mines of the Empire were small compared to the PSSU’s, but they were still enormous. Even after nearly a millennium of steady improvement, space-time bubble generators were machines that took up space, and they required striking amounts of antimatter fuel. Consequently, battleships with a multitude of mines were huge. They were three times as massive as patrol ships, in fact.
They weren’t just massive, though. They also harbored sizable crews. The lion’s share of people aboard imperial ships were NCCs whose work centered around maintenance. In the case of a battle-line ship, there were NCCs who looked after the ship itself, as well as Sach Satytr (Mine NCCs) who managed the mines.
Given that, their living quarters could be likened to villages in size, if not towns. Battle-line ships were so big that they, along with supply ships, accepted children onboard. In a way, that was preserving an ancient tradition of the Star Forces’ history. In the past, the Abh had raised children aboard battleships, regardless of their size or whether it was peacetime or wartime. This felt quite natural to the Abh, who regarded interstellar ships as their dwellings. However, after realizing that their penchant for fighting with children aboard soured their reputation among their enemies, the Abh stopped the practice. They were afraid to be misunderstood as waging war partly for sport (or, less charitably interpreted, to be found out as such). In any case, the Abh believed that fighting in good faith was courtesy to those they slew.
Even though laborers were allowed to bring children with them aboard ship, this came with various adverse effects, and starpilots who were raising children were no longer assigned to smaller-scale ships.
On large vessels such as battle-line ships, people were still allowed to work while raising children, even after so many years. This was only true during peacetime, of course. During times of war, no one apart from soldiers was allowed aboard, save for special cases.
There was also a space set aside for day care centers in the residential area of the Caïsaumh. However, since this warship was built after the war started, no children had ever played in that space as of yet. With the ship at the outfitting stage, a different facility was erected in that section — a mess hall for starpilots. From the bridge, it was easier to come here, the planned site of the day care, than go all the way to the actual mess hall. If the Caïsaumh were to survive this war, then construction work would be conducted to change it back into a proper day care.
The Roïdrociac (Deputy Communications Officer) disliked this place.
“Deputy Communications Officer.”
“Yes, Ship Commander,” replied Linewing Starpilot Ablïarsec Néïc Dubreuscr Boerh Üémdaiser Duhirh, Viscount of Wemdyse. Sitting at the end of a giant table, he put down his bowl and stretched his back, looking in the direction of the voice that called for him. The assembled starpilots of the Caïsaumh were eating at the table.
The source of the voice was a man whose dark blue hair had a green body to it. He was sitting at the head, and he was the Ship Commander, Hecto-Commander Bersautec.
But Duhier’s gaze jumped over him and focused on the wall behind him. The room was being used as a mess hall for the starpilots, but the walls still fit the specifications for a daycare. Since the place was set up with Abh children in mind, said children were expected to bounce around in a microgravity environment. As such, the walls were elastic, made to soften collisions. And the art on the walls depicted winged cats, smiling stars, and various other images that would please infant sensibilities.
Duhier recalled enjoying the sensation of sinking slightly into the wall whenever he slammed into it as a small child, like most Abhs when they were very young.
“You look bored,” said Behrsoht.
Duhier was snapped out of his nostalgic reverie. The reason he disliked the starpilot mess hall was because of the Caïsaumh’s custom of eating meals all together. To be more precise, he couldn’t get on with the man who invented the custom and forced it upon them — Behrsoht.
“I’m not bored, sir,” said Duhier. “If I look bored, then that’s because...” others look bored when you yourself are. But he couldn’t say that. He instead searched for a suitable explanation.
“Is it bias on my part?” cut in Behrsoht.
Duhier cocked his head. “Bias? What do you mean, sir?”
“I just thought maybe an Imperial might be dissatisfied being stuck on a ship that works from the rear like a battle-line ship.”
“Any ship makes for a fine place to die for an Abliar,” Duhier declared. At the same time, he had to wonder whether the Ship Commander didn’t much care for Duhier’s assignment. If that was the case, then he was truly a man to look down on.
“Commendable words,” nodded Behrsoht. But he was looking not at Duhier, but rather at the plate rising from within the table.
“Thank you very much, sir.” Duhier picked up the bowl. Sadly, the snymhec rurur (crane mince) rubeth (clear soup) had gotten cold.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” said Behrsoht, as he tucked into the next dish.
“No, sir?” Duhier pushed the bowl aside and pulled a new plate toward him — potapyrh sogzerer (citrus sauce pork roast). He was happier the man wasn’t praising him. Hearing this Ship Commander’s praises did nothing for him anyway.
By that time, Behrsoht had totally eaten up his meat. “I have no intention of making this anyone’s final resting place.”
“You came to the battlefield without steeling yourself for death first?” The Linewing stopped his chopsticks. But he feared his tone had been too aggressive.
“Did you come to the battlefield looking for a place to die?” But Behrsoht didn’t seem angry on the surface. He was looking at the table in anticipation of the coming of the next dish. “You don’t seem that down on your luck to me.”
“I don’t wish to die, but it’s a possibility, isn’t it? I’m just saying that if this place were carved into my marker at the Hall of Remembrance, I wouldn’t be the least bit embarrassed. I don’t think this ship is anything to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed of it, either. I wouldn’t be embarrassed to die here. But that doesn’t make it a good place to die.”
“I think the captain’s seat is the best place to die,” said Duhier.
“Listen here. You may be Emperor one day, and I don’t begrudge you that. If you do become Emperor, I just ask you remember me once in a while. But even if that day comes, don’t force your values on others. Right now, you’re just a deputy communications officer, the lowest position on the bridge. If my cat were here, you’d be the one feeding it.”
Duhier was secretly grateful he was sitting far from the Ship Commander. Experience was telling him that if he was within Behrsoht’s reach, he’d be giving him a rub on the head. While he knew that was probably just how Behrsoht showed affection, Duhier couldn’t stand it.
“I apologize,” said Duhier, wanting this to be over.
“A prince shouldn’t apologize so easily.”
“What sort of behavior do you want out of me, Ship Commander?” he pushed back. “Should I behave as a deputy communications officer, or as a member of the Imperial Household?”
“That depends on my mood.”
Duhier was nonplussed.
“I won’t tell you to feel out my mood, though.”
“That would be a huge help,” said Duhier, though he didn’t let his guard down.
“Sense my mood instead.”
“What’s the difference between sensing it and feeling it out?”
“They couldn’t be more different.” Behrsoht ill-manneredly shook his chopsticks in the air. “Are we going to be all right if somebody who could take the Throne doesn’t know that much?”
“...May I ask you to explain it to me?” he said slowly.
“If I ask you to ‘feel it out,’ I’m asking you to think about it. To sense it, you don’t need to think.” Behrsoht finally put down his chopsticks. “It’ll simply come from the recesses of your brain.”
“That seems rather more difficult, sir.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s difficult. Do it anyway. You don’t need to do anything so complicated as thinking just yet. On the bridge of this ship, you’re the lowliest position there is. A ‘starpilot’ in name only. You’re a glorified chore boy. So just sense it.”
“I get the impression you’re being terribly unreasonable,” said Duhier bluntly.
“Don’t get cheeky, Fïac Lartsor.”
Duhier was at a loss for words. Behrsoht had just called him a prince, so he wasn’t allowed to apologize. Of course, he didn’t honestly think he should apologize, but he was beginning to give up on the idea of confronting this man directly. If he could escape from the conversation with an apology he didn’t mean, he’d do it in a heartbeat.
“Ship Commander, please don’t pick on my subordinate so much,” said a woman sitting three seats away from Duhier. She was Duhier’s direct superior, the Senior Communications Officer, Vanguard Starpilot Bhonh.